Author's notes: Overwhelming reviews, all of them! I decided to give you a treat and write a new chapter quickly. Beware the evil cliffhanger, however, and I don't think that the next chapter will be up tomorrow… you will have to wait.
Deadly Serenade – soon enough for you? There will be phluff, I guess, but not that soon… but I consider any non-EC ending blasphemy, so don't worry. ;)
Mina – well, I can't just have him steal her away at once, but I promise there will be more good moments between the two of them. Best fanfiction on the web? Master? Thanks ;) Much appreciated. But with a muse like Erik, can you expect any less?
MelodysSong – wow, long review. Alright, thanks very much for the praise, it made my day. Now, for the criticism. I reread the chapters and decided you were right. We needed to get back on track. This chapter moves faster than the three before it, more things happen, so I hope you like it. Your answers to the criticism questions are here – thanks for asking. As for the future, well, I am planning to bring them back to France… but I cannot say what happens then. All I can say is: read and review.
Mominator – too much phluff makes Erik seem like a sap… and he is ANYTHING but a sap. Yes, I had fun, but I didn't get to writing new chapters, as I had been planning to do. Here you go, hope you like it!
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Chapter XXIX X X X
The next few days passed rather quietly for everyone – with the exception of Nadir Khan, who had to endure something quite close to a shouting match as soon as he returned to the royal palace. The point of it was: he was to stop sticking his nose where it didn't belong the least. That, at least, assured the Persian that his hunch was correct, but he no longer made any attempts to pry things out from anyone… for the time being, naturally. It was only a matter of time until something would happen.
Christine soon received a note telling her the time and place of a meeting. Miraculously, it seemed that one: the singing lessons were to resume and two: they resumed right where they ended years ago. Only two things had changed – a professional indifference regime, even stricter than the one before, had been established, and they had to find a less suspicious and attention-attracting means of communication than sudden disappearances and random meetings.
After two minutes of listening to an aria from Il Muto – the last work Christine had performed before her departure from Paris and thus knew it best – Erik had created a thorough analysis of her strengths and weaknesses, range and technique, and managed to wish each conservatoire teacher an eternity in the deepest pits of hell. When it came down to helping Reza, her voice was the best tool they could work with and so far, it didn't meet the standard he had set. The idea he had in mind at first was to create another gypsy figure to accompany the violinist, but that would require too much effort. The first figure was designed not to repeat musical phrases, so finding something suitable would be too difficult. It wouldn't meet the standards of the first. Simply unacceptable.
"Stop." The command had been repeated for what seemed to be the millionth time, and Christine had gotten another complete list of her flaws in the two phrases she had managed to sing. Some things never change, she thought, barely avoiding a sigh. The critical part of these meetings were two people: Raoul and the khanum. Avoiding them both at the same time seemed almost impossible, and it was crucial that neither became suspicious.
The khanum, who never missed anything in the palace (part of the reason everyone feared her) had decided to invite Raoul, since his brother was far too busy, to join her in the harem for a meal. Partly because she wanted to know more about how things were going and how the world functioned in Europe, but mostly because she had decided that the young Vicomte wasn't at all bad looking.
It was the perfect opportunity to make an excuse and run off, so Christine did so. After all, she wasn't invited, and the warnings that the khanum was a dangerous enemy to make that Nadir had given her were far away in her mind. And why would the khanum be interested in her absence? Erik had already explained the purpose of her last visit, thus she felt no need to be worried this time.
Unfortunately, naivety was something they couldn't afford right now. Circumstances for secret meetings were never perfect.
"And what of your lady, Vicomte?" the khanum asked in the middle of their conversation. Raoul had already complimented the food and various other things, they had discussed those things, their countries, their relatives. It was the perfect time to delve into love life, the khanum decided. "I would have assumed that she wouldn't let her fiancé out of her sight for a minute, when he is to meet another woman, especially one such as yourself."
