Sorry also if some parts are weird. Pulled an all-nighter for this one. Wheee, the birds are singing already.
A/N: I've never been to Sweden, so I'm truly sorry if I made some dreadful error in this chapter! If I have, please tell me! I'm completely guessing at the interior appearance of the Uppsala Cathedral because most of what I know comes from not entirely reliable internet sources.Sorry for the long hiatus! Lots of Real Life stuff to deal with ;.;
Chapter 10For the first time in many years, I wanted to laugh. It was not the sound that one made when it was expected, whether the cause was something amusing or necessary, but the type of laugh that one gave when everything seemed perfect. I wanted to laugh because I was happy; because I felt complete and for the first time in my life, utterly carefree. Of course this was a strange thing to think, what with my life apparently in danger, but I could not help it! There had been no trouble for me ever since I departed England and I had begun to secretly foster a small hope that perhaps we had made a clean escape after all.
The journey up through Europe to Denmark and finally Sweden had taken us weeks, but much to my surprise, we had had managed it without even a minor problem. True, the voyage had been long, but somehow I had not minded. After a few weeks, I had even learned to stop looking over my shoulder in search of murderers who wished to slit my throat.
From Stockholm, I had persuaded Erik to allow us to return to Uppsala, the town in which I had lived with my father after my mother died. My few memories of him all remained in this place and I had not been back ever since I arrived at the Opera Populaire. In truth, it had not required much cajoling on my part to force Erik to take me there, as he admittedly longed to visit the famous Cathedral which dominated the town.
It was only our sixth week in Uppsala, but already it seemed as if we had been together forever. In the several weeks that we had spent exclusively in each other's company, we had slowly adjusted to each other until it seemed as if we had never parted. At times I barely remembered my life with Raoul, dismissing it as no more than a crooked path upon with I had meandered aimlessly for a time.
Yes, life was indeed lovely. I could not help but feel the sentiment emphasized by the grandeur and beauty of the architecture about me, for I now stood in the Uppsala Cathedral. I had not been nearly as enthusiastic as Erik about visiting the cathedral, but I simply could not refuse the eager look in his eyes when he mentioned it to me. And so we had come to explore the church, renowned for its size and style as one of the most grand cathedrals in all of northern Europe.
It was truly beautiful. Naturally, we had come here in the hours of the evening when there was not a soul to be seen. Candles still burned lightly in every recess and I was certain the priest who served as the caretaker for the evening was somewhere about, but at the moment he was absent. I traveled aimlessly between stained glass windows and statues, at times pausing to lean against pews and attempt to not become dizzy at Lucien's eager dashes about the main gallery.
I watched Erik pause before the altar as he thoughtfully examined the decorations gracing the display. Then he tilted his head back once again to study the construction of the ceiling, all the while attempting to keep his patience with Lucien, who was constantly tugging at his sleeve and asking endless questions.
Studying his face carefully, I smiled as I noted many of his more subtle mannerisms. Despite the fact that outwardly he appeared to be as irritated as ever with the boy, I could sense the slight curve in his lips and the delight in his eyes as he spoke of a subject that he was extremely enthusiastic about. While he spoke to the child, he happened to glance in my direction and gave me an ever so faint smile. It was in fact so small that one would almost have missed it.
I loved those little secret smiles that we shared. I could not imagine how I had ever survived without the mystifying glances that lovers exchanged, enjoying indulgences that no one else could pick up on. Many gestures of sentimentality were slight with Erik; so diaphanous that I once would have overlooked them entirely. I still did not know and could not understand every one of his secrets, but I was slowly learning.
Every night that he held me, he would reveal one new thing about himself to me. At times the words he spoke were frightening; on other occasions, they were even amusing and I caught myself laughing. At my urging, he had even forced himself to tell me the horrific parts of his life, most of which centered around Persia. These occasions were few, and I knew that he might never reveal even the half of it to me, but I was grateful for the fact that he trusted me enough to at least allow himself to confess a part of his soul. I caught myself both fearing and respecting this man as I slowly learned that I in fact knew next to nothing about him at all.
Erik had been right; how could people fall for each other when one barely knew the other?
Perhaps that question made our enigmatic relationship all that more enticing. Somehow, we had been drawn to one another, and even now when we both heard and admitted things that neither one of us wanted to hear, still we stayed with each other.
His attention had strayed from me once again and I saw that he was now showing Lucien something that was above me. I followed their gazes and saw the framework of pipes behind an upper level balcony, which signified the presence of an organ. I shook my head at Lucien's delighted squeal and watched Erik restrain the boy as the child tried to dash up into the heights of the cathedral.
A bell tower in the distance chimed the eighth hour of the evening and I straightened with a slight cough. "We should be going if we still want dinner," I informed my two companions as I adjusted my gloves with another cough.
Still attempting to control Lucien, Erik frowned at me and inquired; "Are you ill, Christine?"
I coughed again and shook my head; "No. Perhaps a slight chill."
Nevertheless, he studied me with intense concern and I felt compelled to smile at the look on his face. His attention from me was finally diverted, however, when Lucien stomped on Erik's foot and cried out; "Let me go! I want to see upstairs!"
Erik cuffed the boy soundly for his pains and caught him up by his collar, finally swinging the child unceremoniously over his shoulder. "Enough from you," Erik snapped and tried to ignore Lucien as he beat his small fists into his captor's back.
"Are you sure you're not being too harsh?" I asked, watching the boy struggle.
Erik merely shrugged and instead returned his attention to Lucien. "You're behind in your Latin lessons. I want twenty lines of your text translated tonight before you go to bed."
Lucien stilled immediately and lifted his head slightly; "Twenty? But why? I won't! I won't do it!" He began to kick again.
"Fifty," Erik continued pleasantly, arranging his grip on the boy so that his legs were finally locked in a position that could do no damage.
"No!"
"Seventy-five."
"But - !"
"One hundred."
