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For, in her husbands company in the long, quiet hours between darkness and dawn, Shahrazad began to feel a thing she had not expected: Perhaps, at last, she had found the place where she belonged.
But even though the feelings grew with each day that passed, neither Shahrayar nor Shahrazad spoke them aloud. Each was uncertain how to put what their hearts felt into words, and so they waited for the heart of the other to reveal itself.
Each day, the king sent a herald to a
And thus it came to pass that the only ones for whom Shahrazad's life continued to be a wonder were those whom it most closely concerned: Nur al-Din Hasan, the vizier, her father. Dinarzad, her sister.
Shahrayar, the king, her husband. Shahrazad herself. And also young 'Ajib, who had once been a prince in his own right, though this was a thing that those around him still did not know.
Then during the peace and quiet of these days a rumor began. Though it came to roost in many ears, then flew from many mouths, none could say for sure just how it started. For that is the way of such things, both their weakness and their power.
And the rumor all heard, then spoke, was this: The reason Shahrayar prolonged the life of Shahrazad, his queen, was not that he was gracious and beneficent (though, the fact that he was both these things was surely so). No! The reason King Shahrayar spared the life of Shahrazad the queen was because, with her stories, she had woven a great enchantment around him. In short, the king was bewitched.
A very dangerous situation indeed. One that could not be allowed to go on.
It was the king's own chamberlain who added these final words himself. For no sooner had the rumor found a place first in his ears, then in his mouth, than it found its way into his heart and made itself a home.
Long had the chamberlain nursed a grudge against the vizier, for Nur al-Din Hasan had been honored by two kings in succession, and it seemed to the chamberlain that he himself had yet to be honored or even appreciated by just one.
The honors bestowed upon the vizier left none for him, or so the chamberlain had always thought. And furthermore, he thought that it was unjust that this was so. For was he not charged with at least as important a duty as the vizier who, as a councilor, did little more than talk when all was said and done? The chamberlain was charged with guarding the life of the king, even at the cost of his own.
How had it come to pass, then, that the vizier should be honored and the chamberlain ignored? Never had the chamberlain been able to answer this question, for never once had he perceived that it was due to a lack within himself. And so he had failed to place the blame where it belonged—at his own door. But with each passing day the king continued to spare Shahrazad's life, the chamberlain began to perceive an important truth: His misfortunes, as well as the king's, had the same cause. And that cause was none other than the vizier himself, and his daughter, Shahrazad.
For the more the chamberlain thought about it, the more certain he became that the vizier and his daughter were plotting together. It only made sense, after all. What father would consent to put forward his own daughter to be the bride of the king, knowing she must die? Even the vizier could not be so u
Surely that left just one explanation: The vizier and his daughter were plotting together to overthrow King Shahrayar.
First, they would weaken his mind with magic. Indeed, this had already begun. For there must be sorcery at work in Shahrazad's stories. Had they not caused the king to repudiate what he himself had proclaimed must be so? What else did Shahrazad's stories do but prolong her own life by holding the king in thrall?
And the longer she lived, the greater the danger to Shahrayar must be, for the more potent her spell over him would become.
When the brothers of the former queen heard this (for of course it was they who had started the rumors in the first place), they could hardly contain their secret delight. For now their rumors were impossible to separate from those of the chamberlain, and the claim that Shahrazad and her father had bewitched the king came to roost in every ear, then flew from every mouth until the whole of Shahrayar's kingdom rang with the sound.
And from there it was but a simple step to the one the brothers hoped would give them their revenge.
And so. they took the gift the chamberlain had unknowingly bestowed upon them and to it added one final touch.
Soon all began to whisper that if Shahrayar could not show himself stronger than his wife's enchantment by putting her to death, it would be proof that Shahrazad's magic ruled his mind. In which case, Shahrayar would no longer be a true king and could not be considered fit to govern.
And so, by degrees, though neither of them could remember from whose mouth they first had heard it, the rumors reached Shahrazad and Shahrayar. But from there they went no further, for neither could bring themselves to speak of it to the other. And in this way did doubt begin to cloud the bright things that had been growing in their hearts.
When Shahrazad learned what the people were saying, her first thoughts were not for herself, but for her father and for Shahrayar. For, like her mother before her, Shahrazad recognized that the love of the people was a thing that she had never truly possessed. She had only provoked their curiosity.
And now, it seemed, their fear. And so Shahrazad knew fear also. For in her quest to save the heart of the king she had two main allies: time and her skill as a storyteller. So tightly were these two woven together that disaster must surely follow if they were unraveled from each other before the proper moment.
But when that moment would come, Shahrazad could not know. She knew only that it had not yet arrived.
And so she trembled as she stood in a pool of bright sunshine, for the very first time finding no joy in the coming of the morning. Her blind eyes were turned toward a window although they gazed only inward, and still she saw nothing. She trembled for the things already said as well as for the things she might not now have time to say. Things she had not known that she would long for. For, in her desire to save Shahrayar's heart, she had forgotten that she must also contend for her own.
And it was in this fearful state of mind that Shahrayar found Shahrazad.
He had heard the rumors just that morning. Though his first reaction had been rage, it did not take long for fear to creep into his heart just as it had into Shahrazad's. Suddenly he remembered the words of the boy, 'Ajib, who had proclaimed there must be magic in Shahrazad's story. And if even he could perceive this possibility, being but a child . . .
But whereas Shahrazad's fear had been a path that carried her straight to her husband's and father's doors, Shahrayar's fear was like a great jewel that sparkles in the light. Sharp-edged, and so multifac-eted as to be all but blinding.
Everywhere his fear compelled him to look, it seemed Shahrayar saw his own reflection. Each one the face of a man who had made a different decision in his time of greatest crisis. But which face was his true reflection, which deed should be his true act, these things Shahrayar could not see, for his own face blinded him.