Page 116 of Angel's Fall

“You may now exchange your rings,” Father René declared. “And I am, uh, told you have vows you wish to speak of your own. Please proceed.”

Erik braced himself, pulling the gold ring that had already held so many promises for them from his pocket, and placed it on Christine’s left hand.

“Christine, I cannot swear to you that, as my wife, you will never hunger, or suffer, or weep. I cannot swear that the path ahead will be kind. But I do swear that I will walk it with you, wherever it may lead. I will protect you and cherish you. I will respect and adore you. I give myself to you as your husband, knowing that I cannot ask you to be mine...” Erik swallowed, and Christine squeezed his hand, smiling through tears. “For you are your own. I ask only that you choose to walk in this world next to me, through all its joys and trials, and I will walk next to you in turn, endeavoring each day to be worthy of the honor of calling myself your husband.”

Erik heaved a sigh, tears flowing freely down his bare face. Christine prepared herself in turn as Adèle rose and handed her another plain gold band. Erik had not even considered the matter of his own ring, but it fit perfectly. He would never remove it, he knew for sure.

“My Erik, I will walk with you. We shall never want for shelter, for I swear to be your home, as you are mine. We will never be without hope or strength, for we will find it in each other. I swear to be patient, to be brave, and to meet you with love as we grow and learn and change. I swear I will love you, my angel, forever and a day.”

Erik wished more dearly than anything he could kiss her now or fall at her feet in gratitude and amazement.

“I...uh...” the priest stammered. Erik glanced at the man, who looked just as affected by feeling as the couple he was meant to join. “You have spoken your vows and exchanged rings as a token of your devotion. Now in the eyes of God and these witnesses, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

They met in a kiss that eclipsed everything, lips joining as their souls too were bonded as one. Erik held her, his wife and salvation, his reason and his light. No words or vows could express how much he loved her, or his gratitude that she somehow loved him in return. Her forgiveness still baffled him. Perhaps that was the magic of her love and the miracle of her compassion. The beauty of her grace.

Erik drew away, his forehead against Christine’s, meeting forest eyes that were full of tears. Tears of joy now, after all the sorrow he had caused.

“I will earn this, I swear it, my love. Forgive me, for all I was before,” he sighed. Christine gave him a humoring look, for she had forgiven him days ago, in the dark beyond the lake. Still, he sang to her, his voice rising through the church in the first phrase she had ever heard from her angel of music. The count’s line fromThe Marriage of Figaro.

“Contessa,forgive me.Forgive me,” he sang. “Forgive me.”

“I am kinder than you,” Christine sang in return with no hesitation, her voice more beautiful and full of feeling than he had ever heard it. “I will say yes...I will say yes.”

And then together, as one, they sang. “Ah, all are happy, and ever shall be so.” Their voices rose in harmony in a melody of love and compassion, echoing with hope. It was as sure a vow and a consummation as any ceremony in Latin, and it echoed up past the saints and sacred symbols to the heavens that heard.

The crowd that had gathered to witness them wept as well, at the beauty of the song and love. At least that was what it seemed when Erik bothered to glance away from the woman who was now his wife. His angel. His Christine. His forever.

His promise.

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Shaya approached thedoor of the Chagny house for what he deeply hoped was the last time. Evening had fallen and the air was once again cool, letting go of that warm glimpse of spring that had been there in the afternoon. Warmth remained in his heart, thanks to what he had seen in the church. It was strange, he knew, to have spent so long hating a man and planning for his demise, to now be committed to giving him a future with his wife. Shaya would adjust. He was still the Daroga of Mazenderan, and he was even better at keeping secrets than discovering them.

The butler gave a powerful sigh when he saw Shaya at the door. “The wake has ended and Monsieur le Comte has left on a personal trip and will not return for a long while,” the man drawled, his face unmoving.

“I understand that. I ask only for a brief moment with Mademoiselle Sabine,” Shaya replied. “Tell her I have a letter for her she has been waiting for.”

“Very well.” The butler showed Shaya into the parlor, where he waited. It was empty, now that half the men who had plotted there for the Phantom’s demise were dead. Shaya had not attended Philippe de Chagny’s funeral. He had been too busy burying another man, but he intended to visit the tomb when he had time and offer his prayers.

“Good evening, Monsieur.” Shaya turned to see the Vicomtesse standing proudly in her mourning black, waiting at the threshold.

“Mademoiselle de Chagny,” he nodded. “Thank you for seeing me. I have a letter for your brother—”

“From Christine? Thank God.” The woman gave a deep sigh of relief as she took the offered envelope. “Does this mean I shall not be seeing that cursed woman again?”

“That is her hope. Give Raoul this. Tell him I said it was done. Page five.” He handed Sabine a folded copy ofL’Époque, the evening edition that had just been printed.

The obituary she would find there was brief, and even so, the subject of it had argued over the wording, for it was not Erik who was dead, but the Phantom of the Opera. Shaya’s position had been that phantoms could not die, and that, for Erik to be reborn in the life he was about to pursue, he had to die first.

“Is there anything else?” Sabine asked stiffly, folding the papers under her arm.

“Yes, there is,” Shaya began unsteadily. “Your fiancé, Antoine—”

“He’s not ever coming back, is he?” Sabine guessed before Shaya could confess.

“Do not wait for him. And do not mourn,” Shaya answered. “He is not worth your tears.”

“He never was.” Sabine looked more relieved than anything, and that was a consolation to Shaya. He gave a final bow to the woman.

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