The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter 33

***Chapter XXXIII***

When one heart strikes a chord in the heart of another...the resulting melody will last a lifetime.
~author unknown

xXx

.

Christine's dreams took her to a gentle awakening surrounded by a melody of the sweetest music. Her Angel's music. She smiled as her beloved sang into her mind. All through the night she'd listened to the faraway dulcet tones of his voice in a slumber that took her so deep she felt as if she floated in a warm void where nothing else mattered. As she gradually roused, she noticed a strange lassitude throughout her limbs and a faint ache deep within her belly.

Whatever was the matter with her?

The haze began to diminish and little snippets of reality broke through to her conscious thoughts. She remembered running to stop the terrible sword fight and the cramp that so quickly flared into agony, but little else.

Opening her eyes she became aware of muted sunlight streaming through a tall window of a room she did not recognize. She turned her head on the pillow, grateful to see Erik sitting on the edge of a bed where she lay. He had dressed ... or perhaps never undressed, and she regarded him in confusion. He wore his breeches and no shirt, the same attire as the night before. His long hair hung tousled over eyes that were red-rimmed. But his smile was tender.

"Good morning, my Angel." His voice sounded strained. "How do you feel?"

"I ... better, I suppose." She smiled faintly, still somewhat dazed. "I love when you sing to me. Awake or asleep."

"I love to sing to you." With his finger, he traced the back of her hand where it lay at her side. "You must be famished."

"No ... though I suppose I should eat," she added when she realized how long it had been since she'd last taken nourishment.

"Yes, you should." He took her hand in his and studied her fingers while his thumb lightly stroked them. "Christine, why have you not partaken of a meal since leaving our first campsite?"

His tone sounded strange ... perhaps it only seemed that way. She shook her head to clear it, wondering at the wooziness that sapped her of strength. She could not seem fully to awaken. Even to talk proved a struggle though she forced it, and vaguely she remembered the Drabarni and drinking the potion. She must have been injured during their escape, perhaps when she'd fallen off the bridge or before, when she suffered as the Don's prisoner. The dark memory brought back with it the terror, and she squeezed her husband's hand, seeking solace in his touch, thankful they were again together ... safe.

"Christine?"

She concentrated on his question and her reply. "The strain of the upcoming battle. The thought of food made me ill ... I was so anxious for you. Though I made myself eat when I would grow faint. The mild fruit you brought I could manage ... not those thick stews the gypsies make every evening."

"How long has this been occurring?"

"I ..." She thought back. "... don't know. Weeks, I suppose."

He closed his eyes in pained reflection. "Why did you not tell me?"

"You had so much to concern yourself. The battle, the training. I had no wish to bother you with my petty foolishness. besides, Erik, what could you have done? The only way to ease my strain would have been to surrender the fight, and that was impossible."