Darius was the only one at the Daroga's, and even he was in the process of leaving. He was at front of the house, saddling his horse, with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

"The Daroga is at the Lady Mojgan's house," he told Erik without preamble.

"And you were not needed? Alas, poor Daryush!"

Darius was caught between a bashful blush and a scowl quite unbecoming in a servant. "I am to take my master's reports to the palace offices."

Erik felt like gloating. He had no man to call 'master' now, and it was a wonderful thing. But Darius had already pulled himself up into the saddle.

"The Daroga has business in the city this afternoon. If you need to speak with him, it would be best to meet him now."

Erik almost decided to go to his own apartments or to go out into the town, but he ultimately found himself standing outside of Mojgan's home. The late winter sun had finally conquered the morning gloom. It cast soft shadows in the courtyard and glittered in the bowl of the fountain. And there— Mojgan laughed, and after a moment, the Daroga joined in.

It was almost enough to make him turn back, as if their laughter was a warning for him not to trespass. All of his gleeful expectations of telling the Daroga about his interview dissipated. He had figured that Nadir would be very perturbed. The potential for Erik to tease him would be endless and he had been looking forward to it. It seemed like a hollow pleasure now, when compared with that laughter.

Well, if he could face the Shah of Persia, the very pivot of the universe, he could certainly face one middle-aged man and one young woman.

"I see you found Darius," the Daroga said upon Erik's admittance to the parlor. "I should have told him to play dumb concerning my whereabouts."

"Be nice, Nadir," Mojgan said. "Now Erik, you look like you're about to jump out of your skin with excitement. Do I want to know why?"

"No," said the Daroga.

"Yes," said Erik. Mojgan, at least, would be happy for him. She would not give way to lecture after lecture. And so, for her benefit, Erik spun a wonderful tale of his encounter with the Shah. He mimicked the Shah, with his faint, womanish voice growing ever shriller. He perhaps overplayed his own bravado role a bit—Mojgan didn't laugh the way he expected her to. She glanced aside at the Daroga several times before her face settled into of a look of pinched worry.

The Daroga broke the silence that followed. "I hope all goes well."

Irritation clawed at Erik. Indeed, Erik would have rather liked to claw at Nadir in turn. "Do you think I am an idiot? I can manage my affairs."

"You've set your face against the greatest power in the land," the Daroga pressed on, pig-headed as ever. "He has accepted it for the moment—but I know the Shah. A moment is all it will be. He may try flattery and cajolery, at first. Bribery. But even if you accept, he will not forget this. He will not forget that you have refused him, which undoubtedly seems to him like a betrayal. And Naser al-Din has not survived this long by forgetting his betrayers."

"And what, pray, do you think will happen?" Erik asked. "Am I not the one they call Angel of Death, here? Am I not the one that is looked askance at for every bump in the night? When the Shah wants his hands to stay unsoiled, isn't 'Erik' the one he calls for?"

"All the more reason to be afraid. How do you think he will like losing that? And you know as well as I do that yours is not the only hand to hold a blade."

Erik smiled grimly under his mask. "Well, at least you admit I am not the only monster in Persia."

Nadir snorted. "No. Everyone is fungible. Even monsters. Policemen, too."

"And now we know the reason for your concern," Erik shot back.

"Believe what you will," said the Daroga before falling into a dark silence.

Erik fidgeted for a moment before coming to his feet. He walked over to the latticed window overlooking the garden and nudged the curtain out of the way. He had first seen Mojgan out in that garden. She had been a laughing new bride with an ugly old groom. Erik had been drunk on the first few months of his real power in Persia. That was not so long ago—two years, or so. But it might as well have been a decade ago, or a century.

"What do you say, Mojgan?" He asked now, hurling out her name with the same irreverent disregard he had that first time. Why had that been, anyway? Oh, yes. To provoke Feridoon. Never mind years. That was a world away.

Mojgan didn't seem to notice his biting tone now any more than she did back then. "I know that the Shah is a man, like any other man," she said. "He has a sallow face and careless eyes. But in my bones, I also know he is the lord and master over the land of my birth. And I fear him as I fear God." She paused. "More so, actually. Because I think God forgives and the Shah probably does not."

