A/N: I don't know if I've any readers left. It's my own fault for letting this story sit untouched on my hard-drive for so long. There's something about endings that I can't seem to grasp — like letting go of a friend you've known for ages. This isn't the end … yet. Thanks for reading!

Erik 1853: Part IV

No matter how hard I worked or how much opium I used, I could not get her voice out of my head. It told me secrets I dared not give breath and wrapped around my thoughts with a soft intrusive touch. When I had finally convinced my mind to forget her — I received the first of a series of notes.

They all met the same fate and into the burning light of a candle they went completely unread. After that first week I had a veritable flock of the shah's private pigeons in various states of repair in my rooms because of her notes. The shah would inevitably trace them all to my doors and then I would have to face his tiresome questioning.

My days were spent working and reworking the inner sanctuary of the Garden of Echoes. My nights were filled with nightmares and a taunting parade of Esmée's slips of paper. The two conspired to send me into the depths of madness. Something which I had staved off all these years out of necessity. The only place I found solstice was in my compositions. Music held me between insanity and peace. Music was my one true mistress.

Another day had passed and I retreated to a world of sound and smoke. The night passed slowly. The hallucinogenic worked lovingly. Nothing could ruin this moment. This perfect peace.

Then someone knocked softly on my door. I would ignore them. The lights burned low and if I made no sound maybe they would go away. Settling down into the cushions I inhaled deeply. Another knock. And another.

I rose, unsteadily, to my feet and made my way slowly to the door. When I opened it at last I found Esmée standing there without one of her veils. She held a large goblet in her hands. Her eyes were sleepy and there was the aroma of wine on her breath. She swayed a little. So did I.

'My mistress wishes you long health,' she said and tipped the contents of the jewelled cup into her mouth. She swallowed greedily and dropped the chalice at my feet. 'May your feet find the right path when you seek it.'

She went to bow low but found herself completely inebriated. Her head fell against my chest and I carefully gathered her up. Sleep had taken her when it denied me this very pleasure. I held her in my arms and watched her chest rise and fall with her deep breathing. No one would know if I had my way with her here. She wouldn't remember. But, I couldn't do it. I couldn't force myself — even on someone I despised.

So I carried her to my bed. Once there I laid her down and drew a thin sheet over her body. Longing to do more than touch her, I let my fingers stroke her luxurious hair. It felt soft to the touch and emanated the sweet smell of jasmine.

Knowing she wouldn't fight me, I pushed myself up from the bed. My mother, whatever else she had done, had raised me as a gentleman. I would never hurt her. Ever. No matter what I'd envisioned.

I left the room as quickly as I could without disturbing her. Stupidly, the door to my rooms stood wide open. Anyone could have entered. Quietly, I disciplined myself and retrieved the beautiful cup from the floor. The wine was gone but it had left a strange resin at the base. Tipping my smallest finger into the substance, I brought it to what remained of my nose. The mask impeded any action and I flung it from my face.

The oily substance smelled of wine. The wine had masked its true intent. Esmée could be heard in the other room breathing. Deep breaths. But the odd film on my finger worried me. Without second thoughts, I stuck out the very tip of my tongue and tasted the odd liquid. At once I detected the poison.

Not a moment could be wasted in making the antidote. Esmée's stomach would be well worn with the acids and tannins of the wine that came before. No doubt the poison had been meant for me. Why else would she bring a cup to my door after the events of the past fortnight and drink to my health on behalf of the khanum? Was she protecting me? Did she care for me in some small way that she was willing to die for me?

There wasn't time to answer moronic questions — though I knew that all the bitterness and despair between us had melted like ice in the hot Persian sun. I mixed ingredient after ingredient and waited for the potion to boil. Then it cooled. The time flew by and I grew more and more afraid that she'd be dead when I brought the vial to her. When I finally had prepared the drought, I returned to my room. Esmée's face lay delicately on the back of her hand. She didn't look like she was dying.

Distracted, I moved to touch her face. She moaned. Her face twisted into a mock grimace. I didn't hesitate for a second when I climbed up beside her and cradled her head in my arm. The vial's contents were poured down her throat and I waited.

And waited.

The sun had neared its halfway point in the sky for the third day before she finally opened her eyes. I had barely left her side. Her head again lay cradled in my arm and her body rested neatly against my own. She didn't flinch away.

'Am I dead?'

'You probably should be,' I admitted. She jumped at the sound of my voice. 'It would be wise not to drink anything the khanum's prepared for me in the future.'