Lucien subsided, but it was with a decided grumble. "Can you at least put me down?" He asked after a bit of silence when we were exiting the cathedral.
"No."
And that was that. I was slightly intrigued by this show of discipline, but I said nothing even though I knew Lucien would probably treat me coldly afterward for not intervening on his behalf.
We walked on in silence through the streets which were by no means empty. The night was still relatively young but nevertheless cold. I huddled into my cloak and coughed again, deciding to blame this wretchedly cold weather for my chill. Still, it was beautiful here and I did not regret that we had come. A distance away from the cathedral I turned back to regard it in its full splendor and smiled at this grand achievement of mankind, marveling at its brilliance.
"Beautiful," I remarked when I noticed that Erik had stopped as well and was hovering expectantly by my side.
"And so much more," Erik commented in response.
I turned to him; "I wish I had a greater understanding of these things. All I can see is a pretty building, but I fail to appreciate it like you and Lucien seem to."
Lucien's voice was muffled as he spoke into Erik's cloak; "I hate it!"
Erik sighed and set the boy back on his feet with a warning glance. Then he offered his elbow to me and drew me close when he saw me cough again. "Appreciation comes from experience and knowledge -- you'll learn soon enough. For the moment, enjoy it as it is: just a pretty building."
I was grateful for the warmth and leaned into his bulk as soon as the wind picked up again and began to whip through the street. Lucien made a face at the two of us; "You two are too slow and I'm cold," he announced and immediately set off down the street at a run as soon as he was sure that he was free.
I turned my face up to Erik's with a smile and commented; "I'm happy right where I am."
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The following afternoon found me thoughtfully applying a thin knife to the scales of a fish as I cleaned it clumsily. We had all decided on an early meal and I now stood in a small, heated kitchen, wearing a simple homespun dress with my sleeves rolled up messily up past my elbows. Raoul might have shot himself had he seen me standing about as a commoner, attempting to prepare my own food! This was all so great a departure from my old life, that I both marveled and reveled in it.
A gnarled and bent elderly woman worked beside me, muttering over my handiwork with occasional critical glances. Alma, as we all called her, had been found by Nadir and employed on account of the fact that she seemed to know everything that went on in the city, but at the same time was trustworthy enough to keep her silence about us. Because Nadir had brought her to us, Erik had not questioned her presence and had allowed her to be the lone servant that we employed.
Erik did not question Nadir's judgment and so neither did I.
"No, no! Like this!"
I blinked, having lost myself in my thoughts. Alma had snatched up my hands and was adjusting my knife with a frown on her face. "Hold it like so," she instructed in quick Swedish.
Obeying, I moved my grip and continued in my efforts to skin the fish. To break the silence, I asked Alma curiously, "What do you call this again?"
"Strömming," she told me, one eye fixed firmly on my clumsy work.
"Strömming," I repeated, testing the word on my lips. To my shame, I barely knew the name of a single traditional Swedish dish, although I had been born in the country. My knowledge of the language was even slightly shaky, although I was slowly regaining the familiarity I had possessed as a child.
On top of everything, my cooking skills were less than dismal. I had already dropped my fish several times in my attempts to clean the scales from its body, much to Alma's irritation. She had immediately demanded that I clean everything up myself in that commanding manner of hers and I had acquiesced without a word. In many ways, the little Swedish woman reminded me of Madame Giry, different only in the fact that one had been a ballet instructor.
I yelped when I thinly sliced through the skin of my finger instead of that of the fish. Dropping the tool, I hastily sucked on the wound and tasted an uncomfortable mix of blood and salty fish. Grimacing and trying to ignore Alma's glares, I moved away to a bucket of water, which had been recently heated, and plunged my hand into it.
"That's for the fish, not you!" Alma exclaimed, brandishing her knife at me. Then she shook her head and sighed with a dismissive gesture, "Out. You'll just end up burning the kitchen down."
I gave her an apologetic look, but knowing that she was right, ducked out of the warm room and into the hallway. The air out here was pleasantly cool and free of all the smells and sounds which a kitchen replete with boiling pots and skinned fish promised. I cradled my injured hand against my chest for a moment, wincing when I saw that it still bled lightly.
My attention from the small injury was swept away when I heard the sudden sound of music, woven against a backdrop of sounds from the kitchen and noises on the street outside. I tilted my head toward the sound to listen and smiled when I realized that Erik was playing as he often did in the evenings. Momentarily forgetting my hand, I moved quietly through the darkened hall and instead pushed open the door to the parlor.
Everything in the small home was sparsely furnished, on account of the fact that we did not know how long we would stay here. Every moment presented fresh opportunity for fear; in every second, there was the possibility of danger, and despite my current carefree state, I was suddenly reminded of the fact that at any time we might have to pack up and flee this place as well.
Despite the lack of furnishings in the house, this room retained a pleasant and warm air nonetheless. Somehow a homey feel had settled into it, influenced by a combination of rich quilts scattered about the furniture. A piano -- a most necessary item -- stood demurely in a corner illuminated by a sea of candles. I still did not understand Erik's penchant for candles, but I had forced myself to learn to live with it.
It was almost amusing to me in a way, thinking that we now did indeed live together. Such an odd thought! We were certainly an unconventional couple, to say the least. Still, I did not care. Rather, I had learned to find most of his odd habits charming. The one thing which continued to trouble me was the obvious existence of the barriers which still remained between us. Not matter what I said or did, he simply could not bring himself to trust me entirely. I knew that I was being aggressive in a way, and that I should not pressure him too much -- but I could not help my impatient and impulsive nature.
At first, I had been the one who insisted upon keeping the distance between us. I had told him that I needed time to adjust and to grieve for Raoul, and so it had been. In a way, I had needed time to learn to trust Erik as fully as I could. I had wanted to use this time to learn about him so that we could not do anything that we would later regret.
