Chapter 19: The Persian Palace

The main road to the palace was lined with curious observers and local residents. All of them watched in awe and confusion as the wagons rolled in through the city. They were all finely dressed, pointing and gasping at the caravan and its prisoners. The women, Ignacio, and Reiner huddled towards the center of the cage, their heads down in shame. They were paraded around as prisoners of war, trapped like exotic animals for display. Never had they felt so humiliated.

Darius had requested that they take down the underclothing cover they had made, an order that seemed to have come from someone above him as his cheeks were crimson during the confrontation. By now, their bustles were tattered, torn, and sun bleached, clearly not suitable to wear again. Christine rather enjoyed the freedom that came with less restrictive clothing despite how improper it was. Clearly everyone else felt the same as none of them argued when Matilda and Madame Giry untied them and gave them to the embarrassed Persian. However, had they known they would be parade through the city, they would have fought a little harder to keep them. Christine wrapped her arms around her knees, holding herself as tightly as she could. Just like the rest of the crew, she too kept her eyes downcast as the crowds grew around them.

A single flower fell through the bars. Christine and Meg looked up as it landed in between them. An older woman had thrown in the flower. She looked towards the young women and bowed. Both of the ballerinas were puzzled. Then, another woman threw in a flower and bowed. Soon, women from all directions were repeating this strange act.

"What is this?" Carlotta asked as she picked up a white flower that was thrown into the cage.

"Maybe they sympathise with us? They could be praying?" Sophia wondered.

Christine snuggled closer to her knees and ignored their hushed speculations. She had been numb to the rest of their journey and didn't care for the reason of this strange act.

The Angel of Death is our very own Phantom of the Opera.

She gripped her arms tighter as Reiner's words rang through her mind. It all made sense. He knew her name because he knew exactly who she was. He had been watching her and her friends for years from the shadows of the opera. All the tricks, all the lies and deception they had endured were cast by a man, not a ghost. Worse yet, the man they had feared was now their only chance at survival. Even the details on his past now seemed to flow. He was the Phantom, giving him plenty of experience with music and Opera. He was pale because he was french. He knew french because he was most likely born there too. The Phantom had been unusually silent for the past couple of years at the Populaire, most likely because he had left to become an assassin in Persia.

But that was not what bothered her. There was a realization she did not want to admit. A part of her refused to even consider it, but it haunted her nonetheless.

What if the phantom of the opera is my angel of music? What if he is my angel of music?

No! It could not be. Her angel was kind and nurturing, the Phantom was cruel. Her fingers trembled against her knees as she forced herself to be reasonable. Yes, this man could be the Phantom. He was rageful, dangerous, and knowledgeable in opera and music. But her angel was nothing like him.

She gulped. A voice in the back of her head reminded her that this wasn't exactly true. He wrapped her bandages and saved her and her friends from those brutish soldiers. Despite the long travel, he had stopped to allow them to rehearse. In fact, he stopped the entire caravan to ensure they stood a fighting chance against the Shah. His critiques were superlative and mirrored the Shah's taste, increasing their chance at survival. Even when she was terrified of him, she saw the conflict in his eyes. He would snap and turn into this ferocious beast. Then, his tone would soften and he would be so gentle with her. This convulsing personality change could easily explain how he could be both men. She scoffed. How easy it was for them to rehearse together. It was like slipping on an old glove. Her angel's voice had only begun to reappear when he found them in Persia. It made sense.

But she pushed it away. No. Her angel was real, not a man. The Phantom is the Angel of Death, but nothing more. She bit back her tears and tried to focus on anything else. Her entire childhood could not have been a lie.

"Look." Matilda gasped. Before them was a white barricade. It was the palace walls; a towering beauty of smooth, white stone and a large metal archway that opened for the caravan. Its majesty did nothing for her raging nerves.

They had arrived at the Palace.

The caravan passed through the opulent gates and the crew gaped at the sight of the gardens. They were beautiful, decorated with fountains and colourful trees. There were some plants Christine had never seen before. But no matter the beauty around her, she could not fight the sickening feeling that rose in her chest. She felt Meg's trembling fingers grip her hand. They didn't have to say anything to know what they were feeling.