Erik took advantage of having his back turned on the others. He shifted his mask and rubbed at his eyes. Then he sighed, righted himself, and turned back. "Well, then. What shall I do?"

The Daroga offered a half-shrug. "Placate the Shah. Offer him something valuable as a gift, a token of your regard and friendship. And be sure to do so soon, before he takes any action against you."

"That's what you suggest?" Erik scoffed. "Bribery?"

"It's a language he speaks well," Mojgan said, her smile ironical and eyes faraway.

Erik seated himself again. "Well. I shall take your advice."

The Daroga gave a sharp laugh. "Will you indeed?"

"I will. I am not stupid," Erik accept a refreshed teacup from Mojgan, "I'm not."

The silence was companionable enough, though the worry did not leave Mojgan's brow or the anger Nadir's eyes for quite some time. Erik considered the Daroga's advice, turning it over in his mind and examining all of its angles and implications. He had, perhaps, acted rashly that morning. (Could one be both right and rash?) But if a valuable peace offering was needed, then, well! They didn't think Erik a conjuror for nothing.

These thoughts, as well as the fragile return of equanimity to the room, were dashed away when the sound of a horse and rider thundered into the courtyard.

Not a minute later, Darius flailed into the room in a way that might have been comical, if the look in his eyes had not been so utterly serious. He looked first at the Daroga, then at Mojgan, and finally spent a protracted moment— far longer than he usually would have— looking at Erik.

"An envoy is coming," he said, his eyes still dancing between the three of them, "for Mojgan Banu. From the harem."

Mojgan set her teacup down and gave Darius one of her kind, mild smiles. But the worry was still clouding her expression and the smile was unusually worn. "And what makes this so unusual?"

"The Sultana wishes you to attend her," he replied, "Lady, if you go, you will not return."

"Is that so?" she asked. She looked at Erik, but before he could formulate a reply, Darius spoke.

"It is."

"Have you been asked there since…" the Daroga trailed off with a significant glance at Erik.

"No," she admitted. "But with Shah back in residence, I hardly think she'll try to push me into another torture chamber."

"The Sultana asked for me today," Erik said. "Directly after my audience with the Shah."

"And you came here instead?" she asked. Erik nodded.

The Daroga held his head for a moment, sputtering something that sounded like a prayer. Or perhaps a curse. "She will be furious. Furious. And she already despises you, Mojgan."

Mojgan was quiet and rubbed her hands together, as if to ward off a chill. She turned to look at Nadir and then at Erik. It took Erik at moment to realize that the pursed lips and drawn eyebrows were not caused by the same worry that had been there all afternoon. Nor was it annoyance or melancholy or any of the other emotions he had seen play out on Mojgan's face before. It was an awful fear, like the half-dead eyes of a man caught in his lasso. It was fear, and she was looking at him as if he could do something about it. "I cannot refuse a summons from the Sultana."

"I did," he pointed out. And look at where it has gotten us. Yes, a man could most certainly be both right and rash.

"What if you went with me?"

"To the harem?" Erik was surprised into exclaiming.

"Well, yes. Surely she wouldn't outright harm me, then. What I mean is, I rather think you could protect me." She cut herself off with a wave of her hand. "But the Shah—going to the Shah's palace—"

It was times like these that Erik was reminded that his favorite little widow, so self-composed and self-contained, was so very young. To look to him for help! And in a matter dealing with the Sultana! Though, in fairness, Mojgan was more than likely in this position thanks to Erik.

The Daroga spared him from answering. "I cannot help but think that would exacerbate the situation." He could have stopped there. He should have stopped there, in Erik's opinion. But, no. The Daroga continued. "And never minding the Shah, I do not think Erik would be much of a protection for you anyway. God in heaven knows what she could make him do."

Mojgan started to tsk, but she stopped and then stared at Erik.

Well, Madame, what's my worth? You certainly weigh me carefully enough.

"To refuse is damnation. And to agree is no better," her voice was quiet and her piercing gaze softened. She looked through Erik now, not at him. He could not decide which was more unnerving. "Is the only salvation that of being allowed to choose the manner and means of one's damnation?"

"The guards are coming here," Darius cut in, "if the Daroga would consent to remove the Lady to his home, it would buy time."