It was hard to continue then. 'Why?'

'Why,' she repeated.

'Why did you drink that cup of wine?' I elaborated. 'Didn't you know it had been poisoned?'

She stayed quiet in my arms. Then she sighed. 'Yes, I knew it had been poisoned.' The admission was like a slap to the face. 'I didn't want her to win, but I didn't want you to die believing that I'd killed you. I suppose I owe you my life now for saving me last … how long has it been?'

'Three days.'

'Thank you for saving my wretched existence. We'll both be killed and none of it will have mattered.'

What could I say to that?

'But, you saved me from certain death first. It was honourable-'

'And stupid,' she cut in. She tilted her head back. I could see deep into her pupils and wondered what thoughts were trapped there. 'Yes, I saved you so you could be killed in a different way. Brava for me.'

One last afternoon for recovery. One last chance to tell her that I might trust her. I couldn't even do that. Instead, I watched as she left without glancing back. Her body was so thin now that she resembled a living skeleton. She had become me, in some sick twisted game orchestrated by the khanum.

I would have my revenge!

First, I needed to finish her son's palace. Perhaps I would fit a trap so that one day when the khanum suspected nothing, a stone would slide away and she would fall to her death. Erik's last murder in an Arab state, for I knew I'd have to escape this place of morbid games and find release in more civilised countries.

o . O . o

After a particularly brutal day working a trap door (one neither the khanum nor the shah had commissioned), I came back to my apartments on the brink of exhaustion. Morning would soon light her way into my eyes and I would long to hide beneath the sheets of my bed. I knew it to be so as I stood near a window and watched the sky.

Every part of me ached but my mind. It raced and raced and refused to allow me respite. I heard music, soft and sweet, playing in the back of my unconscious. It was a tune I wanted to work on because releasing it into my conscious mind would allow me to sleep at last. Reaching for the violin, I stood straight and tall, feet shoulder's width apart, and brought the bow across the strings.

An unnatural sound issued from the vibrations. Something was wrong. Plucking the strings, I noticed the same almost muted quality to the sound. This violin had been tampered with and when I found out who did it, I would quickly kill them. I was in no mood for petty jokes.

But when I brought the instrument from my chin, I heard something slide along the wood. Ah, no one had broken it. Relieved, I flipped the violin upside down and gently shook it in both hands. Folded sheets of paper fell to the floor with an enticing susurrus of sound.

Esmée.

She had roused my curiosity at last. Or was her persistence just another trait I admired in a girl I both loved and hated?

Thoughts with the same strong sentiments flitted inside my skull. They dared me to pick up the pieces of paper and see what the girl wanted. I would not be tempted by the idle whims of a palace slave. She had no power over me. I only wished to touch what she had so carefully demanded that I find.

She had enough power to make me bend down and gather the scraps into my hand. … I wouldn't read them. I'd put them in the fire of a candle and have done with it. Like a sign from some awesome power I never believed in, none of my candles burned. I went looking for matches and came back with only the two notes in my hand. The world was playing me for a fool and I complied.

I unrolled each piece of parchment and attempted to fold and twist them so they lay flat. The writing was unmistakably in Esmée's hand. How was she entering my rooms during the day while I was gone? The last time she graced my presence she was two steps from dying.

Besides, there were certain traps and signs I used every morning and every night I'd come home to find them still in place. She couldn't be more intelligent than I was and I'd never shown her the secret springs and latches to disengage them. The thought pushed me forward to read what had been meant for me. Finally, something meant for me. Was it good or not? On the first was written:

Often talked of; never seen.

Ever coming; never been.

Daily looked for; never here.

Swift approaching; coming near.

Thousands for its visit wait;

but alas for their fate.

Tho' they expect me to appear;

They will never find me here.

More riddles. And of all nights, I find them when I've worked my body to the point of breaking. Thankfully, the second was far more simple:

Some try to hide, some try to cheat,

But time will show, we always will meet.

Try as you might, to guess my name.

I promise you'll know, when you I do claim.

I knew the answer to this one before I finished the second line. Death. Did that mean she wished to take my life in exchange for the one she'd given me? It didn't make sense. It felt like betrayal and some small part of me knew that I deserved it. It was my heart that betrayed me.

I tore each paper into a thousand fine shreds. Meticulously, I placed them into a water glass and watched as the liquid turned the fibres into a kind of papier-mâché. At last, everything in my head was quiet. Ready for the release only sleep can bring, I retired beneath my sheets and waited for my dreams to carry me where they would.

