Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing!

Hope you enjoy!

Ibrahim

Chapter 30

The Guilty

Erik explained the situation with Franklin.

How he'd asked me to lend money, only for it to be stolen by Vaillancourt with none of the man's debt actually paid. I grew heated at that - not because of the loss of money, but at the unfairness of it. Christine appeared aghast at this, too. He explained the dilemma with Franklin's daughter, the way she was being kept as leverage, as insurance, against him. I was even more heated about that. Gustave, it seemed, was too - and he hadn't known any of it, apparently.

Vincenzo listened intently, and I could see thoughts churning behind his eyes. Plans.

We stayed for an additional hour, and I did my very best to be civil. For Erik, I would certainly try. But I kept thinking of Azizah, frightened near to tears, at the thief threatening us for our belongings in the night, and my anger would spike once again. I decided halfway through our meeting with M. Santi that I would absolutely, definitely, no-doubt-about-it support Erik's rekindling relationship with this man he'd considered a brother - for, as I listened to their shared stories of Venice, I could see how close they'd been and how important this time in his life was - but I would support it from afar.

After a time, I did begin to drink - not so heavily as to become drunk. I was too aware of my surroundings and the dozens of strange men to lose myself like that. But I sipped a comfortable amount. And I talked mostly with Gustave; he seemed as uncomfortable as I. Christine had seemed this way at first, too, but Vincenzo could outcharm even me. She was laughing and relaxed in no time. Gustave, however, seemed to remain vigilant.

A man of good sense.

"What do you think our chances are of simply...slipping out of here?" I whispered to him, smiling.

Erik's eyes slid to us momentarily. I saw him take a short inhale of breath, then look away, tenser for it.

"Ah." Gustave looked at me. "Not good, I think."

"You think anyone would stop us?"

"No, not entirely. I do think it would be rude, though."

And we left it at that.

When Vincenzo finally escorted us out of the building, he gave a small bow of the head to Gustave, a chaste kiss to Christine's hand, and embraced Erik tightly. Then he looked at me and grinned. "Are you sure you've no want of reimbursement? I certainly don't want this to get in the way of our relationship. Any friend of Erik's is a friend of mine." I opened my mouth to retort, but he quickly added, "I know. I know. You don't need to agree."

I gave him a look of distaste and turned for the coach. A few more moments of chatter, and the rest of the group was in the carriage with me. The coachman, having been given my address, made his way for the better parts of Paris, clearly glad to finally be gone from that place. I couldn't say I disagreed.

The ride home, Erik was quiet. Pensive. But not sad - no, if anything, he looked content. Happy. Like he was at peace.

No one else felt like speaking, so no one did. Only Erik and Christine interacted, their hands touching, fingers readjusting every so often. She would look up at him and smile, and he would smile in return, all the love in the world in their gazes.

Normally, their love for each other was endearing, but with my mood already shot, it made me...upset. Darkly so. Like I could slap them both hard enough for them to see stars. A flash of Izad's face lit my sight, and I had to physically turn away from them. I made of a show of it, in fact, making my knees face the window.

In the corner of my eye, I saw them both still, stare at me. But I didn't quite care. I didn't care about anything right now.

So what if I no longer had that deep, lasting love in my life?

So what if I couldn't even keep Azizah safe from a common thief, safe from harm?

So what if I had failed as a brother, as a lover, as a fucking Grand Vizier?

I didn't care.

Not about a single damn thing.

I gave a terse wave to the carriage as they were off, my mask in my other hand. Only Christine waved back - Gustave gave a nod to me and Erik was only glaring at me slightly. I merely turned away. I had every right to feel upset by this situation, and he had to understand that.

I went to the door of my apartment, putting in the key and turning the lock. The moment I opened the door and stepped inside, I heard the unmistakable sound of laughter, the noise like talons on stained glass to my ears. I stood in the entranceway for only a moment, then closed the door behind me and went toward the sound.

Nadir, Reza, and Azizah sat in the living room, all wearing a smile. At Nadir's expression, I nearly jumped. That was a genuine look of happiness on his face, not the cold or calculated grin he usually wore.

"Ibrahim," he said in Persian, bouncing Reza on his knee. "How was the party?"

I eyed Reza, and spoke in my native tongue as well. "Isn't it past that boy's bedtime?" My voice was flat.

Azizah's smile faded, and she leaned back in her chair where she'd previously been upright.

Nadir kept his smile, but it lost its newfound shine.

"Father is letting me stay up late!" exclaimed Reza. "I'm not even tired yet."