He was seated before the instrument now, drawing out a tune from the obedient keys. I smiled, because he was still completely oblivious to my presence, utterly immersed in the music as was his wont. Taking care to make as little noise as possible, I tiptoed over to his corner and slid myself into place beside him. He barely glanced at me, but I was not bothered in the least because I was accustomed to this as well by now.
Music was his other lover and I knew that I had to share his heart with her. And although it did not bother me, I could not resist poking a bit of fun at him. Folding my hands in my lap and looking down at the ground as if blushing, I sidled closer to him and rubbed my shoulder against his, grinning when he stumbled over a note. When he still did not stop, I teased a fingertip lightly over his neck, until he was forced to lean into my touch almost on instinct.
Then I placed a small but entirely deliberate kiss on the skin which I had taunted. I murmured quietly, "I feel neglected."
Finally, his hands slipped on the keys entirely. He turned an exasperated look on me; "What?"
To another, his single word might have seemed harsh. To someone else, his response might have been called cruel. But I merely smiled, indulging in the mere fact that Erik's attention was upon me; "I said I feel a little neglected."
He shook his head, but despite that, he still reached up to my face to tug on a few curls that had escaped the tie at the base of my neck. "You smell like fish," he informed me nicely.
I grimaced; "I know. I suppose I should change before dinner."
"Mm," he nodded, although he did not release my hair. Instead, he frowned and suddenly caught up my injured hand with an accusing look; "What did you do to yourself?"
"Oh," I glanced down at the hand, having forgotten about the slice for a moment. "I cut it trying to clean the fish," I admitted sheepishly, coloring slightly as I took note of the amused light in his eyes.
"Thank God for Alma, then," he muttered.
I pouted falsely in his direction and tried to retract my hand, but found that he held it firmly. Still focused intently upon my palm, he extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and applied it gently to my damaged skin.
"You should try to take better care of these," he reprimanded me quietly.
"What do you mean?" I asked, smiling at the same time.
He smirked suddenly; "Your hand was also bleeding on the night of Antissa. I do believe the boy had bitten you, or done something along those lines."
"It was an accident! And he only scratched me!"
"No doubt his attempts to be seductive."
"Erik!" Despite myself, I hid a girlish giggle behind a hand. He laughed along with me, although his chuckle was rather restrained in comparison to my own delight. How strange it was to jest about elements of my past -- to teasingly speak to each other of things which had existed in our lives not all that long ago. Why was it that we could actually now laugh about things like my time with Raoul? Why was it that we could forget so much of the darkness and behave as if we truly did not possess a world of cares?
I suddenly felt compelled to snake my arms about him and settle against him. He seemed surprised by my sudden action, but nevertheless accommodated me wordlessly with one arm resting loosely on my waist. We were silent for a time, merely indulging in the fact that we were alone with each other.
"Erik?" I uttered his name quietly, tightening my hold about him.
"Yes?" He asked, and I could hear the concern in the solitary word. "Is something the matter, Christine?"
I was seized by another one of my brilliant ideas and decided that perhaps my predicament might be voiced more clearly by actions than words. Raising my face so that my lips were mere inches from his face, I leaned forward cautiously and kissed him quickly. "Does that bother you?" I asked, after I had drawn back.
He frowned; "No…why do you ask?"
Instead of replying, I slowly traced a hand along the bare skin of his chest exposed by the flowing folds of the shirt. Then I reached forward and undid the few buttons holding it together, hastily pushing back the material. Before he could fully realize what I was doing, I swung a leg around his middle and settled swiftly into his lap. I made him aware of my weight as much as possible, wrapping my legs about him until he was forced to clutch at the edges of the piano bench to prevent himself from toppling over.
"Christine, what are you doing?" He hissed, and I sensed the first intimation of panic in his melodious voice. Erik tried to push me away, but I was now merciless and fully bent upon proving my point.
I roughly shoved thin silk material off his shoulders, winding my hands tightly in his dark hair until he was forced to look up at me. "I can kiss you, you say? I can lie in your embrace at night, but no more than that?" Not to be deterred from my goal, I forced a rough kiss upon his lips with a ruthless attack upon his mouth. Despite himself, he moaned deeply and gripped my back harshly until barely a wisp of air separated our bodies.
"Why can't I do more?" I asked, beginning to explore every inch of his bare skin with urgent hands. "Why is this not allowed?" I touched his face and began to pry at the edges of the mask.
"Christine, for the love of God, stop!" He finally regained control and caught my hands.
Drawing back, I saw the fright reflected in his mismatched eyes. I fought the temptation to simply tear the mask from his face and to disobey his plea, but I did not. Instead I sat back and whispered, "Why?"
"Why what?" The slight blush in his cheeks had begun to recede, and he was slowly regaining himself despite the fact that I was still seated in his lap.
I fussed with my hair momentarily and then mumbled, "Well, first of all, why are things always so complicated between us?"
"How do you mean?"
Biting my lip, I looked at him imploringly; "Oh, you know exactly what I mean! Haven't we waited long enough? Why are some things between us still not allowed? What are we waiting for?"
"Christine," he looked away as he said my name, but nonetheless I felt him wind his fingers gently about my neck and pull me into a light embrace. "You know exactly what I'm waiting for."
"I'm divorced from Raoul in every way possible except on paper," I told him quietly. "You know that divorce hasn't been legal for years in France."
"I do know," was all he said.
I pulled away and studied his face closely, noting that his eyes were averted from me even though I was situated right in his lap. Shifting my weight on purpose, I angrily replied, "Then what is it? What's the reason for this distance between us?"
Erik gave me a look of genuine confusion. "I thought you were happy, Christine," he said slowly. "Have I done something wrong? You asked me for time and I gave it to you! Am I not allowed to have some time of my own, then?"
Suddenly I felt very awkward in our current position and so I pulled myself out of his lap and sat back down on the bench, this time with my back to him so that he could not see my face. I stared determinedly at the floor and willed myself to understand. "What do you mean? I thought we discussed this."
