Author's notes: This turned out a page longer than I intended and the scene might yet be continued. Enter the khanum, folks! And that can only mean trouble!
starnat – three reviews! Yay! Thanks! I'm officially a year older! There are reasons for the ring… yes, thick tension. Very thick. Reasons for the dress are in this chapter.
Enrinye – Here goes the story, Z. I hope you like the khanum!
Mominator – edited and changed. Thanks for pointing that out. Typos happen.
Mina – hmm… we will see.
Sandra – two points for you. There wouldn't be a story. Anyway, Nadir only knows her name, nothing else. Nothing about Rome, clearly.
Moonjava – thanks!
X X X
Chapter XVIX X X X
There was only one thing Erik was looking forward to when it was announced that the khanum wanted to speak with him – the moment he would be allowed to leave. While certainly cunning and perhaps attractive to some men, the shah's mother was devious, obnoxious and bloodthirsty, with certain sadistic urges.
This time, he maintained a neutral expression throughout the whole ordeal, listening to her – for there was really no other word to define it, royalty or not – whining. The reason for it was obvious to him before he was within three hundred feet from the harem. She was bored. Again. Not that it surprised him very much. Every trick and amusement had only a temporary effect on her, be it fireworks or the infamous hexagonal torture chamber, the now legendary terror in the whole country.
"There haven't been any amusing victims for a while." she complained, "Maybe you should find a new way of torturing victims, Erik. Or are you too busy with that damned pile of rock and mortar again? Should I forbid you entrance there again until you find some new amusement?"
The last time she threatened that, the result was the torture chamber. It was a productive way of earning amusement, but not to be toyed with. As most of the time when the khanum tried such provocation, Erik grasped the hem of his cape with both hands, using the black fabric as a means to vent his frustration.
"Or are you busy with something else?"
Had he been given a chance to display a full reaction, as the khanum usually expected him to do in vain hopes of extracting some kind of information about… anything, really, he would have pointed out that his obvious desire was to finish his work on the palace, as he constantly had to remind her.
Erik sighed in frustration. "Madame…" If she was going to start that topic again…
Once before had the khanum suggested that she could easily arrange that he would be given a woman from the harem and then proceeded to question him about the topic. Again, without receiving answers different than usual.
"The women here aren't to your liking… but perhaps that little French girl that had arrived has caught your interest – what was her name? Chantal? Catherine?" the khanum wasn't very efficient when it came to acting out a mock-amnesia. When no reaction came from him, no disappointment showed on her face. "Ah, yes. Christine. That is her name. My son said she was rather pretty. What do you think of her, Erik? You must have seen her already, with those two quite handsome Frenchmen. Tell me what you think of her."
Still eying her with contempt, Erik remained motionless, using every bit of self-control that he had left not to repeat the procedure used to amuse her on her own throat. "I prefer not to think of women, Madame."
"My son has the taste of a camel when it comes to women." the khanum said, with clear displeasure. "But perhaps a European might have more spine than the usual scum here – I doubt all Frenchmen are like yourself, but I am interested in seeing if a woman of your kind behaves similarly." she smiled, almost too sweetly, with some undefined cruelty and addressed a slave that obediently entered at her mistress´ bidding. "Bring the mademoiselle," It was also a resident nickname for Christine. Just as the Chagnys were known by their titles, the was known like this.… and the khanum took pleasure in emphasizing the word greatly. "to the harem. Tell her that I would be honored to have a brief chat with her."
X X X
Nadir sat down on the bench near the confused-looking girl. He never truly understood who the mysterious Christine was, not since he had heard Erik whisper the name back in Russia… or at least he thought he did. Back then, there were far too many important things to worry about than some image from the past of a man more mysterious than the sphinx and equally willing to answer his questions. The only issue was getting him safely to Persia.
Now, the issue was discovering what was going on, for whatever web of mystique had been around them before had thickened considerably.
This woman had some connection to Erik, he knew that perfectly. The question remained: what connection? He excluded the possibility of the two of them being family quickly, despite the slight similarities between them, such as pale skin and dark hair. A family reunion wouldn't require avoiding each other like the plague… and a mourning dress. Broken hearts, perhaps? Well, there were factors signifying proof of that.
He decided he needed to begin asking questions now, because his theories weren't making any progress whatsoever.
"Mademoiselle, there is much I yearn to ask you, but I don't want to make a mistake that would cost far more than it's worth. Therefore I have to answer with a question of my own."
Christine nodded, unsure what to make of all this. The Persian seemed sincere and kind, but also concerned for some reason. And if he had been absent for the past week – for he clearly had no idea of her semi-aristocratic status – how come he knew her name? Erik wouldn't speak of his past, there was no way of that transpiring. He had refused years ago when she first inquired and he claimed to love her back then.
