Page 4 of Angel's Fall

“Was it because you actually stole something?”

Erik gave a shrug that Christine answered with an indulgent scowl. “I felt entitled to this, but technically, I was not within any conventional legal rights in taking it.”

“I’ll ask again: what is it?”

Erik’s fist clasped harder around the hard-won prize. “I didn’t see my grandmother, the Baroness, very often as a child, but I knew her. For the longest time, I thought she was just a kind aristocrat that cared for us. When I learned who my real father was, it all made sense. The next time I saw her after that, I confronted her and asked her if I was so ugly because of what father had done to my mother.”

“What did she say to that?” Christine asked as she caressed Erik’s arm, offering comfort in the face of darkness.

“She said with personal certainty that children born of crimes and violence were not doomed by that, because the opposite wasn’t true. My father was born of love and look how he turned out. Maybe there was hope for me.” Erik gave a laugh.

“She was right, but why did she think so?” Christine asked sternly.

“Because she loved my grandfather, the old Baron. He had fought his parents for the right to marry her since she was below his station. His wedding ring bore his family motto.Sic itur ad astra. It means ‘so goes one to the star and immortality’.” Erik opened his hand and showed Christine the plain gold band, the engraving barely visible within.

“You stole your grandfather’s ring?”

“I meant to, but when I finally had a chance to look at my prize, I found I had taken the wrong one. Maybe my grandmother took it off when he died.” Erik toyed with the ring. It would fit one of his thin fingers if he tried.

“How do you know it’s hers?”

“She showed me the engraving, that day. The promise that at least one man in my family knew how to love.Amor ultra astra.”

“Love past the stars,” Christine whispered. She had grown still beside Erik, her eyes on the ring. “Why were you thinking of that today?”

“I’m not asking you to marry, don’t worry,” Erik said too quickly, and Christine raised an eyebrow. “I only ask for you to wear this as a symbol of the promises already given.”

“That I am yours.” Christine touched the gold band in Erik’s palm.

“That you will always come back to me after you go up to the world above. That you will call this your home and stay here with me.” Erik’s heart seized as he asked it. He had never been so bold. “I love you and—”

“Yes,” Christine said before he could make more of a fool of himself. “I will wear your ring, Erik.”

Christine swallowed and presented her hand. Her right hand. Because this was not a wedding band and never could be for them. It was something less and more.

Trembling, Erik placed the ring on Christine’s finger, surprised once again at how this woman could render him utterly helpless. He stared at the ring, shining in the candlelight and caught his breath in awe before he kissed Christine, sealing the vow.

What a picture they had to make, Erik thought distantly, as Christine’s lips opened against his. A man with the face of death embracing an angel, two bodies in the shadows below Paris, tangled together, at the cusp of becoming one.

“You are everything to me, Christine Daaé.”

“Would you believe me if I said the same was true of you?” Christine was breathless, her face full of something warm and kind. Was this what love looked like? Erik was not sure. He had never seen love in this light.

“No, but I hope you will try to convince me.” Erik relinquished his last drop of composure as Christine smirked, and the sheet that had been concealing her nakedness fell away. Erik drew back to drink in her beauty, her utter perfection. “That’s a good start.”

“You’re awful.” Christine shook her head. Erik’s hands swept over her and she sighed in delight, eyes falling shut so she didn’t see his mask of arrogance fall away.

“I know,” he whispered. “Will you tell Adèle that you won’t need your room at her flat anymore? Tell her you’ve found a new home. Today,” Erik begged but tried to make it sound like a command.

“As soon as I can. Then I’ll come home and—” She held a finger to Erik’s lips before he could speak. “When she asks, I’ll confirm what she’s known for a while. That I’ve made the awful mistake of falling in love and there is no cure for it.”

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The February sky wasdark gray, barely penetrated by the dim morning sun. Shaya scowled at it as he rose from his prayers. If he didn’t have to face Mecca to prostrate himself before Allah, he wouldn’t even know which direction the sun was coming from. He had made a study of Paris’s avenues and boulevards in his first months here, so he knew where East was, even on mornings like this when he was forced to do his duty to God in a hidden alley a few streets away from the Opera.

Shaya could have said his prayers at home, with Darius beside him, if he were a different man. That man could have been enjoying a strong cup of hot chocolate (one of the few inventions of this land that he enjoyed unabashedly) next to a warm fire right now. Instead, the inferno in his brain had driven him from home in the dark of the morning, leaving their fire to gutter to ashes for Darius to rekindle alone. Shaya had left a note, assuring his longtime companion (it was a fiction to call him a manservant anymore) that he was alive and Erik had not killed him at last. He had failed to mention what he meant to do.

He had sought Erik’s ruin for years, and now that the monster admitted his great love for Christine Daaé, it was within reach. Shaya would need agents to help. Ideally, it would be the young Vicomte de Chagny, who foolishly loved Daaé, but Shaya could bring others to his cause. Recruiting spies was easy, if one had the right leverage. After a night of sin for Mardi Gras, the denizens of the Opera would all be on their way to beg absolution as Lent began, and leverage would abound.

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