The Wrath and the Dawn(68)
“There was once a young girl named Tala. She was the daughter of a wealthy man who lost everything in a slew of poor business decisions, followed by the tragic death of a most-beloved wife. Mired in his grief, Tala’s father found solace in music and art and could often be found whiling away the hours with a paintbrush in one hand and his favorite santur in the other.”
Shahrzad brushed a curl of black hair off her face.
“At first, Tala tried to understand his need to distract himself from the heartbreak of his losses, but it became increasingly difficult to ignore what it all meant for their family. What it meant for Tala. Because, even though she loved her father dearly and believed in his goodness with every fiber of her being, she knew that he could not provide for them. That she could not trust him to sustain a life for Tala and her little brother.”
Khalid’s forehead creased at Shahrzad’s somber expression.
“So Tala began searching for a husband. She knew she could not hope to make a great match, given her family’s unfortunate circumstances, but soon she heard tell of a wealthy merchant in need of a bride. He was older and had been married several times before, but no one was sure what had become of his earlier wives. And this made young women rather wary of making a match with him. Additionally, he had a very long beard of indigo black . . . so black that, in the light, it gave off a worrisome tinge of blue. This had afforded him a rather unfortunate moniker. He was known as Mehrdad the Bluebearded.”
Shahrzad sat up and removed her emerald necklace, placing it alongside the silver pot of tea. Khalid observed her in silence.
“Even with these reservations, Tala set about arranging the match with Mehrdad. She was sixteen and rather pretty. Intelligent and vivacious. Mehrdad was pleased, even though she had little to offer, besides herself. Her only stipulation was that he care for her family. He agreed without hesitation, and they were promptly married. She left her home and moved into his impressive walled residence on the other side of the city. At first, everything seemed normal, perhaps even ideal. Mehrdad was respectful and felicitous as a husband. And he appeared quite content with Tala. He gave her ready access to the many rooms in his home and showered her with gifts of new clothes and jewelry, perfume and art—beautiful things Tala had only dreamed of seeing, let alone owning.”
Shahrzad locked eyes with Khalid, clenching her hands in the fine silk of her trowsers.
“After a time, Mehrdad made plans to travel for his work. He handed Tala a ring of keys to their home and bade her take charge of the residence in his absence. He entrusted her with the daily tasks and gave her free access to all that was his, save one thing, and one thing alone. On the ring of keys, he designated the smallest and held it before her. He told her it was the key to a locked room in the cellar, and barred her from entering that room for any reason. He made her swear, on pain of death, that she would obey this directive. Tala promised she would not go near this room, and after she made it clear she understood the gravity of the situation, Mehrdad handed her the keys and took leave, promising to return in one month.”
Shahrzad drained the remnants of the cold tea from the bottom of the etched glass cup. The dregs were oversweet, mixed with the last of the rock sugar. It swirled in her mouth—the grit of bitter cardamom and crystallized mettle.
Her hand trembled with nerves as she set down the tiny cup.
“For a time, Tala relished this opportunity to have free rein over such a magnificent home. The servants treated her with deference, and she hosted friends and family members for wonderful meals prepared with a delicate hand, served under a starry sky. Each room of her husband’s home enchanted her. In his travels, he had amassed things of beauty and wonder that brought her imagination to new worlds. And yet, with each passing day, that room in the cellar . . . began to gnaw at her. Plague her. Call to her.”
Khalid shifted forward in his seat, his features tightening.
“One day, against her better judgment, she strode by it. She swore she heard a voice inside, crying out. She tried to ignore it. But it cried out again: ‘Tala!’ Tala’s heart pounded. She reached for the ring of keys in a panic. Then she remembered Mehrdad’s directive and fled up the stairs. That night, she could not sleep. The next day, Tala went back down to the cellar. Again, she heard a voice beseeching her from within that room. ‘Tala!’ it cried. ‘Please!’ This time, she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt. It was the voice of a young girl. Tala could not ignore it. She fumbled for the ring of keys at her waist. They fell once to the stone floor at her feet. When she finally managed to select the right key, her fingers shook so badly she struggled to fit it into the lock.”