"Mademoiselle," Nadir began calmly, "do you know…" At the precise moment, the fetching girl had emerged from behind the corner, spotted Christine and began calling something. Christine and Nadir looked at her as she stopped her sprint near them, panting and then saying some more.
Nadir frowned deeply. The khanum? That never meant any good. If… oh, Allah! If the khanum would find out even half of what he knew now… he looked at Christine, who clearly had no knowledge of what the girl was saying.
"She says that the khanum wishes to speak with you."
"The khanum?" Christine repeated. Another word for her to learn. She seriously began considering learning these oriental languages, if only to pass the time.
"The shah's mother. In other words, the woman who runs this country." The Persian explained, "You must be careful, mademoiselle. She is rather devious if you make an enemy out of her and treats allies obnoxiously."
"Why on earth would she want to speak with me?"
Christine couldn't understand Nadir's concerns yet. And, since she would probably panic if she would, the daroga chose not to explain how much trouble the khanum could easily cause if for a moment she would see the slightest display of… anything, really, if his guess was correct and this chat of hers would concern what he thought it would. This young girl had no idea what number of things she could affect.
"I have a few ideas, but I cannot be sure." Each hunch returned to Erik, naturally. "Either way, you must take great care when picking your words. Reveal only what is necessary." He stood up and bowed slightly to Christine. "I shall trouble you no longer, mademoiselle."
"You still haven't told me how come you know my name, monsieur, and you said you have questions for me, though I must say I have no idea how I could help you." Christine confessed.
"Now is not the right time. If I may, I will seek you out when I am able and we can talk then." Nadir looked around for a moment. "Perhaps the palace isn't the safest place to talk. Would you accept the invitation to a friendly visit of my estate, with your fiancé, if you wish, mademoiselle? There would be far fewer untrustworthy ears listening."
With a slight frown, Christine nodded. "If it would be possible, I would be honored to come. Raoul is far too busy with state affairs to come, I'm afraid, but I shall come."
"Thank you, mademoiselle. I promise you that you shall get the answers you seek… hopefully, I shall receive some of those I need as well." Again, he bowed slightly. "Until we meet again, mademoiselle." Briskly, he walked away, hoping that even in her innocence, the girl had the wit to see past the khanum's charades.
Christine, for her part, was confused by the conversation and only vaguely noticed that the slave girl was still ushering her to the harem. Only when she entered did her train of thought break – if nothing else, the khanum's clothing definitely demanded attention. If she thought she had seen sequins and embroidery before, she was quite wrong.
"Ah, the lady arrives." The khanum noted, with an almost shark-like smile. Like her son, she also didn't speak French, but, just as Nadir had predicted, her way of detecting things was making Erik stay there and take on the role of her personal interpreter. Christine threw him a surprised glance, fortunately unnoticed by the khanum, then managed a weak smile at the other woman.
"But why the sad dress, my dear? You are soon to be a bride and not to mention that the weather is too hot for such a thick fabric and dark color." Introductions were unnecessary, really – the khanum knew her name and Christine had a good idea who she was talking to.
"My father died eleven years ago, your highness." Christine replied politely. "I can't visit his grave while here, thus I honor the memory of him at least by wearing this dress for a while."
It wasn't an outright lie – her father had indeed died eleven years ago and that was the primary reason for her outfit. It was also the reason for Raoul's attempts to comfort her, rather unsuccessfully, because combined with the recent events, she was on the verge of tears most of the time. Luckily, she had this as an excuse, as much as it shamed her. Erik, though he didn't react, unwillingly remembered what she had told him of her father and how they were happy together. It was rather egotistical of him to think that he would be the primary reason for her sadness, but he pushed away the nudge of shame easily. There wasn't time for such things now.
The khanum nodded. "That makes you very devoted to your father. I doubt there are many daughters – many children, in fact – out there that would mourn their dead parents after over a decade. You will find that in this country, religion dictates things of everyday lives perhaps even more than it does for you Christians." she smirked faintly, "Perhaps your mother gave you a too accurate name, my dear."
A bit uncertain what to make of that, Christine nodded. "I trust in her judgment, your highness."
"But enough of mourning the past. I have a decent amount of information about the customs of you Europeans. They say that even woman can find a job, if they wish it or if they need the money. Some quit after marriage… but it is interesting. What about you, mademoiselle?"
"I am a singer, milady." Christine explained, "I have studied voice since I was very young and have always wished to become a prima donna – the lead female singer of an opera house. Once I marry, however, that won't be possible."