The wagons moved past the main entrance to the back of the palace. Here, a group of guards waited for them. They stood in the same clothes as the soldiers that had travelled with them.

Madame Giry turned to the others. "Stay together, stay silent. Compliance may be our only chance."

Christine nodded. They sat in silence as the soldiers unpacked boxes and supplies from the other wagons. Christine's eyes flickered from soldier to soldier, waiting for one of them to walk towards their cage, but none came.

Carlotta gasped, causing all the women to turn. The men were brought forward, their hands bound in front of them. Their eyes were covered by pieces of cloth and they stumbled forward blindly in a long line. Despite the unsettling blindfold, Christine was glad to see that they seemed to be in better shape than the previous nights. They needed this rest to perform.

The back of the cage door rattled open. Nadir stood at the entrance with a handful of guards behind him.

"For security reasons, you must be blindfolded while walking through the palace. Your compliance would be wise."

Ignacio growled under his breath. "Wise for whom?"

One by one, the group slowly exited the cage. Reiner and Ignacio exited first, their wrists quickly bound and their eyes covered. Christine anxiously moved towards the door behind Matilda. She watched as her friends were lined up in a new line, all blindfolded and holding onto the person in front of them. Like prisoners they were going to be lead through the palace of their enemy. Jammes quivered next to her.

"Christine. I'm frightened." She whispered. Christine stared at the trembling ballerina. Her eyes were red and wide, though locked on the soldiers in front of her. Christine felt the exact same way. In fact, it took everything she had not to burst into hysteric tears. Yet seeing her friend in need stirred something deep within her. Gently, she placed a hand over hers.

"Me too." She replied. "But we will do this together. I will go first, okay?"

When Christine used to tell her father she was frightened, he would be a source of security, seemingly calm before the storm. Sometimes that was all she needed to succeed. Jammes nodded gratefully, her trembling hands calming for a few moments. Christine slowly exited the cage, ignoring the flips of her stomach as she stood She stared towards Nadir, who gave her a slight nod. Before she could speak, her vision was clouded by a thick cloth and her hands tied in front of her. A soldier pulled her forwards and roughly and she stumbled to remain upright.

The disorientation mixed with dread broke all sense of determination and strength within her. She kept her lips sealed to hold in her stomach's contents as well as her cries. Jammes didn't need to hear her cry, otherwise she too would falter.

Would he hear her cry?

Christine shook her head to clear all thoughts of the phantom from her mind. He was the least of her concerns at the moment. Wherever he was, he wasn't going to save her now. She was already in the lion's den.

Her hands were placed on someone else's shoulders. Based on the dress material and the loose strands of hair that tickled the back of her hand, she presumed it was Matilda. Christine waited here for a while, waiting for Jammes to touch her shoulder and make a line, but she felt no one.

Suddenly, Matilda stepper forward. Christine stumbled to keep up, but lost her grip instantly. She whimpered slightly, blindly reaching around for anyone else to hold on to. Her throat tightened. Would she have to call for help? Would the soldiers be angry? Her legs trembled and she struggled to stay upright. She reached around blindly, trying to find Matilda again, but felt no one.

Before she could muster the courage to speak, a gloved hand cupped underneath her own. Its owner gently pulled her forward, their fingers gently caressing her palm and fingers. Her saviour wordlessly led her, stopping before a set of steps that Christine could feel with her feet. Once she reached the top, her hand was placed back on Matilda's shoulder. She gripped it tightly.

"Thank you." Christine muttered to her unknown guide. There was no response. Christine chided herself. It was probably a soldier that didn't speak french, why would he respond?

But did the soldier's wear gloves?

Matilda stepped forward again. This time Christine gripped onto the little cloth of her shoulder and moved with her. The palace air was cool and refreshing, though her breathing was too rapid to enjoy its scented aroma. Her shoes clicked against the flooring and it was the only noise that silenced her rapidly beating heart. Were they on their way to see the Shah now? Was this the moment she had been dreading?

Soon the air grew colder. Christine trembled as the group began to walk down a series of stairs. It was as if the atmosphere around her changed to something ominous. The smell of spices changed to something sour and rancid. She wrinkled her nose and gripped onto Matilda tighter.

