Another little Darius interlude.

The Daroga had given Darius leave to spend Nurooz with his aged grandmother, on the condition that he would set out promptly for Tehran the afterwards.

Darius had every intention of obedience. Alas, good intentions also led him to humor his grandmother when she said things like: but we must call on the neighbors, Daryush-joon and what do you think of the baker's daughter, azizam?

He had therefore ended up in a wild game of catch-up, played on a better horse than Darius would have typically permitted himself to borrow from the Daroga. He made quick work of the journey, stopping only to water and rest the beast. He arrived in Tehran not too many days on the wrong side of promptly.

The Daroga had blinked and half-smiled at him. "You came sooner than I expected. You should have stayed with the old woman a little longer, I think."

There was something about his eyes that belied the statement. A droopiness was present, a gravity that added years to his face. The Daroga was not one to ask for support, either from a servant or an equal, but Darius knew when it was needed.

Therein was the reason why—had anyone bothered to ask Darius why—he never bothered paying court to the baker's lovely daughter, why he was not was in haste to establish his own home. The Daroga would have allowed it, of course. The Daroga, even when he was gruff or when the gap between their stations was most apparent, was always on Darius's side. Darius replied in kind.

But if Darius left, who would be on the Daroga's side? That is to say, truly on his side, and on no other's. There were times when a man desperately needed someone at his side, to staunch at least one of the four winds. It seemed to Darius that now was such a time for his master.

Darius pieced the story together quickly enough. (The Daroga, perhaps, would have been proud of such detective work, though Darius had no intention of telling him about it.)

Point the first: Feridoon Ali Jah had fallen ill at the first feast of Nurooz— while he had been a guest at Golestan Palace, no less.

Those who were aware of the ink horn altercation twixt Feridoon and Erik agha were quick to point out the latter's late and wraithlike presence at the feast.

Still, to accuse a man—or a sorcerer—of mischief at the Shah's very own Nurooz festivities was a grave charge. No one made it outright. But there were whispers, as there always were. It was a strange illness that afflicted Feridoon and therefore, people said, a magical one.

The Daroga did not believe such a thing, but the pivot of the matter could be found there. What the Daroga did believe was that Erik agha was capable of using mundane methods to achieve arcane results. He confronted him with that in view. There had been something like a falling out after that, though Darius thought the usually feral sorcerer's response was quite tame.

Guilt? Or resignation?

The mystery had been abruptly solved in the hours before Darius's arrival.

A harem servant had been heard joking about a prank his mistress had ordered to be played. The joke was poison, the victim Feridoon, the mistress—well! Who cares about the mistress in such a matter?

The joke, once heard, was turned into a confession. In short order, it was determined that the servant had, with malice and of his own originality, contrived to assassinate Feridoon Ali Jah. It was believed that the only thing that had prevented a fatal tragedy was the intended victim's sober lifestyle.

The Daroga wore his especially neutral expression in connection with the idea that it was the servant's own plot. Darius knew that look well. He even knew the words that would have accompanied it, had his master been a less discreet man. It is the lie that prevents this from ending in a bloodbath. That the lie would still end in blood—the servant's blood—was a detail Darius felt no compunction to dwell upon. He liked his sleep too well.

Nevertheless, the Daroga had subsequently affected a sort of reconciliation with Erik agha.

The conclusion of the matter boggled Darius's mind: the Daroga and Erik agha would be attending the royal horse races on Seezda Bedar, in the company of the nearly recovered Feridoon Ali Jah.

"Is it safe?" Darius asked. He longed to ask is it wise? But he would be damned from here to the world's end before he would question the Daroga in such a fashion.

It did not matter in the end. The Daroga did not seem to hear him. He was brooding over his tea cup. "Someone will control him. He doesn't realize it, but someone will always be able to pull his strings."

Darius did not need to ask who he was. Nor did he comment that his predicament was far from uncommon.

After a long silence, the Daroga added: "We must find some better mistress for him." He continued to stare into his drink, slowly turning the cup.

Darius's grandmother did the same thing, when she told fortunes. She would swirl he tea and watch the stray leaves settle. There was no great mystery to it. One looked, one saw, and one let the mind divine. Absently, Darius swirled his tea and peered into it.

He swallowed it quickly afterwards.

He did not like what he had seen.