"And can you sing well?"
"I hope so."
"Would you sing me something?" the khanum inquired, with a hint that it was meant to be more of an order, but the tone was softened to make it seem friendlier. At least that was what Erik registered in the tone. He did his best to make his translations sound indifferent and show nothing.
Contrary to how it seemed, he knew exactly what the khanum was trying to do. This wasn't about Christine in the least. This was about her own investigations, another attempt to see if he was lying or not when he claimed that he desired above all else to be able to finish his work in peace, not receive a concubine as the khanum sometimes assumed he wished. He himself was quite ignorant – much to Nadir's surprise – of the khanum´s intentions and despite everything maintained a child's essential innocence when it came to such things. The main dogma in his life was the rule that no woman would find the will to find him attractive with him remained fixed in his mind, though there were clear signals that the khanum thought otherwise.
Seeing Christine being questioned – quite rudely, her unease was obvious - by the damned woman who was the first to unleash the feeling that he was drowning in a sea of blood while in Persia wasn't at all pleasant. Nothing good would come out of that request, but he had to translate it nonetheless. For the first time, he actually looked at Christine, the pointed glance signifying that her best bet was to refuse. Politely, but refuse.
The single flaw in this plan was the fact that Christine pointedly ignored him – or tried to ignore him – for the entire length of the talking and had no knowledge of this silent advice. She remembered Nadir's words, however, and the guidance he had given her clearly implied that there was no need to make the khanum her enemy, lest she would wish to make a powerful enemy. Right now, squabbles with politicians and especially a woman like this one were the last thing she needed.
She didn't even answer, not with speech, at least. When she opened her mouth, she immediately began singing.
O zittre nicht, mein lieber Sohn!
Du bist unschuldig, weise, fromm;
Ein Jüngling so wie du vermag am besten,
Dies tiefbetrübte Mutterherz zu trösten.
Zum Leiden bin ich auserkoren,
Denn meine Tochter fehlet mir;
Durch sie ging all mein Glück verloren,
Ein Bösewicht entfloh mit ihr.
Noch seh' ich ihr Zittern
Mit bangem Erschüttern,
Ihr ängstliches Beben,
Ihr schüchternes Streben.
Ich musste sie mir rauben sehen,
Ach helft! ach helft! war alles, was sie sprach.
Allein vergebens war ihr Flehen,
Denn meine Hilfe war zu schwach.
Du, du, du wirst sie zu befreien gehen,
Du wirst der Tochter Retter sein.
Und werd' ich dich als Sieger sehen,
So sei sie dann auf ewig dein.
As far as languages were concerned, German wasn't part of her arsenal, not fully, anyway, but she knew what she was singing about. Mozart wasn't one of those authors whose work you could simply forget after performing it, no matter how exhausted you might be afterwards. This was one of the hardest roles she had ever sung, the hardest, most probably but it was simply too beautiful to forget.
From the moment she began singing the first line, all of Erik's attention was now fully fixed on her. She had a lot of courage to simply start singing Die Zauberflöte with no warm-up and take on the hardest part. But from what he heard, he saw that this wasn't her first attempt at singing it. There were moments when she could have done better as far as pitch was concerned, where she seemed to be running out of air too fast or where she wasn't standing straight and it showed on her voice. Overall, however, it was probably the best attempt at singing the part he had heard. With a voice like hers (a voice that clearly remembered the training from long ago, despite the conservatoire's attempt to ruin it) there wasn't a chance for her to sing worse than a siren would.
The khanum was paying attention to both the singing and the atmosphere. She didn't care much for theater – not that culture hadn't been interesting in her youth, but she had long grown tired of the repeated amusement and yearned for more entertaining things. The girl wasn't bad, she had to admit and it wasn't the worst song she had heard, even if she didn't understand a thing. Her intention was a bit of torment and a bit of investigation. Fruitless, it seemed. Well, at least she had gotten her share of amusement for the afternoon.
"What opera was that from?" the khanum inquired afterwards.
"Mozart, Die Zauberflöte, fourth scene, the first aria of the Queen of the Night, Madame." Erik replied without translating, looking at one of the expensive carpets in front of him. Pitiful, really, that he had far better furniture than royalty in his apartment.
"Ah, I believe I have heard of that once or twice." the khanum noted, then returned her attention to Christine. "You sing well, my dear, your teacher must be proud of you."
Why don't you ask him yourself? Christine wanted to say, but restrained herself from both that and glancing anywhere near Erik's direction. The rest of the conversation wasn't that eventful, it held more of a forced politeness than before. Even the air outside seemed to be freezing after she was finally allowed to leave.