Chapter Text
The former Daroga scoffed, quite sure the fever had fried Erik’s brain to a crisp. “You have no idea what you’re saying. Go to sleep, Erik.”
He pried Erik’s hands from his head, but those fingers latched onto his own as the Frenchman said with apparent offense, “But I do! This is exactly what I want- don’t you want it too, daroga?”
“You’d make a terrible wife and you know it.”
“Such cruel words, daroga! Why do you think so lowly of your Erik?”
“If I listed all the reasons, neither of us would be able to sleep a wink.”
“But I’d make a wonderful wife, daroga!” Erik sat up, pressing the Persian’s hands to his chest. “Erik would listen to your every word and he would do all the things a bride should and-”
The words were so insane that Nadir laughed.
“Don’t laugh at me, daroga!” the Frenchman fumed, “I would! I can cook for you- you’ve had my chicken- and I can clean, and I would make your bed in the morning and-”
“I can cook and clean too, Erik. I can get on just fine without you.”
“But-”
“And if you care to remember, I’m always the one making our beds anyway.”
“Daroga-”
“If you truly wanted to do all those things you say, you’d give up before the day was over and call me a villain for tricking you into marriage.”
Erik fell silent, and wondering if he’d taken the last joke too far, Nadir prodded him and said, “So, what was it you wanted to say?”
The Frenchman gulped. And his eyes looked up, the color of candlelight. “I love you. And I’ve never loved anyone else before. I want to spend the rest of my wretched life with you.”
Then Nadir found himself quiet, nothing between save for the sound of their mingled breaths. Slowly, he crawled atop the bed, and still pondering the meaning of those words, pressed his ear to Erik’s chest. He listened to the heart thrum behind that cage of ribs, wondering how long their moments could last.
“I do too,” he said quietly.
Nadir had married once before, a ceremony that passed in a splash of color and laughs. It was a faded memory now, of a gentle smile and the taste of bread. He had barely known Rookheeya when she became his wife, and at eighteen, he was more boy than man, a mess of awkward voices and awkward words. Their families had enjoyed the wedding more than them, that much he remembered.
Rookheeya’s eyes had been brown, flecked with bits of amber. He could have grown to love her, and perhaps her him. She had always been so accepting and kind.
“But you will not marry me,” Erik told him sadly. “If that’s what you wish, daroga, I shan’t bother you again.”
Except Rookheeya had loved Darius. Nadir caught them together once at her mother’s funeral. His servant, ever loyal and silent, with arms around his wife, and she’d looked at Darius in a way she’d never seen Nadir. And Nadir turned a blind eye. He remembered worrying about what to do next. He did not enjoy feeling like the chain that kept Rookheeya from her beloved, nor did he think it right to ignore this affair.
In the end, his worries were for nothing. Rookheeya died in childbirth, and Nadir still did not know who that dead child belonged to. And either way, he had mourned and grieved the death of his dear friend, the wife that he almost loved.
“Erik-”
Darius was free now. Nadir had paid him what he owed before he’d left with the magician. And all three men had gone different ways. Or, one of them had.
“I’ll marry you.” Nadir sat up and slid off the bed’s edge. “But we must do it correctly.”
“You- you will?” Erik’s tongue quivered; Nadir had long since admitted he loved the shiver of anticipation in that voice.
The former Daroga nodded. They could not pull off a proper ceremony in the current circumstances, but he intended to make the most of it. There would be no guests- surely he could not invite young Ibrahim or his parents. He went to their belongings, rummaging for the bundle their hosts had so generously given for their travels.
Nadir removed a quilt, the color of Turkish blue, and spread it on the floor. He broke off some flatbread the lady had provided and placed them in front. Beside, he put what remained of Erik’s delights and a small assortment of nuts and spice he’d bought from the square.
“Don’t forget the coins, daroga- I don’t want us to die poor.”
“You can arrange this if you want to complain,” Nadir grunted.
But he had nearly forgotten. He found his pouch and tossed a few coins onto the quilt. From the rest of their luggage, he pulled out two candlesticks they’d yet to use (of which Erik had so vehemently insisted they took from Mazandaran). He lit their wicks with the candle in their room. After setting them up, he took the mirror from the dresser- only now noticing Erik had overturned it so that the glass lay hidden- and propped it before the quilt.