I heard Erik draw on a deep breath and when he spoke, there was a distinct reluctant edge to his voice. "It's always been about you, Christine."
"What?" I gaped, stung by the unfairness of that statement. "How can you even say such a thing? I gave up - ."
Erik entwined both arms about my waist and rested his chin on my right shoulder with a soft command; "Shush. Hear me out."
I twisted in his grip in a way that was reminiscent of Lucien, but Erik stilled me by tightening his hold on my middle. "We're both selfish creatures, Christine. Love itself is a selfish thing, you know."
"So?" I asked petulantly, in no mood for his philosophical ramblings.
"I know what it is that you gave up," Erik went on. "I know how much you've sacrificed, but at the same time can you really blame me for entertaining some doubts?"
"Doubts?" I echoed.
"What if I told you that I still feel like second best?"
"Second best?" I continued to mirror his words dumbly.
"If you had been happy with Raoul, you never would have come to me, would you?" Erik inquired slowly, pulling the hair back from my neck ever so gently.
I felt confused by his words; "What are you trying to say?"
"Answer the question," he murmured and I shuddered when I felt some of his hair brush against my neck, tickling my sensitive skin.
I thought about his question for a few seconds and forced myself to answer honestly. "If I had been happy with Raoul, then yes, I would have stayed."
"With never a thought for me?"
"Of course I would have thought of you!" I finally unwrapped his hands from my body and turned so that I could look at him again; "What are you doing, anyway? Are you trying to make me feel guilty? To make me feel wretched? Are you enjoying this?"
Erik said nothing. Studying me calmly, he sat back with a face so expressionless that it suddenly frightened me.
I opened my mouth once again; "But the point is that I did not stay with Raoul. I came back not because he was particularly horrid to me but because I realized that I had made a mistake. Don't you see? Amending a mistake doesn't mean a return to something that is second-best. You are not second-best, nor could you ever be."
Erik was staring at me now, his eyebrows lifted in a faint gesture of interest.
I rubbed at my face wearily and gave an exasperated cry; "Oh, say something, will you? I hate listening to myself babble on like a badly-written love ballad."
He smiled then and shook his head; "I keep forgetting that you're no longer a girl, Christine."
I did not know what to say to that and so I bit my lip and said nothing.
He frowned then and played distractedly with a tassel on the edge of the bench. "I know that divorce is illegal in France, but I can't help but be bothered by the fact that you are still somehow tied to the Comte."
I looked at him helplessly; "Why does it trouble you so much?"
"Because I would still feel as if I were taking something that doesn't belong to me."
Affront seized me and I glared at him. "Belong, you say? I don't belong to anyone."
"Christine, stop being so difficult!" He snapped at me suddenly, glaring and seizing a handful of his own messy dark hair in exasperation. "You know what I mean!"
I sat back, my lips falling shut the moment he raised his voice. I always hated it when he yelled at me.
He seemed to recover himself, turning away to strike a random chord on the keys before us. "Ridicule me if you wish," he began again, "but this is serious to me. I don't want you to do anything that you may ever regret - ."
"I won't - ."
"You still wish to throw away your entire life? Your reputation, good name and future? All for me?" He played a hesitant melody in a single, lonely octave as he spoke.
I hit a solitary note, striking momentary conflict into the tiny, perfect melody that he had created. "Throw away what?" I asked softly, touching his hand and stilling it so that the music was cut off. "What do reputation and a good name really mean? It's this future or none at all. Please, no more doubts."
"You could have had so much more than this," Erik muttered, gesturing at the room that did indeed appear sparse in comparison to the splendor of my former living room in Raoul's home.
I snorted and pushed some of my unruly hair out of my eyes; "I'm happy where I am."
Erik closed his eyes and pressed a small kiss to my forehead, cradling my head gently with his other hand. Moving away once more, he met my eyes as if considering something and reached up slowly to caress my cheek. I frowned when I felt the unmistakable sensation of something cool against my skin and when he withdrew his hand I saw that he held an object that I had believed to be lost.
In his palm he held that simple golden ring that Lucien had taken from me all those months ago. I stared at it for a time, grateful for the fact that Erik said nothing for the moment. He held his hand outstretched to me, but it was merely an invitation that could be either accepted or denied. I looked back up at him again, my mouth slightly open as I was unsure whether I understood correctly.
"It's yours if you want it," Erik said quietly, his eyes still locked with mine. "Will you have me, Christine?"
My accursed eyes allowed tears to escape their confines. I hastily wiped at them, but the flood would not stop.
Erik looked extremely confused and he murmured softly; "Shall I get to my knees and beg?"
"God, no," I managed to mumble, taking his face between my palms to stop him from moving. I smiled shakily at him, "It just wouldn't be like you to grovel."
A sudden look of hope flared in his untamed eyes and my heart constricted fiercely at his countenance. It was that same expression of hope that he had worn when I returned to the lair one last time to be rid of the very ring which he now offered to me once again. Back then, I had cruelly crushed the last fleeting remnants of hope within his trampled heart, yet now he had allowed himself to trust once more.
"We have no church," I whispered, touching my forehead to his.
There was a thoughtful pause and then he commented, "There's the cathedral."
"No priest," I went on without moving from my position.
"God is the only witness we need."
"You don't believe in God," I chided him playfully through my tears.
"No," he agreed calmly.
"I'm still married to Raoul."
"Only on paper -- you said so yourself."
"It doesn't bother you?" I allowed my left hand to fall to my side and reach for his own palm.
"No, because you gave me your word that it doesn't trouble you," he returned, pulling away to glance down at our hands. He looked back up at me, his gaze as open and honest as I had ever seen it; "Marry me, Christine?"
I nodded wordlessly and surrendered my hand completely, gaining a sense of wholeness as soon as I felt him slide the ring over my finger. When we looked at each other again, I girlishly flung my arms about him and burst into noisy, unrestrained tears.