The Vicomte explained that Christine wasn't used to formalities that much yet, politely ignoring the flattery. "She had a more… free life, if you will, up till now, Madame. But I wish I could see her more often. These days, we barely talk – I have my duties and she always seems to be in a hurry."
Underneath the thick veils, the khanum raised her eyebrows. "No woman is ever too busy to ignore her man, my friend. Why must she always make haste?"
Truth to be told, Raoul had been wondering that as well. Whenever he asked, he got a swift, temporarily satisfying response and then she was off and gone for hours. "To be honest, Madame, she has seemed a bit odd ever since we came here, almost afraid. Now she seems nervous, like… really, this is absurd, but it seems like she is hiding something from me. I thought she was scared of the new environment, but she handled the journey and the opening night so well… in fact, it all began the next day." The Vicomte waved the thought off and shook his head. "Apologies, Madame, I am boring you."
"Not at all." The khanum noted with a smile. From what she had seen of the girl, she remembered mostly parts of the melody she had been singing and that Erik had only glanced at her once. Back then, it was entertainment only. Now, however, it seemed odd. When she thought about it, the girl also acted as if he were part of the wall – true, she had no idea why everyone feared him so, but nevertheless, it was… odd.
The khanum was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. vocal talent. Same country. Similar taste in music. Unnatural ignorance of each other. Those could be counted as coincidences, but… the Vicomte could yet serve a purpose grander than being nice to look at.
"Do tell me what happened that day. Together we might be able to figure something out." And Raoul did, from the moment he picked Christine up in the morning, until her hasty retreat that had been foiled by an untimely suggestion. One such escape was tolerable, naturally, but a series of coincidences was too suspicious to ignore. When it came to uncovering affairs, the khanum was extremely skilled.
Only several minutes after the Vicomte left, one of the quieter slave girls snuck away to search the palace for Christine. She was very young – a child, almost – and she had to search for very long until discovering anything that could be even remotely classified as music. Deep down bellow, in the old, unused dungeons of the summer palace, aggressive music echoed. Strangely enough, it sounded like many instruments, but that was plainly due to its perfection.
A youthful female voice was singing loudly in a funny language. The slave girl knew she had hit the jackpot. She didn't dare sneak nearer, however. The proof she got was enough, for a minute later, a more familiar voice interrupted, though it sounded somewhat angry, to her ears, even though she didn't understand any of the words.
"Wrong again. there is no feeling in your voice! Remember who your character is and feel what they feel! Put emotion into the song, otherwise you will never get better."
Without objection, the voice resumed the song, with an energy it didn't have before. The slave girl listened for a moment, but then chose to sneak away quietly. She knew what that man was capable of and truthfully, envied the woman's courage for being bold enough to stay in a dark room with him alone, several stories underneath the ground. Her life was worth more to her than the khanum´s praise.
Christine finished the song, this time, exhausted, but convinced that she had done the best she could, for the time being.
"Better." Erik noted with a nod of approval when she caught her breath. Honestly, he had no idea why he was pushing her so far when there was no need for it and the only audience she would have was going to be a child who knew about as much about opera as he knew of being loved. And that really wasn't much at all. But it was thrilling to guide her voice again, to listen to her sing and see her reach new heights each time. Those were the happy moments of pretense that the outside world didn't really exist.
Christine had by now decided that it would be a good idea to tell him the truth, once they would have the time. It wasn't an outward lie they had created – they just gave everyone the wrong impression. Or, at least, she did. Since her arrival in the company of two unmarried men would seem awkward, Raoul suggested pretending their engagement. Christine, while uncomfortable with it, since her love for her childhood sweetheart had long since turned platonic, agreed.
It seemed to be the perfect bluff that would excuse her presence and give her the freedom of movement neither of the two men would have.
Her reluctance to tell Erik came from two things: her lack of trust and her confusion. When they met after all the years of separation, she didn't know whether she could still confide such things in him, especially since he had so much influence with the shah. It could jeopardize the French efforts entirely and she wasn't entirely sure what he would do.