A haunting creak caused her to jump. She heard a small yelp from someone in front of her. She waited for a few moments, doing her best to breathe through her mouth than her nose. Wherever they were, the smell was sickening. A rough set of hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her forward. Her blind fold was removed and Christine stumbled forward into the arms of La Sorelli.

It was the slam of the metal door behind her that caused her heart to sink. It only took a moment for Christine to realize where they were. The stone walls around her were dark and cold, decorated with hooks and chains for its prisoners. The smell of decaying flesh and human waste reached her nose quickly. She clenched her mouth shut to hold in her little stomach contents. The flickering torch light was the only thing that saved them from the darkness of their new cage.

They were in a dungeon.

"Tomorrow evening, you will perform for the Shah of Persia." Nadir stated calmly. He was the only soldier that had stayed behind, seemingly unaware of the stench of the prison. He stood inbetween the two cells in a narrow hallways. On the other side of him, Christine could see all of the men in their own cell. "Rest tonight, practice if you must. I will do my best to ensure you are fed and taken care of."

Quickly he turned and walked away from the group. Madame Giry ran to the bars.

"Nadir! Nadir, wait! Let us out of here!"

But Nadir was gone.

Christine ignored Madame Giry's grumblings as she huddled closer to her three friends. Thee four of them were ostracized in the back corner of the cell. Jammes gripped onto Christine's arms, hushed cries barely escaping her thin lips. La Sorelli hugged the other side of her and Meg closed the circle by holding onto her two friends hands. Christine focused on her breathing, holding onto the small sense of security her friends gave her. As the adults discussed their predicament, the four young women held each other. Though she was surrounded by friends, Christine had never felt so hollow.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Reiner walked to the front of the cell, his hands gripping the bars. "Did you see where they took the managers? They did not ride with the others, so they must have been with the Phantom?"

The mere mention of his name made her want to cry. She huddled closer to Meg, who gripped her hand tighter.

Madame Giry sighed, pressing her forehead against the cold barrier. "Wherever they are, I am sure I would rather be here than with them."

Madame Giry called for their attention. "I know we are tired, but we should rehearse. Then we can eat and rest."

"Yes." Reiner agreed. "Christine, Carlotta, come near the bars and we can rehearse. Sophia, you can play your flute along with us."

"What are we to do?" Bastian grumbled.

Reiner paused. Madame Giry spoke. "I am not sure if it would be wise to give you a part or to explain that you're stagehands and musicians."

"Meaning?"

"If you are deemed useless, then you may also be deemed expendable."

The group grew silent. Reiner stumbled. "We-we can be prepared for both. I can give you a few shorter roles with minimal lines. Come over here with me."

The group rehearsed in the dark dungeon. Piangi, Louis, and Gabriel struggled to sing, often taking breaks to breath. The animated charm that the two chorus males brought to their performance was replaced by a somber, monotonous tone. Christine desperately wanted to reach out to them, but merely held onto the bars.

Carlotta had been given the role of a handmaid. It was a minor role in the original production that the managers had cut for the travelling performance. However, Reiner was able to help her with lines and blocking during their travels. Despite their animosity, Christine was always impressed by her sharp memory.

"Jammes! Jammes!"

Christine turned to see Jammes on the floor. Her pale skin glistened with sweat as her limp body drooped in the arms of la Sorelli. Christine froze in horror.

"Sorelli?" Jammes muttered.

"No, Jammes. Stay down. You fainted. Are you alright? Rest! Don't get up!"

Jammes's eyes were barely open, but Christine could see the confusion. At first, Madame Giry merely stared at the young girl. Slowly, she kneeled in front of her.

"Jammes, my darling. Rest now. You are more than ready for this performance. All you need to do is conserve your strength."

"But Madame-"

"Jammes. I have taught ballet to the finest ballerinas around the world. I promise you, you are ready. Rest."

Jammes nodded, her eyes closing yet again. Madame Giry's voice was smooth like honey, briefly calming all of crew that watched from a distance. It was like the flicker of candlelight in a dark tunnel, one that Christine desperately needed to stay burning. She watched as the ballet instructor helped Jammes sit against the wall.