Erik held me tightly and muttered, "I once thought that I would never utter those words to a woman as long as I lived."
That caused me to bawl all the more loudly and to wheeze out in between hiccups; "Don't say such foolish things."
He rubbed my back gently and asked curiously, "Christine, why are you crying again?"
I hid my face against his shoulder and hiccupped even more noisily. "It's because I'm so happy, that's why!" I hiccupped again and choked on my own tears, coughing loudly several times.
"Is everything all right in here?" A Swedish tongue interrupted us and I turned my messy face to see Alma poking her tidy head through the door curiously.
Erik gently cleaned my face with another handkerchief and addressed the woman without looking at her; "Everything's perfect, Alma."
I smiled at her reassuringly, knowing that we made an interesting picture. Alma frowned, shaking her head and muttering something about young people and their unrestrained habits when there came the unexpected sound of a crash from the kitchens.
Alma disappeared from the threshold and in a matter of seconds we heard a yelp emerge from the distance, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of pots and pans clanging. Lucien's voice soon floated into the parlor, accompanied by uncomplimentary Swedish vocabulary on Alma's part as she scolded the boy.
I glanced at Erik helplessly; "So this is what life's going to be like now, is it?"
He shrugged innocently.
I giggled lightly and admired the new ring on my finger; "Mm, that's not so bad at all."
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To my disappointment, Alma had insisted on dragging me out to the marketplace later that afternoon. All I had wanted to do was to spend my hours in Erik's company, but the old woman had seemed rather intent on breaking us apart for the moment so that we could 'go about things properly' as she had phrased it for me. This involved an excursion to the market to purchase goods for an extravagant dinner that we could all eat in celebration that night.
No amount of cajoling could convince her that we did not need any celebrations. No feast could ever properly express what Erik and I felt; no material thing could ever even come close. Alma, however, had been so insistent and turned up everywhere at odd moments until Erik fairly pushed the two of us out the door, shaking his head in frustration at the elderly woman.
Alma now looked extremely pleased with herself and was inspecting a stall filled with all sorts of exotic fruits. She began to barter loudly with the seller and I slowly wandered away, my interest piqued by a vendor that had various rich silks on display. I lifted the length of some golden material and held it reverently in my hands, marveling at the fine workmanship.
I felt a hand tap my shoulder and I turned around, fully expecting to see Alma's cheerful face reprimanding me for straying. Instead, I gasped and nearly dropped the rich silk in my surprise.
"Adelle!" I cried out, looking wildly from side to side.
"Christine!" She exclaimed, although she did not seem as surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" I inquired, blinking furiously to make sure I wasn't imagining things.
She laughed delightedly, "I knew you would be in Sweden, but I didn't think that my guess was right!"
I continued to open and close my mouth until Alma appeared and glanced back and forth between the two of us. "Who is this?" She asked me in Swedish, glaring rather disapprovingly at Adelle.
"Uh…a friend from France," I told her, still staring. "Adelle, however did you end up here?"
To my continued surprise, the girl blushed and looked around herself nervously as if she were worried that someone might hear her. Alma raised her eyebrows and remarked to me once again in Swedish so that Adelle did not understand, "The girl's red. That means she's here with a lover."
"Alma!" I scolded, but nevertheless I could not help but wonder if she was right. I looked back up at Adelle and asked slyly, "Is Francisco here with you?"
Adelle blushed all the more and I knew that Alma was right. She cleared her throat to change the subject; "I came here on a complete guess, but Meg Giry told me that you were born near here and so I decided to visit on the chance that I might find you." Adelle lowered her voice, although there was no one to eavesdrop now, "Francisco thinks that I'm away on holiday with 'friends'."
"Friends," I echoed smilingly. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that Bert fellow, would it?"
"Shh!" Adelle exclaimed before she hid her flaming face in a gloved hand.
Alma looked smug.
I ignored the woman and looked at Adelle kindly. "Then you must come and visit us sometime, Adelle." I paused and realized that Erik and I might just have our two witnesses now; "Would you like to come over tonight?"
Adelle giggled, completely delighted. "I just need to find Bert, but yes!"
I rattled off the location of our accommodations after which Alma grabbed my elbow in an attempt to usher me away. The loyal bell tower chimed out the fifth hour and I sighed, hastily bidding Adelle good-bye and agreeing that we would meet in an hour. We embraced, but this time it was with light hearts and I felt overjoyed at the prospect that I now had another friend by my side. I was already in the clouds from Erik's proposal and now I could not help but feel as if everything was finally beyond perfect for me.
Alma still looked displeased and she hurried me away, taking an extremely circuitous route back to our new home. I glared at her and commented; "You know, I hardly think Adelle is a danger to any of us."
"She found you. That means that any other fool could find you just as easily." Alma moved with considerable speed and agility for one of her age.
But I was indignant at her words. "My friends aren't fools," I informed her curtly. "All of the people who know my past won't tell any random stranger about it."
"Meg Giry told Adelle."
"Meg Giry is one of my closest friends and she knows that Adelle is the same."
Alma grunted and heaved me up the iced steps to the house. "I still don't like it," she told me as she unlocked the door and hastily pulled the two of us inside. The moment the door shut behind us, I could hear the clear tones of music drifting out from the interior of the house. I turned to Alma one last time and scowled, "Not a word to him, understand?"
She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off.
"Not a single word," I emphasized. "I don't want to spoil this day with needless worries."
Alma set off with a huff, hefting our purchases angrily.
I stayed by the door for a time, listening to the faint sound of Erik's music and allowing it to comfort me completely. Surely he would understand -- Erik would not be plagued by the silly fears of a Swedish housekeeper. He knew that Adelle was my friend and that her presence did not pose a single risk to any of us.