Dreams have a funny way of working things out. I felt that when I finally left Tehran I would make a study of dreams. My dreams. Others dreams. I had already grown accustomed to being the source of children's nightmares. Why not study them further.

I didn't have a chance to follow this new idea when someone sharply knocked on my door. Sleep would have to wait. Again. I had already pushed myself through two days of unending modifications at the shah's request. If building this blasted palace didn't kill me, then I might kill him.

The knocking grew more insistent. They could wait a moment longer while I wrapped my nakedness with a silken robe.

When I finally shuffled over to the door I was surprised, and relieved, to see Nadir standing in the doorway. His hand was still posed near the door for another burst of tap tap tappings.

'Nadir,' I said, almost smiling, 'to what do I owe this early morning visit?'

He was nervous. Rarely had I seen him so shaken, but then I noticed the large eunuch standing behind him with a thick coil of rope hanging from his shoulder. Tomorrow. The first riddle had meant tomorrow. The second: death. My death. Esmée had tried to warn me and I had been too proud, too stupid to acknowledge what she had desperately tried to say. Only then did I wish I'd never put any of her messages to the candle's test. They'd failed. I failed. I'd be dead before midday.

'You're under arrest, Erik.'

Nadir didn't need to say anything at all. The look that reflected from his eyes was sign enough. I could still plan my escape. Death would not hold me here.

'Allow me to dress, daroga,' I spoke casually. 'You've just found me about to bathe.'

He entered but with a slight gesture commanded that the other man stay outside. 'Erik, I've come to take you to the shah. He's going to try you for treason and put out your eyes. Then the lady is going to … you'll never survive what she has planned for you.'

I knew this day had been coming. Knew and ignored everyone who had tried to help me. A wild animal is more dangerous when it is cornered than when it is roaming free on the open fields. Nadir was aware of this as he kept his distance; I could feel his eyes on me while I paced.

Suddenly, a plan came to mind. I pressed the spring on the wall of my inner room and collected the jewels — some stolen and some earned — and cash that were hidden there. Everything was tucked neatly into a casket and placed in Nadir's hands. When I went to follow him he looked at me with such pity it broke my heart to see him.

'I have to bind your wrists, Erik,' he said it all quickly, staring at the floor. 'They'll never allow me to take you into the palace while you're able to use a weapon. Please, allow me to do this and I will set you free.'

I heard little after he stated he wanted to tie me up like an animal. The anger blinded me against everything the man had done for me in the past. There were still options. Regretfully, Nadir might become a casualty in my attempt at escape.

'I won't tie them tightly,' he whispered. 'I promise. Erik?'

Some of the rage left me then. Nadir was a good man. He only did what he was told and now it would cost him his life. If he bound my wrists too constricting, I would kill him. If he allowed me to escape, they would kill him. It was more than pity that quelled the blackness I had conjured against him.

There in his eyes I saw this dilemma. He looked away from me, but I answered sharply, 'Bind me. Do what you must. I owe you nothing. You saved my life before and I saved you from seeing your son suffer. Now you will take what's yours. This is the way of things.'

Holding out my arms, I watched as he pulled a length of cord to wrap around them. He flinched when he touched the white scars that adorned my wrists. 'A gift from my mother,' I spat. The fire returning in my breast.

'I'm sorry.' He didn't need to say it and that's what I had grown to love about him. Then he shouted into the hall, 'I will lead the prisoner back to the palace. Please ride ahead and notify them that we are coming.'

The dull beat of large feet echoed down the marble floors. Nadir refused to look back at me and I refused to say anything more. There was a dagger strapped to my leg and the lasso inside my cloak. I didn't want to hurt him, but I'd do just enough damage to be believable while still allowing for my escape.

He led me down one corridor and along another. Mostly I kept a firm watch on my feet. I knew these halls by heart and didn't need to watch where we were going. The smell of jasmine and sandalwood floated on the air. I knew that combination of scents. I sensed Esmée before I saw her.

Hidden behind a large obsidian column she waited for us to pass. The light patter of her feet followed but I dared not look behind me. She would have a plan — an escape route — or some other way to try and save me.

I didn't need to be saved. I could do it on my own.

Every time I tried to think of a plan it was washed from my mind like so much sand. I deserved to die. In the eyes of my boyhood faith, I was a condemned man.

The decision was made and no one would sway me from it. I followed Nadir out into the garish light of day and steeled myself to accept whatever was to be my fate.