The confusion came from his odd behavior. She had considered them friends, once, and her crush as a foolish girl's whim. In short, the idea that Luciana had perhaps had a right to be jealous of her was alien to her. Therefore she didn't understand the reason he treated her so coolly… then again, it was the way he seemed to treat everyone, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt her slightly.
"Have you chosen an appropriate aria yet?" she asked neutrally, tiredly.
"No. perfection would require writing an aria for your song specifically."
"Why not write your own opera, if perfection is what you seek?" Christine suggested, too tired to truly joke. "Don't exhaust yourself on my account. You have enough on your shoulders without writing music."
But the idea actually seemed to have attracted his attention to the point that he hesitated while returning the violin to its case. It was Christine's, or rather, she was its keeper. Gustave Daaé´s violin was her most prized possession, though it resembled more of a memory than a musical instrument.
While brilliant when it came to the vocals, Christine had never learned to play any musical instrument to perfection. The best she could do was play the piano, but her skill wasn't that well crafted. She mainly played when she needed to learn a new song and had some trouble imagining the melody. The violin, her prized heirloom, remained untouched for a long time. She never attempted to play it, fearing that she would ruin it somehow and feeling that it would be a disgrace for a novice to play such a wonderful instrument. But hearing its sound again was pleasing, especially when the person playing would easily give even her father a run for his money.
"And what should it be about?" Erik asked, securing the instrument in its case and returning his full attention to her, "Have you thought of a plot as well."
Christine thought for a moment. Lately, they had been mostly discussing Mozart, since she had been singing the aria from Die Zauberflöte that had intrigued the khanum so, so her thoughts had returned to that author immediately. The bold idea really came from the blue.
"Don Giovanni."
Erik almost winced. Don Juan himself could not have drawn more skirts in one afternoon. That memory brought back a wave of disgust and rage. And she had chosen an Italian version. Juan… John… Jean… Giovanni. Variations of the same name, indeed. But he forced into his mind that Christine hadn't realized what memories she had brought back. It was true. She didn't mean to enrage him.
"Jesting, mademoiselle?" he asked, ironically, "The Vicomte doesn't mind your sarcasm?"
"It was no jest… and no insult, either."
"Have you forgotten the minor detail..." He waved a gloved hand in the general direction of his face, as if that explained everything. For most people who had seen his face, it usually did.
But Christine wasn't like most people. She decided to take her chances this time and boldly walked up to him, removing the mask as gently as she could. To his own surprise, he let her. The unhealthy obsession with her gave her too much power over him and even his own logic couldn't stop him from cherishing the moment she ran a hand down his marred cheek, showing pity despite her attempt not to.
"No, I have not. But even you had to be given a flaw by God – otherwise you would have been his mirror image." She smiled, lowering her hand. "I stand by my choice."
For a minute, they stood like that, before Erik grimaced slightly and retrieved the mask. Christine jumped slightly at the faintest physical contact, unprepared for it this time, and not at all because of the chilling cold that reached her.
"I would have to cast the Vicomte, then. It must be nice not to have people run away at the very sight of your face – any chance of me fitting the part is therefore zero. And if you are to be the leading soprano…"
"…then the fact that Raoul, who cannot sing to save his life, would ruin the cast." Christine finished, almost smiling again when she saw a hint of laughter in his eyes.
"Ah, so your fiancé is perfect only in appearance?"
Christine drew a breath. No matter what would happen, she had to do it. She hated the ironic tone… and she would start screaming out loud if she would have to lie for one more moment.
"Raoul and I are not engaged."
Had the slave girl brought the khanum this news, it would have been far more crashing for the French efforts and the khanum would have paid a fortune to hear it, see Christine brace herself for any incoming reaction, and a pair of golden eyes that froze for a moment, then widened questionably, with a wide palette of emotions.
Silence was something the Swedish girl wasn't prepared for.