Disposing of my cloak, I made my way back to the parlor where I had left Erik several hours before. This time when I pushed open the door, I saw that Lucien was also present, scribbling busily in a corner. He looked up at my entrance, took obvious note of the ring on my finger, and then went back to writing. I approached Erik once again, but this time he had been alerted to my presence and was not surprised. He turned from his place and received me with a wordless kiss and embrace.
"Gross," Lucien commented from his corner.
We both turned to see the boy picking up his materials. He began to head for the door, saying, "I hope Alma brought me chocolate."
I looked at Erik apologetically; "I feel like I should be helping her."
"Why?" Erik asked, settling me in his lap this time of his own volition.
I slid out of his reach mischievously, dancing away with a small twirl. "We're cooking for six tonight."
Erik frowned, not quite understanding. "Six?"
I nodded with a grin and then added, "I think I'll take a bath before dinner too. I still smell like fish."
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As soon as I stepped out of my room, completely clean and no longer smelling like a dockyard, a knock sounded at the front door. Adelle had arrived sooner that I had expected, but I received her with a beam and ushered both her and a flustered-looking Bert inside. The young man looked at me helplessly, all apology and stutters. "Are you quite sure we're not intruding, Comtesse?"
"Not at all!" I exclaimed, sneaking one glance over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of Erik staring at the three of us. He leaned against the side of the staircase silently, his arms crossed loosely as he assessed the current situation. I was not quite sure what his expression meant, but I prayed that it wasn't disapproval. I had only invited friends in, after all! Surely it was not a crime to spend some time socializing in pleasant company!
Alma walked in, holding a meat-filled platter coldly as she made her way to the dining room. She brushed past Erik with a glare and informed us all in accented French that dinner was ready. Erik's gaze was still indecipherable and I saw that Bert had paled considerably the moment that the other man had captured his attention.
Still, I gave the young man credit for attempting to take control of the situation. He cleared his throat nervously and stretched out his hand awkwardly in a gesture of greeting. "You're D'Artois, aren't you? I'm Bert Vidal, by the way." He spoke nearly in one breath and I saw that Erik was clearly unimpressed. I only prayed that he would make at least an effort of behaving politely to our guests.
"Bert Vidal?" Erik echoed, taking his hand but speaking quite coldly. "I see." He said no more and turned his back on all of us, following in Alma's footsteps.
I shrugged helplessly at Adelle, hoping that the rest of the night would not be as awkward.
Naturally, my wish did not come true. Erik did not speak often, and when he did, it was clear that he was displeased with me. He did his best to make both Bert and Adelle as uncomfortable as possible, which was a skill that he proved to be quite talented at. Soon the young couple was squirming beneath his questioning, until I was forced to intervene with my inane remarks on the weather.
When the conversation settled into a semblance of normalcy and Erik was silent, I realized that he was now staring at me accusingly. I looked at him helplessly, but knew that I had sent us into the makings of yet another argument that would be unpleasant for the both of us. I also saw that Erik was not thrilled at all with the fact that Bert kept sneaking glances at his masked face, failing to hide his curiosity.
Finally, Bert made the ultimate error.
"I'm curious, but why do you wear a mask, monsieur?" He asked Erik good-naturedly, intending the question to be an innocent one. "Is it something you do for creativity?"
I could practically see every one of Erik's muscles still and become rigid with fury. Bert, however, was completely oblivious and continued to regard Erik with his patient interest.
"Creativity?" Erik finally rasped, glancing over his fork dangerously.
Adelle too had picked up on the hostility in the air, and she looked to me for help, unsure of what was about to happen.
"Creativity?" Erik repeated, his voice barely controlled.
I chose that moment to upset my wine glass and spill my lemon chicken all over my dress. Adelle immediately rose from her place and rushed to help me; "Oh, how clumsy of you, Christine!" Alma ran to assist with a washcloth and together the two women fussed over me for a good ten minutes. While the women worked on my dress, Erik rose with a terse excuse and left the room.
As soon as I was as clean as possible, Adelle turned to Bert and informed him of a headache that had apparently been plaguing her all day. "Dear, I just don't feel well," she told him quietly. "I think I need to lie down."
Bert immediately adopted an expression of concern and felt her forehead; "You do seem a trifle warm." He looked at me with uncertainty, "Might it be all right if we retired for the night, Comtesse?"
"Of course," I told him, trying not to sound too relieved.
When they were gone, I tried to ignore the knowing glances that Alma sent me. I had not heard nor seen a single trace of Erik since he had excused himself and it troubled me that he was not even before his beloved instrument, expressing his emotions through the music as he often did.
Instead I found him in the room that served as a study, sitting pensively before a cold fireplace. When I entered the dark room, bearing a light with me, his only greeting was to reprimand me. "Put that light out," he hissed.
I obeyed almost automatically, recognizing the discontented tone that he had often used with me at the Opera House during our music lessons. In the dark he was no more than a hunched figure, his profile blending with the thick shadows of the room. I went to him slowly, finally kneeling by his feet on the cold floor. I shivered and then reached hesitantly to touch his leg.
Instead, he beat my hand away and caught my wrist so that I could make no further attempt to reach out to him. "Don't touch me, Christine," he warned. His voice was strained with barely contained anger and I knew that I had committed an error far more dangerous than that of Bert.
Still, I whimpered an apology. "I'm sorry."
He snorted and released my hand and as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw him lean forward and rest his chin on his hands. "Don't apologize; it's useless. You did something very foolish today."
"I know," I whispered.
"I don't think you do!" Erik shouted suddenly, rising so abruptly that his chair skidded back several feet. "Do you understand the danger that you've put yourself in? How the hell did she even find out you were going to be in Sweden?"
"I may have mentioned it casually - ,"
"Casually," Erik repeated disbelievingly. "You stupid girl! On top of everything else, you just felt that you had to invite the two of them back here! Things are bad enough without having your friends come here to gawk and babble all about us and where we are to the rest of the world!"