"They can hardly force her out of the Provincial Police Chief's home," the Daroga agreed. He was on his feet in an instant. "The back roads, then, and quickly. Mojgan, who of your staff do you most trust?"

"I trust Khadija entirely, and the house manager," she replied without hesitation. "Feridoon said I might rely on him in anything."

"I will speak with him. Tell your woman to stay out of sight completely. I may call on her later, but not yet. Go, gather what you most need. Five minutes, no more. Darius, prepare horses. And Erik—" Nadir didn't bother finishing his sentence. He merely waved Erik away and strode off. Mojgan departed as well, looking grim but determined.

Erik made to followed her but thought the better of it. He went outside with Darius instead.

Darius was tackling his assignment with startling single-mindedness. Erik considered him, and his part in the afternoon's business.

"When did you become so competent, Errand Boy?" he asked.

Darius nearly dropped the harness in his hands, and a mad blush overtook him. He didn't look at Erik. "I do my best. Agha."

They made for a dour dinner party. Everyone picked at their rice and fesenjan, speaking in the rushed hush of the condemned.

The Daroga had dealt with the harem servants rather untactfully when they finally arrived at his house. Erik had watched from the shadows as Nadir had played every inch the nobleman, as well as the Daroga. Did they have any right to bother him? No, they did not. His cousin had visited him this morning, looking pale, and had taken sick—not that it was any business of theirs. Did they have the right to bother his ailing cousin? No, they did not. Would there be consequences if they decided to press the issue? Yes. Yes, there certainly would be.

Erik had offered a more permanent way of dealing with the troublesome men, but the Daroga had strictly charged him to stay out of sight.

Later, when they sat to eat, he explained why. "You have doubtless incurred the Shah's displeasure. How that will play out is unforeseeable. You need to carry on as we spoke of. We cannot give him any more reason to distrust you. We will all suffer for it."

"So, you remove yourself from my company," Erik commented. "Darius is of more use to you than I am."

"Do not mope," Nadir said sharply, pointing at Erik with an uncommonly emphatic finger. "If you have any suggestions, I will listen to them. But as to Mojgan's safety—"

"You are at a loss," Erik said. He did not mean it as an accusation, but the Daroga clearly took it as one.

"I am not too proud to admit that I am at an impasse," he said, "how can I blame you for refusing—for once!—that hellcat? But how can I fight against the harem? My jurisdiction barely touches its outer walls. And what if the Shah decides to take an interest in this, even outside of his dealings with you? What if Mahdeh Olia does? She tolerates nothing that undermines the power of the women's quarter, even if it's a caprice of the Sultana."

Mojgan had been mostly silent since they fled her homely little house. She had brought two small valises with her. Erik did not know the exact contents of them, but he could guess at one. It was a case that he had seen Feridoon had use for his accounting, neatly filled with important papers and a significant amount of hard cash.

It was not something one took on a short visit.

She let Nadir and Erik chatter on, round and round again, until tea was served. Only Erik partook of the honey-sweet bamieh. Mojgan didn't even touch her teacup.

"I should leave," she said.

What was it that Erik had said just weeks earlier? Absolutely not. Absolutely do not leave Mazandaran. Friendly faces are few and far between—what shall I do without yours? But he could not say that now—not when he knew the Sultana like he did.

The Daroga held his peace, as well. As the silence continued, Mojgan's face became ever more set.

"I would rather go to the house in Tehran and keep my independence," she said, "but I suspect that would be unwise."

"Yes," the Daroga said simply. His face was impassive, but his eyes were broken.

"So, then, back to my sisters," she continued. "The Sultana never even cared to find out where I was from. Beyond the fact that I was raised on a farm, of course."

No one laughed, though her tone had been humorous.

"It could be arranged quietly enough—and quickly." the Daroga said. "But as long as the Sultana lives in power, you should not come back."

"I know," she said simply. "Make the arrangements." She smiled warmly at Nadir, and then at silent Erik. A little spark had come up into her eyes, a twinkle in the dark. "I will not live my life in fear. I will not."

Erik thought on her words for many hours after the house had gone to bed and he had slipped out to attend to his own business.

Life was fear, and fear was life—and how, exactly, did one choose to separate the one from the other?