Christine felt her arms shake as she held onto the bars. Despite the brief sense of comfort, reality returned with a sickening blow. This crew was in no shape to perform for the Shah. Meg's ankle was still swollen. Ignacio had lost his violin. Jammes was near death from exhaustion. None of the male chorus members could sing. They had no costumes or props. It was a complete disaster. The Shah would only see a group of worn performers attempt to reenact an already lessened opera.

A tear trickled down her cheek. Christine looked up and met the eyes of Gabriel. He stared at her, his hollow green orbs mirroring the same thoughts in her own mind. What chance of survival did they really have?

They continued to rehearse somberly, though none of them excelled in their performance. Whenever Christine opened her mouth to sing, the ache in her heart would pierce her more ferociously than any ache in her exhausted limbs. If she kept her eyes on the ground, no one could see her teary eyes.

Your voice was crafted by a man, not an angel.

She whimpered, ignoring Carlotta's confused side glance. Was it true? Was he her angel of music? Had she been deceived for so long? A loud creak stopped their rehearsal. Christine waited with bated breath as they listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. Was it him? Was it the Phantom? Had he come to retrieve them for an early death?

She felt herself exhale as the familiar shape of Nadir turned the corner. He smiled at them warmly.

"I have prepared a banquet for you all. I assure you that eating here would be unwise. However, I hope that I can trust you to follow my lead without the need of guards? Trying to escape now would be futile and unwise. The guards here have orders to kill any escaped prisoners. I promise you they are highly trained."

Nadir unlocked the doors. "Follow me." He commanded calmly. He turned and began to walk, the crew slowly shuffling out of the cells to follow suit. Carlotta ran into the arms of Piangi, who both whispered to each other in their embrace. Louis ran to la Sorelli and helped her carry Jammes. Meg wrapped an arm over Gabriel's shoulder and he helped her walk despite her swollen ankle. Christine stood beside her, watching as the adults took the lead.

Christine tried to ignore her surroundings. There were devices she had never seen before, but she knew their intention: torture. She trembled as she passed some cages, some of their inhabitants lying in a pool of their own waste and blood. One laughed maniacally as they passed by, his voice echoing around them. No matter how hard she tried, she could not focus on a tune in her head to escape her reality. Instead she was engulfed in the dead, cold air around her.

Even when they left the dungeon, Christine still felt as though she was drowning. She couldn't focus on the elaborate design of the Palace. Instead, she struggled to hold back her convulsing stomach contents and the voices in her head.

How could you be so naive?

Vixen!

An angel of music? A voice from the shadows? Christine, have you gone mad!

Lying Deliah!

You're too blinded by your foolishness to admit the truth

BETRAYER!

Instinctively, her hands clasped over her ears. She collapsed down, struggling to stay on her feet as she curled into a ball.

It couldn't be true. It isn't true! If she had been good, would he have remained an angel? If she hadn't been such a fool, would this nightmare be over? She prayed and begged for someone to take her away from all this confusion, but no one came to her aid. Her eyes looked upwards, realizing that no one had noticed her collapse. These people couldn't understand her pain, as much as she loved them. They would never understand how empty she felt. As much as it hurt to admit, there was only one who would ever understand her. Whether he was a man or an angel, he was her last hope.

Her tears came next. Despite her anger, she wanted, no, needed his presence. His voice could calm her. He would protect her from all this. Even if he was the phantom, to feel his arms around her again and distill her faltering nerves would be blissful. She didn't care that she was angry or terrified of him. She just wanted to escape. Her hand covered her mouth as she began to silently cry. Oh God how she just wanted to be free of this madness!

"Christine."

She paused. That voice, that angelic tenor that used to entrance her as a child. It teased her ear, flickering against her eardrums. She craved it like nothing she had craved before

"I am your angel of music."

Her heart fluttered. Could it be him? She felt a tear dribble down her cheek. Friend or phantom? Angel of music or of death? It didn't matter, because now they morphed into one. How she needed him there. She stood to look around her and her eyes were drawn to a large mirror. It towered above her, occupying most of the right hallway wall. She stared at her reflection in disgust. Her skin, pink from the sun, still seemed to be ghostly in comparison to her usual self. Her hair was wildly held into a bun, though its many loose strands showed how dirty her hair actually was. Her eyes and cheeks were red from her tears. What angel would want her presence anyway?