"Yes, that's right," said Nadir softly, eyes searching me from behind his glasses. "It was a special occasion, since he didn't get to attend the festivities tonight."

"I see," I said. A long silence. "Well. Goodbye."

"Hm." Nadir gave me another long look, then lifted his son and stood. He gave a nod to Azizah, who put a hand on her chair's arm to steady herself as she rose. She watched him with concern as he said, "Until next time, Azizah."

Then he turned to me and walked past, his eyes and mouth hard as he passed.

Behind me, I listened to Reza ask, "We're leaving?"

"We are," said Nadir.

Azizah wasn't looking at me.

"Can we stop for hot chocolate on the way home?" Reza asked.

The door to my apartment opened. Nadir laughed. "It's a bit late for that-" The door closed.

Leaving us in silence, save for the longcase clock ticking on the against the wall.

I wasn't drunk, but I now regretted the alcohol I had drank. I would have preferred to have all of my wits about me; they were there, but just a bit dulled.

"That was rude, Ibrahim," she said softly, looking down.

"Agh." I diverted my gaze. "He will be fine."

A vertical line appeared above her nose. "Is everything all right?"

I blew out a breath. "The party was duller than I'd expected, that's all-"

"No," she said, and when I looked at her, I found that she was now staring at me. My eyes on her made her once again look away. "No," she repeated, softer. "Every time he is near, you act...this way. So curt. It's unlike you."

I didn't say anything.

"He reminds me a bit of Father," she said, almost to herself. "It's comforting."

I took in her words, then nearly laughed. I'd never thought of it before, but yes, he really did remind me of my father. Calculating, dominant, capable of both the coldest ice and the hottest fire. Oh yes, he would fit right in with the Jahandirs.

She found it comforting.

I did not.

"Why don't you like him?" she asked.

"Azizah..." I said, and finally went to sit across from her, where Nadir had just been. The seat was warm, and for some reason, it angered me. "I have known him much longer than you."

She nodded, listening.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Why are you so interested in spending time with him?"

"I want to learn French."

I gave her a dubious look. "I can do that. I told you that."

A slight flush met her cheeks, nearly as vibrant as her paisley red headscarf. "And...I think he's very kind. I think he..." She shrugged. "I don't know. I think he's...stable?" She considered the word, and nodded, satisfied. Her eyes met mine again. "Stable."

A flare lit my chest. It didn't feel good. "And I'm not?"

Her flush was replaced by a paleness in her tan skin. She put a hand to her belly, as though to guard it. "No, that's not what I mean."

At the slight quiver in her voice, I felt a wave of shame overtake me - so strong I felt nearly nauseas. Disgusted with myself. I wondered how many times her late husband spoke to her this way, with this tone, with this glare in his eye.

I softened my features. "I'm sorry."

Her hand didn't leave her belly.

Allah, now she'd absolutely want to spend more time with Nadir. And much less with me.

"Azizah," I said, tone low. Gentle. "If you knew his past-"

"I do know it," she whispered. "He told me."

"He's...killed, Azizah, and without a second thought. Him, directly." This didn't bother me, per se, and he and I had been on...decent terms, I suppose. Until he insulted my love for Izad, of course, and until it truly became clear how little he cared about anything but his vengeance. Before that, I'd felt lukewarm about him at best and at worst. But now, though I didn't exactly hate him, I wished he'd lose interest in my little sister. I continued, "As Daroga, he gave kill orders but also issued the blows, and didn't feel guilt-"

"I don't feel guilty," she responded slowly, "for killing my husband."

I felt ice in my chest. "It's not the same."

"He told me he did that - to make me feel better about what I did, I think. When we were alone, after he found out, he told me. But people change, Ibrahim." She finally moved her hand from her stomach, to my relief. "He told me that he wants to leave that part of him behind, to leave Persia behind, and he said that I can too."

So that's what it was. That's what he represented to her. Hope.

A way forward.

Something that, for some reason, she didn't feel she was getting from me.

I didn't care for that petty thief Vincenzo, but I would tolerate him for Erik.

Similarly, I'd do the same for my sister when it came to Nadir Khan. I'd do it. I'd bury my feelings down deep, as I always did, and simply cope.

Better to hide the festering cancer than let it harm those around me.

I sighed and offered a small smile. Her expression opened slightly at my face; she was less closed off to me.

"All right," I said. "I will try to be nicer to him. That's the best I can offer."

She finally smiled back. "That's all I ask."