Autumn in Paris was unpredictable, but it was also quiet and peaceful.
Nadir, who appreciated the social niceties that prompted so many to now call him Monsieur Lepersan, enjoyed the fact that he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. It allowed him a leisurely morning in which to take his adopted cousin to task for coming home in the smallest hours of the morning.
"It is a good thing I do not believe in ghosts," he commented, "else I would hardly sleep for the dread of Feridoon haunting me." He spooned an extra helping of sugar into Mojgan's tea before handing it to her. "Or your father."
"You never knew my father," she pointed out, accepting the tea with good grace.
"I didn't need to know the man to know he would not care to see his daughter off gallivanting with a known libertine."
"Are you certain 'libertine' is the word you are looking for?" her brow was furrowed. "I think that may have some connotations that are not strictly—"
"Spare me," Nadir said in Persian, just so there would be no further quibble over vocabulary.
She raised her hands in surrender. "I stand before God with a clean conscience."
"That may be," he conceded, "but do you stand before Him with your full mental faculties?"
"I am a woman," she proclaimed. "Do I have those?"
Curse the girl for making him laugh. "I have done. Erik deserves you."
"And I him," she said with a slight nod. "Have I your blessing, cousin?"
"Of course," he said, even as he shook his head, "you will need it."
"Do you mean to spend the whole morning taxing me over this?" she asked. The peaceful set of her expression led Nadir to believe she would not actually object to this. Lovers, he knew, were inexhaustible in their patience to speak of their beloveds.
He shook his head, and claimed business in the city. "The Embassy forgot to authorize my stipend again, so I shall go pester them."
"Does that happen often?" Mojgan asked.
"Often enough to be irritating. It was late last month, and so I am disinclined to be tolerant this month, for all I'm in the good graces of my landlords," he shrugged.
"You should have taken something from the trunk," she said. "If you had written to me about it, I would have told you to."
"Trunk? What trunk?"
"Didn't Erik bring you my trunk to store?" she asked.
"Yes," Nadir said slowly. "It's in the pantry."
"The pantry! Never tell me that that shelf covered in burlap is my truck!" she sounded extremely exasperated. "I've been storing bags of potatoes on top of it."
Nadir spread his hands. "I thought you knew. I thought Darius—" he caught himself. If there was anyone more besotted that Mojgan at the moment, it was Darius. It was a wonder any of them were getting fed or clothed. Nadir could only be grateful that Darius's intended mother-in-law was of too venerable an age for anyone to suggest that he turn his thoughts to romance.
Mojgan laughed. "Did you not look in it?" she asked, which Nadir replied to with an indignant negative. "Did Erik not tell you?"
"Erik disclaimed any knowledge of its contents," Nadir replied.
Mojgan made a gesture as if to ward off a headache and heaved a sigh of profound frustration. "Tell me, Nadir—do all brilliant men have such… adaptable memories?"
"I am not the man to ask," Nadir said drily, "as Erik would be quick to point out, I have no pretensions to brilliance."
Another sigh. "You were right. I'll need all the blessings I can gather. Well. Let's see what you've been keeping in your pantry for the last several months." He followed her into the kitchen, and she waved the maid away to clear off the breakfast table. Off came the potatoes and off came the burlap coverlet. She kneeled and undid the locks under Nadir's eye. The trunk was filled with smaller, mostly flat boxes. Mojgan selected one of these at random, unfastened the clasp, and propped open the lid. Nestled amongst stark velvet lining rested a magnificent matched set of opal jewelry. Another random box revealed a similarly grandiose garnet parure. There were well over a dozen cases in the trunk.
"Are they all like that?" Nadir demanded. He may not have been in the habit of buying gold and jewels but he knew enough to start a running tally in his head of their value.
"No. I put the better ones towards the bottom," Mojgan said.
"I don't begrudge a lady her trinkets," Nadir said, sounding flippant to his own ear, "and I'm certainly glad that you have your, er, savings there. But why do you have an entire jewelry shop's worth of goods in one train trunk?"
"Reza liked to make a statement," she said simply, and closed the lid.