But there was a shadow behind her in her reflection. She turned behind her but saw no one next to her.

"Come to your angel of music."

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sweetness of his voice. It numbed her like an anesthetic which she willingly drank. Christine stepped towards the mirror as if in a trance. Her eyes glossed over the shadow, which now took the silhouette of a man. He wore a black tux, like the ones back in France: a white shirt, long black coattails, golden cuff-links. He seemed entirely like a shadow except for one, now clear, abnormality.

Half of his face was covered in a white mask.

"I am your angel of music, come to me angel of music."

Christine saw a gloved hand reach through the mirror. She gasped in awe. It was her angel. No man could reach through a mirror. The Angel of Death's black mask was gone, so it had to be her angel, didn't it? The exposed side of his face was pale, defined, human. Yet his voice was crafted by the angels themselves. Her eyes never left his as she took his white-gloved hand. Gently, he led her through the mirror. She stared into the eyes of her angel, her grip tightening when she met his eyes. His amber eyes.

"It's you." She realized. "It has always been you."

"I am your angel of music." He responded, his other hand gently brushing against her cheek. "Sing for me."

Her eyes fluttered shut at the command by his husky voice. She felt her body numbly obey. She let her soul take control as she sang a melody buried deep within her.

"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now, I find..."

She took a deep breath. Her soul produced the words that effortlessly left her mouth, her mind completely numb to the world around her. But this next line she planned carefully. Her eyes locked with his, a dim fire lighting in her heart.

"The Phantom of the Opera is there...Inside my mind."

As his eyes widened, she knew she had found the truth.

The Angel of Death was the Phantom of the Opera...and the Phantom of the Opera was her Angel of Music.

-:Madame Giry POV:-

Madame Giry felt her jaw slacken at the sight before her. A low, mahogany table stood in the center of a large room. It was covered in meats, fruits, wines, and luxuries she had never seen before. She stood frozen as the rest of the crew dived forward, collapsing on the small pillows that served as chairs. They ate like starved animals. For once, Madame Giry wasn't disgusted by it.

"You must eat, Antoinette." A richly accented voice encouraged behind her. Her eyes turned to meet Nadir's. She scowled at him. It had taken her a long time to recognize him. When they had previously met, he went under a different name and did not sport such an unkempt beard. But now that he had shaved, she was certain it was the 'daroga' she had met many years ago. The daroga that saved the opera from the Phantom's rage on that fateful night.

Regardless of what he had done, he now was a part of their possible execution. As much as she wanted to clobber him and squeeze out all of the information that she could, she knew now was not the time. If everyone realized that she knew Nadir Khan and the Phantom, they would believe she was the rat.

She turned back to the feast to scan the crowd. One of them had a part in their capture, someone who was cleverly remaining anonymous. Though she tried to remain uninterested, her mind had been racked with speculations. She had conversed with Reiner in private, trying to understand the details of the situation. This rat had sold out Jospeh Buquet and the managers to the Shah. Whoever they were, they held just as much blame as the managers for this catastrophe. She glanced at every person there, but froze. Everyone was seated, but there were two pillows open. She quickly scanned the group again and gasped.

"Where is-"

Nadir raised his finger to his lips, hushing her gently.

"There is no need to fear. She is safe. She is with her angel of music."

Hope you are all still enjoying this story. I know it took a while for us to get to this moment, but I really appreciate all of your support and dedication. Hopefully this makes their relationship more realistic and complex, but from now on there will be a lot more E/C scenes. Again, thank you so much for your support and reviews!

YinuoTong: The Chagnys' sipping whiskey like it is no big deal is definitely a sign of their privilege, but they have no idea the mess they are about to face. All too come in the future. Thank you for your review!

Phantomgirl24: Nadir is absolutely right, especially now that Erik realizes she knows the truth. Next chapter there will be a lot of discussion between the two, so hopefully Erik listens (Shrugs like I don't know what I wrote haha.) Thank you!

Lucyole: Oh yes, the Chagny's will be making a lot more appearances from now on. They definitely have a huge role to play. Thanks for the review!