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Three times the vizier struck his staff of office upon the stones to a
"Who seeks an audience with King Shahrayar?' he demanded.
And the vizier answered, "She who would be his bride."
At this, a sound filled Shahrazad's ears, a sound like bees buzzing in their hive.
"Does she come of her own free will?” the chamberlain inquired. "Let her answer with her own voice.
By the king's command, in this, no other can speak for her."
And Shahrazad answered, "By my will and no other's."
Now the sound that came to her ears was like wind moving across the sands—a long, low sigh.
"Enter and be welcome," the chamberlain said. And he stepped aside. Together, Shahrazad and her father entered the audience hall, for the doorway was so vast they could move through it the same way they had arrived before it: side by side.
Down the length of the audience hall, the vizier and Shahrazad paced, over a floor as smooth as glass.
A vast domed roof sprang up over their heads, so cleverly made that if you looked up, there were places where you could see the sky. Already the first of the evening stars were shining through it. Smooth gray columns stood straight and tall as trees along the chambers sides. Between them, packed as tightly as salted fish in a barrel, were the members of Shahrayar's court.
The air was heavy with the scent of incense, of the agitated breath of courtiers, and something Shahrazad could not quite identify. Anticipation, she thought. And perhaps fear, also. Though the room was filled with people and the day had been warm, the air burned with cold as it struck Shahrazad's nostrils.
And so, for the first time since she had known in her heart what she must do, Shahrazad felt its steady, constant beating stumble. For it seemed to her that the cold could have its source in just one place—and that place was the heart of King Shahrayar, who soon would be her husband.
At her side, Shahrazad felt her father's footsteps slow. She slowed her own to match his, then stopped at the exact same moment he stopped. And thus it was that Shahrazad knew that her destiny was now at hand, for she had come at last to stand before King Shahrayar.
He was seated on a raised dais upon a throne of cedar, polished until it gleamed as red as an ember. On his fingers flashed rich jewels. His body was adorned in cloth of gold. As he stared down upon the vizier and the woman who stood beside him, his eyes glittered as bright as newly struck coins.
As the king's gaze moved over him, for the first and only time that he could remember, the vizier discovered he was glad that Shahrazad was blind. For he had never seen a man's eyes look as Shahrayar's did
— empty of all emotion save a fierce determination to continue on the path that he had chosen. But this determination burned not hot, but with a hard and icy cold.
"You are welcome, my lord vizier," Shahrayar said, and at the sound of it, Shahrazad felt her stomach muscles clench, for never had she heard a voice so empty of emotion.
What will I do, she wondered suddenly, if the truth of things is even worse than I supposed?
What if it wasn't that Shahrayar's heart had been turned to stone as all had whispered? What if the king no longer had a heart at all? To see a thing that wasn't there was beyond even Shahrazad's skill.
And then it came to her that she already knew the answer to her question: If King Shahrayar's heart had left him entirely, then in the morning she would die.
"Who is this that you have brought before us?" the king asked.
And the vizier answered, "One who would be your bride. This is the hour you did appoint for a maiden to come forward and offer herself, if she would. As you proclaimed it must happen, so it has come to pass."
"Then let me see her face and know her name," commanded Shahrayar.
At these words, Shahrazad felt her father tremble, he whom she knew had never trembled in his life till now. And her fathers fear helped to steady her, though Shahrazad was surprised by the knowledge that this could be so,
I have not come to die, she thought. But to do what must he done.
And so, before the vizier could reach for the veil that concealed her features, Shahrazad grasped it and threw it back over her head herself. Up it flew, like a bird taking wing, then settled upon her shoulders as softly as a butterfly. But Shahrazad's voice was strong as iron as she proclaimed her name.
"I am Shahrazad, daughter of Nur al-Din Hasan, the king's vizier, and Maju, called the Storyteller."
And in this way did King Shahrayar and all he had assembled within his great hall learn who had come forward to be his bride.
Absolute silence filled the audience hall. Even the courtiers were too stu
The longer the silence stretched, the colder the air in the audience hall became, until it seemed to Shahrazad she was wrapped in the cold hand of death himself.
"What trick is this, Nur al-Din?" Shahrayar demanded finally, in a voice both strained and harsh. "Do you think to thwart me? Do you hope, because she is yours, that I will turn aside from what I have proclaimed and, though I wed her, not require that she die tomorrow morning?"
"There is no trick," the vizier answered, and Shahrazad felt her father's trembling cease as he replied.
As if the king's anger had steadied him the way his own fear had steadied her. "Nor is there any hidden design. My daughter came to me and asked for a boon. I swore to grant it before I knew what it was that she desired. If I could have found a way to deny her, believe me, I would have done it."
Then, to her surprise for they had not discussed it, Shahrazad felt her father step forward.
"Hear now what I shall proclaim, sire," the vizier said, his words coming hard and fast, as if a great dam had burst inside him.
"The moment my eldest daughter breathes her last is the moment I serve you no longer. I will take the daughter who remains to me and leave this land to travel far and wide. Everywhere I go I will proclaim to all who will listen the cruelty of King Shahrayar. And I will proclaim that your land could have no greater gift than that your heart should beat no more.
"If I had not my younger daughter in my care, I would cut your heart out and feed it to the wild dogs of the desert myself"
At the vizier's words, a sound like a flock of panicked birds rose from the courtiers. Shahrayar rose to his feet and the sound cut off.
"Be careful what you say, old man," he warned."To plot the death of a king is treason, and it is your life, not mine, which will be lost."
"Then so be it," the vizier answered. For he found that not even the love he bore to Dinarzad could still his tongue now that he had begun.
"Take my life if you will, but I will not take back what I have spoken. All here know that I have served you well, King Shahrayar, as I served your father before you. And always by speaking the truth. I have done nothing more than speak it to you now. If you have not the ears to—"