Son of Mah

vii. sweet wine

Shah+hamsar-am: Shahamsar-am

(A word that I made up by joining two words– Shah(king) and Hamsar-am(equal head)–to make a word that could mean someone who is equal to the king, that is his spouse)

The people had longed to celebrate such a day, but the fear of it vanishing like a beautiful illusion chained them to continue their routine life. It was known all over the kingdom now that five days had passed since the marriage and the consort did not die. It was a miracle to every resident of Persia.

The man in question fed seeds and grains to the flock of pigeons that came regularly to the garden. He was accompanied by the maidservants of the palace, and they together laughed and basked under the sun.

"You are a lucky charm to the Shah, Shahamsar-am," a maid said.

Shahrazad smiled affably. "It is an honour. Though I wonder why there has been no further trouble."

"It's because the curse has been eradicated, Shahamsar-am!"

Shahrazad nodded his head and spread the seeds on the ground for the pigeons to enjoy more. The women around spoke of him in words dipped in honey and milk, being ever so optimistic about the banishment of the curse.

Shahrazad knew it was too good to be true. The killer would not stop so soon after achieving a brilliant success of ninety-nine brutal murders. The culprit was waiting for the right opportunity to strike again.

But I am no less than a sher. I will not be vanquished easily.

"Greetings to the royal consort."

The band of servants bowed to Parmenion. But Shahrazad being the Shahamsar-am didn't require to. He handed over the bowl of seeds to a servant and went over to Parmenion's side. "The Shah calls you for the meal. I have been asked to escort you."

Shahrazad followed the hazahrapatish to the dining hall.

The entrance to the hall was veiled by a red woolly curtain and guarded by two lean men. The walls of the hall were a rose-golden colour and the floor was cool, with floral carvings engraved on it. A crystal chandelier was suspended from the barrel vault ceiling. The table was probably the longest that a man could have made, having the capability of hosting a hundred men. But now at the extreme end of it sat the Shah. To the right of him was the designated seat of Parmenion and the left was kept for Shahrazad, which the latter now occupied.

Servants came with bowls and plates of food that constituted of a multi-course meal– starting from baked eggplant and stews infused with saffron to lamb and desserts such as paloodeh. Shahrazad remained in awe of the variety– such luxury wasn't even possible in his home.

The last servant handed over a chalice to the Shah that was shaped in the head of a gazelle. He had two more chalices on his tray– a golden and another black one. Shahrazad was going to take the black one, but the servant swiftly kept the golden chalice beside his plate.

Shahrazad was jabbed by the action. It forced him to think over.

The Shah had already began eating but Parmenion waited, for he couldn't begin before the royal consort and the Shah both had touched something to their lips. Shahrazad decided it was time to break the rule of never speaking during eating.

"Come over here," Shahrazad called the man who had brought to him the chalice. He had a little pink face which reddened even more.

"Yes, Shahamsar-am?"

"Please drink from this. In front of my eyes."

Shahryar looked up from his food, casting a cold glance Shahrazad's way. "It is etiquette to not speak during meal. And it is forbidden for the servants to consume what has been given to the noble."

"Please drink from this. In front of my eyes," Shahrazad repeated, now more sternly to the man, turning a blind eye to Shahryar's reprimand.

The man stared at the chalice with an odd kind of helplessness notched on his face. Finally with some confidence he took the chalice. Glancing apologetically at the Shah, he took a sip of the wine.

"More. Have some more."

He took another sip of the sweet wine. But Shahrazad wasn't done. He looked daggers at the man, forcing him to gulp the whole wine in one go. The man wiped his lips and handed over the chalice to Shahrazad.

"I am pleased. You can go," Shahrazad said.

The man bowed to the three distinguished men and turned back to walk away, when his otherwise normal gait plummeted into a show of stupor.

"I don't think one chalice of wine can do that," Parmenion remarked.

The man held on to a pillar, slowly sliding down and sitting on the floor. Soon he was coughing up blood and fell on the floor like a weak twig, his limbs quivering as if in the grip of icy death. Blood trickled down his lips and stained the gorgeous marble. Shahryar and Parmenion immediately stood up.

"Call the doctor!" Shahryar shouted.

At once the doctor was called but by the time he came the man had stopped shaking. His eyes were wide open. Shahrazad too now raised himself and went towards the body. The doctor knelt down and examined the man. Heaving a sigh, he said, "I am sorry to inform you my Shah, but the man is dead."

Shahrazad bit the insides of his mouth. He clenched and unclenched his fist.

I am alive, for a second time.

"A case of poisoning, perhaps," Shahrazad opined.

Parmenion stared at his chalice. "Shah, we better not touch the wine. It can be poisoned."

Shahrazad, ever so calm and composed, looked at Shahryar. But the Shah could not comprehend the depth of that look. There was an intimidating mystery lurking in that pair of green eyes.

It was as if his consort whispered in his ears– it isn't a curse, it is conspiracy. Cold, cruel, crushing.