“Get your veil,” he ordered.
As Erik covered that face, Nadir picked through their belongings until he found the pinch of esfand he’d tucked away. In Mazandaran, Erik had scolded him for taking just a pinch but Nadir ignored him and did it anyway because he did not need more than that. He had nothing to burn it with, so spreading it in front of his bride’s place was all he could do.
At his last wedding (a blur he barely recalled), Nadir did not do any of this preparation. He doubted he was following the right steps and he was sure their little ceremony paled in comparison to whatever it was Erik once dreamed of. He imagined that Erik wished to play groom in a church with wide stained glass as some brave young woman kissed him before a western priest.
“Daroga, do you regret not packing more now?”
Erik placed the cap of astrakhan before the Persian’s knees. Next to it, he lay a wooden flute.
“No, Erik, I don’t,” Nadir replied. “I’m very fond of this hat and I don’t need anything else.”
“Suit yourself.”
Beside the flute, Erik meant to place his mask, but the former Daroga stopped his hand. “Not that.”
“Whyever not? It’s my most important belonging.”
“Because I am a brave and stupid man capable of handling your face for the rest of our lives.”
Erik caught the smirk on his lips, and scoffing, the Frenchman complied. “Fine! Enjoy your ugly cap and Erik’s ugly face! Such taste you have.”
“If you’re done whining, we can marry.”
”Mmm.”
”What is it now?”
”Erik lied, daroga. I don’t find your cap ugly. You look very handsome in it.”
”I know.”
”But Erik’s face is very ugly!”
”I know.”
Nadir gestured to the space beside him, and eager, Erik took his spot beside Nadir, to the groom’s left and across that mirror. Erik hoisted the bedsheet above them with his right hand, and Nadir lifted the rest with his left.
“We don’t have everything but we can make do,” Nadir said.
“Ah, this is more than I could have ever wished for, my dear daroga.”
They looked into the mirror, twin flames bouncing from its framed glass. Keeping his gaze on the reflection of Erik’s eyes, near gold in black, Nadir said quietly, “Before this ends, we must make a few things clear.”
“Speak.”
“Never kill again. Erik, swear to me that from this night forth, no blood will touch your hands.”
The former magician hesitated, the remnants of those rosy hours still hard to shake. Muttering, he said, “I suppose next time I should just let those roughs cut your throat.”
“Erik.”
Nadir waited, and a good moment later, the Frenchman nodded.
“A word guarantees nothing,” Erik said, “but I’ll swear it. Your Erik will never take another man’s life.”
Satisfied, Nadir spoke on. “And once we’re free from all this, I wish for us to lead decent and moral lives. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Erik answered, the affirmative sounding more like a curse.
“And on Sunday mornings, I shall take you for strolls in the park,” the Persian said, “I will give you as many kisses as you’d like and one day, perhaps, you will let me freely look upon your face. This is my vow to you.”
He heard Erik’s breath hitch, the other man’s eyes glowing bright in the mirror.
“Daroga,” he said behind that veil, “I wish to make you feel like an ordinary man with an ordinary ‘wife’… as far as our circumstances can allow. I will be dutiful and faithful, and even in death, I will love you. This is my vow.”
And then, his free hand slow, Erik placed his fingers upon the veil. He lifted it, revealing that familiar skull of a face, with its sunken eyes and hollowed nose. But Nadir did not flinch or gape as he had the first time he came across that visage. All he saw now were the dancing gold of his bride’s eyes.
They thrust the bedsheet back upon the bed. Nadir turned Erik’s head towards his own and as the latter leaned in, caught his lips in a burning kiss. He pushed Erik down upon that quilt, the Frenchman’s back arching as he pulled Nadir down.
When Nadir released that kiss, Erik said, out of breath, “Ah, daroga, I have tasted all the happiness in the world.”
Then, smiling, he asked, “What happens now?”
Nadir chuckled. “We consummate our union.”
“Hm. We can’t very well do that in this house, can we?”
“I doubt our hosts would take kindly to that.” Nadir imagined the Ibrahim boy walking in, and shook the imagery away. That was an issue he’d rather avoid.
Perhaps unknowingly, Erik’s fingers reached for his. Nadir linked their digits and said, rolling to his side, “For now, a song will do.”
And Erik sang, low and lovely in his ears.