I rose from the floor and felt the first hints of anger flare up in my chest. "Well, you certainly didn't help matters at all! You were rude and horrid to my friends!"
"Your friends shouldn't have been here in the first place!"
"That's no excuse for treating them as you did!"
"They deserved it! Especially that boy with his meddling questions!" Erik had begun to pace about the room, looking everywhere but at me.
I knew that we were both shouting, but I could not stop myself. "I see now! It's all about you, isn't it?"
He stopped moving and hissed, "What are you talking about?"
"The only reason you're so angry is because you were afraid. You were so rude to the two of them because they made you feel uncomfortable, didn't they?"
"Christine - ."
"Well, you have to learn how to face the rest of the world sooner or later! You can't hide behind that mask in a dark corner forever, you know!" I went on screaming at him because I could not find a way to calm myself. A part of me did not even know why I was shouting, but I could not stop. "Selfish does not even begin to describe what you are! Adelle was my friend and you treated her like trash because you're a coward!"
"Shut up!" Erik suddenly seized me and I saw him raise his hand as he prepared to slap me.
I closed my eyes and readied my cheek for the slap, but it did not come. After a time I felt him release me and step away, sighing heavily. "I once swore that I would never harm a lady, but how I wish I had never made that promise," he spat at me. "Then again, you are not a lady, are you? You're just a common wench, spoiled rotten by everyone around you and now you think you're a princess."
"I think no such thing." Defiant, I turned my cheek to him and taunted, "Go on, coward. Hit me and make yourself feel better. We both know it's what your pathetic self wants."
Erik reached for something and I saw that it was his cloak.
"Where are you going?" I demanded loudly.
"Away from you," he returned.
I began to gasp for breath between my tears, but my anger could not be restrained. "Running away as usual," I sneered, stumbling after him. When he said nothing, I went on, "You know, I really hate you. When I agreed to -- and the thought makes me shudder now -- actually share a life with you, I thought you understood that we would have to compromise. I never realized just how self-absorbed you were." Erik did not move, nor did he say anything. I felt compelled to shout again; "You really do think of no one but yourself!"
"I thought I told you to be quiet," he finally returned, his voice forced and dangerous.
I laughed aloud, "I won't be quiet! I won't be ordered about by you any longer! And to think that I thought I loved you! You! A murderer and so much more! Go find some pathetic wretch to kill and spend your anger, you monster!"
"Then what the hell are you still doing here with me, you rotten whore? Tell me!"
"What did you call me?" I was so wound up that I barely noticed how loudly we were shouting.
"You heard me, and you deserved every syllable! You are no more than a dirty, ungrateful whore!" Erik kicked the door back open and snarled his last few words at me; "Go back to your boy and his palace! Perhaps he is still willing to take back second-handgoods!"
"Damn you!" I screamed and flung my quiet lamp at his head. He ducked my projectile easily, scoffing at my feeble attempts to hurt him.
"I am already damned, Christine," he told me smoothly, lurking at the door. "Murderer and monster? You don't know the half of it, love."
"Don't you dare call me love," I hissed.
"Would you prefer whore, then? Because that's what you are, isn't it? You used all of your sweet innocent charm to win me over for your convenience, didn't you?" Erik studied me thoughtfully.
"Yes," I replied, barely aware of what I was now saying. "I don't love you and I could never love a thing like you." I suddenly became quite aware of the gold ring glinting mockingly on my finger. Without another thought, I tore it off and tossed it at his feet. "Take your useless piece of metal. I hope you enjoy the rest of your existence. I hope you never find anyone to share it with!"
Erik turned away from me and I scrambled after him as he traveled down the stairs.
I could not shut myself up and so I went on; "I hope that no one ever takes pity upon you again! I hope that you die, miserable and alone and that no one is even around to hear of your death!" I continued to shout after him even as he opened the front door, "I hope that no one even remembers you after you are gone! I hope that - ."
But Erik was gone.
The door slammed behind him.
There were several minutes of silence. A half hour went by. Then an hour. Then another hour. I sat on the stairs, my knees drawn up to my chest.
What the hell had I done?
"Alma!" I called out, stumbling to my feet. "Where's my cloak? Where are my boots? Alma!"
Alma appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "I told you it was a bad idea to bring those two," she nodded in agreement to her own statement. "But no one ever listens to their elders anymore."
"I can't find any of my things!" I cried out desperately, upsetting a vase.
Lucien hovered by Alma's skirts, glaring at me accusingly.
"It may be better that you stay away this time," Alma suggested.
I stared at her; "What?" I had now calmed down sufficiently to realize that I had made another mistake. Both Erik and I had both been wrong, but perhaps I had carried our argument to too great an extreme. Not even perhaps…I knew I had.
"I heard everything and I do not think it is a good idea - ."
"Alma, I'm going to find him if I have to go outside in a lace corset and stockings."
Alma quickly brought me my cloak and my boots. "You shouldn't go alone," she warned me as she watched me lace my shoes. "It's dangerous outside and late! You could catch your death!"
"I don't care if she does," Lucien put in. "I hate you and hope you die," he informed me.
I stared in shock at the boy, and Alma quickly slapped him. "Lucien! Apologize immediately!"
But I shook my head. "No, Alma. He's right." I opened the door and met the unpleasant bite of a winter night.
Alma made one last attempt to restrain me. "How will you even know where to find him? Uppsala is a big city for one girl."
I moved out of the safety of the house and into the night. I wasn't sure, but I thought I knew where I could find Erik.
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Once again the cathedral was deserted, but it was never locked. I hated the feeling of being alone in a church and I prayed that I would find Erik here, for I had begun to shiver from both a mixture of cold and fear. I almost expected an assassin to be lurking behind every column, ready to slit my throat and collect his reward.
Instead, I was rewarded when I finally caught sight of a lone figure kneeling by an alcove lit dimly with candles. I approached him slowly, extremely unsure of my welcome and not knowing if his anger had dissipated as quickly as mine had.