Nadir also sighed, and realized with a start that that particular gesture Mojgan had just made of pinching the bridge of her nose and screwing closed her eyes must have been picked up… from him. He immediately dropped his hand. "I am not going to be able to sleep with that here."
"Oh, no," she agreed, "We'll be doing something with it. In the meantime…" she rummaged around and pulled out a few cases. "Let's look for something to give Darius's bride."
Nadir passed on their selections: gold bangles to serve as mahr, a pair of turquoise earbobs, and a gold tiepin likewise set with turquoise. Darius had handled each item reverently.
"They're all from home, aren't they?" he murmured. Nadir nodded. He also passed on an extra gift from Mojgan's absurd treasury: enough pure gold to be melted down into wedding bands. "It's very kind of her—of you, as well, agha."
Nadir demurred. In fact, Mojgan had been quite forceful in her gift-giving. Nadir was now in possession of a necklace that Mojgan claimed was very ugly but also set with several exquisitely clear and bright diamonds. It would be easy, she said, to pawn off the jewels as Nadir needed or wished. He had objected strongly to such a gift, but she merely shrugged, and, well—Nadir had sacrificed one of his least favorite books to the creation of a hidden compartment to keep the diamonds. He was at least able to put them to good use: the smallest of the stones gave him the pleasure of helping Darius furnish his bridal apartments. Mojgan may have smiled knowingly at this transfer of largesse, but made no objections.
The day came when Erik appeared to collect her.
"I suppose it is pointless to remind you to treat her well," Nadir sighed.
"Not pointless," Erik chirped. "Merely insulting."
Nadir shook his head. "No insult was intended, Erik. I am… pleased for you."
"As am I," Erik said. He did look pleased. No mask could hide it, especially not when Mojgan came into the parlor, tying on her hat. She greeted Erik with a smile that made her look about twenty, and then offered her hands to Nadir.
"Nadir said he would give us his blessing," she declared.
"You," he corrected, "you my blessing, joonam."
"Ah, but we will need it," she protested, and kissed his cheek.
"Go on, then," Nadir grumbled. "Go on and be good! It is all my fault, anyway. I am the one who went to Nijni Novgorod and heard you sing in the first place."
Erik chuckled, and raised his hat slightly. "And I am very glad you did, Daroga!"
Darius was still handy with a needle. They both turned up to the council offices on the appointed day in neat morning suits; Nadir's dark grey, and the groom's navy. Darius had his new pin as a flash of bright blue in his tie, whereas Nadir wore an older piece, emerald and pearl, fastened so as not to be overly showy. Nadir thought of the strange path the emeralds had taken to come to him—from the hand of Nasir al-Din Shah, to the son of his mother's cousin, to the little wife who would in turn claim Nadir as her cousin, her family. Rather like this boy of his, who had come to him motherless and fatherless and stood with him through thick and thin.
In turn, Nadir stood with Darius until the moment Iréne arrived with her mother and a family friend. In that instant, he was forgotten and Darius had eyes for no one besides his bride.
It was as it should be.
He could appreciate the pragmatic view of marriage ceremonies in France. It certainly uncomplicated matters that they did not need to involve a church. And it further confirmed the opinion he had formed of Irène—she would learn how to live with Darius, just as he would learn to live with her. It was not an easy path they were choosing, but Nadir could not regret it.
Nor could he regret Erik and Mojgan. That he could only shake his head. And perhaps also thank whatever good angel kept watch over fools and madmen that they had lived long enough to take solace in one another. He wished them godspeed on their journey into Italy.
They parted ways after the ceremony; Darius and Irène for a few days away, the mother left in the care of the friend, and Nadir to his own devices. He looked up at the fine autumn sky.
It was a different sky than the one he grew up seeing in the wide sandy deserts of Yazd, or over the blue Caspian. And he supposed it was a small life in Paris, for a man raised to serve the Pivot of the Universe. He was not a khan here, nor a daroga. But he was still Nadir, and he still had his dignity, and so much more besides.
He straightened his astrakhan and started home toward the Rue de Rivoli.