When I knelt beside him, he made no move to either get up or leave and so I took heart from the fact that he was willing to at least listen to me. I shyly studied his face and discovered much to my surprise that he had removed the mask and now knelt as if praying to a nameless divinity. I was not startled by the scarring on his face, but instead by the evident tear tracks that marred both his cheeks.
His eyes were open, reflecting the candlelight even as he stared straight ahead at a casket which stood at the other end of the alcove. I felt compelled to say something, although I wanted it to be anything but the problem at hand. Instead I made idle conversation, willing myself to break the silence.
"What is it?" I asked him softly, nodding at the casket.
"Bones," he returned nonchalantly. His attention did not waver from the box, although I heard how husky and broken his voice had grown.
I felt my heart twist at the sound, but I wanted him to keep talking. His silence frightened me. "Whose bones?" I asked, lamenting the cheerlessness of the topic.
"Erik's," he responded easily.
I stared at him and choked, "What?"
"Erik the Lawgiver or Erik the Saint," he told me, unfazed by my reaction. "He was a Swedish king in the twelfth century and now he's the patron saint of Stockholm."
"Oh, that Erik." I managed. "Well, that's rather nice, isn't it?" I smiled weakly.
"Erik was murdered here. Right in Uppsala when he was forty."
I looked away and tried not to let alarm seize me. "Don't say things like that."
Erik sighed, "Why does it even matter to you?"
"It just does." I knew we spoke of something else now.
"That's not good enough." He made as if to rise, but I touched his arm which stopped him from moving any further.
"Don't go," I begged softly.
Erik only looked at me helplessly. He was just as lost and confused as I was. "What would you have me do, Christine?"
"You were right," I told him. "You were right about everything. I am just a dirty whore; I do use people for my own gains and I'm just about as selfish as they come. I had absolutely no right to say any of those things to you."
"No, Christine. You were completely right about me; everything that you said was true. Perhaps it is a good thing that this happened now before we allowed ourselves to move further." Erik tried to remove my hand, but I tightened my grip.
"Stop it! That's nonsense!" I cried out.
"The fact of the matter is that I just can't function in your society, Christine. You crave the companionship of your friends; you need to be around other people to be happy. Living with me just wouldn't be enough and I could never learn to adjust to your lifestyle. You were entirely right when you said that I was a coward. I am a coward and I will never learn to live with this." Here he pointed to the misshapen half of his face and turned away from me.
"Compromise," I reminded him softly. "Every husband and wife need to make compromises to live with each other. We're not any different from other couples in that respect."
"Maybe we aren't," he agreed. "But - ."
Before he could say another word, I put my arms about him much as I had earlier that day, and began to weep noisily into his collar. "Just say that you that you forgive me! I love you! I do! I really do!" I nodded enthusiastically, "I'm a wretched and stupid girl, just like you said, and I don't deserve you, but say that you'll forgive me. Tell me that you still love me! Please, Erik? I didn't mean any of it! Oh, I didn't! I didn't!" I continued to babble, pressing kisses to every part of his face until I was sure that I had covered every inch of his skin. "Please, I didn't mean it!"
I heard him laugh softly and he rewarded me with another gentle kiss to my lips.
"Does that mean you forgive me?" I asked sniffing and knowing that I now possessed a face marred by angry red blotches. I harshly willed myself to stop crying.
"How could I not forgive you? You can say any cruel thing to me that you like, but I love you far too much to be angry with you forever."
I wailed openly and once again buried my face in his clothes. "Don't deserve you," I mumbled over and over again.
"Hush," he told me, stroking my hair. "The priest might hear you."
"I don't care," I informed him. "I don't, I don't." By the time I was calm, Erik had sacrificed several more of his handkerchiefs for me and I was blowing my noise noisily. He regarded me fondly, watching me in my unceremonious task with a smile.
"What?" I asked abruptly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at my appearance. When he continued to stare with that infuriatingly smug look on his face, I turned away and grumbled, "Where's my ring?"
He smiled replaced the object on my finger. "It feels more appropriate now in a cathedral."
I nodded, "It does." I surrendered to his embrace once more and allowed him to rock me back and forth. "Can we just spend the night here?" I inquired sleepily.
Erik was about to reply when we heard a door at the head of the church open. We both ducked into the alcove and Erik muttered, "It must be the priest."
Yawning, I giggled; "What if he finds us?"
"I'll just go and create a distraction elsewhere to ensure that he doesn't," Erik whispered. "I won't be a moment." He kissed me one last time and slithered out of the alcove more easily than a shadow might.
I had decided that the sight of the casket was definitely quite unsettling. I began to hunt for a way to arrange myself so that I would not be in sight of it, when I heard someone give a delighted exclamation.
"There you are!"
A boot planted itself in my line of vision and I followed its form up to its owner. Frowning, I stood up slowly and stared.
"Bert?"
He smirked and calmly balanced a pistol in one hand.
"Let's see, my instructions were to bring you back as a cadaver, so - ."
"No!" Erik had returned to us and Bert swiveled in his direction uncertainly. "So you're here too. Well, no matter. I seem to have the advantage in this situation."
"Advantage? I hardly think so," Erik sneered at him and was rewarded by the click of the gun.
"Quiet," Bert smiled widely. "I don't really need you; I already have the stupid chit in any case. Perhaps I'll just shoot you now." He paused and shook his head, "No, I assume it would be better if you watched the girl die."
Erik lunged at the younger man the moment he turned the pistol on me. In his confusion, Bert fumbled with the gun and the two stumbled toward me as they struggled.
I screamed even as the walls of the cathedral echoed cruelly with the sound of the gunshot. Then I felt the warm sprinkles of blood shower my face with all the softness of a gentle crimson rain.
There was silence, but I could still hear his voice.
Erik was murdered here.
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A/N: /hums