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

Chapter 39

**Chapter XXXIX**

The Lasso Tightens

(Music)- Its language is a language which the soul alone understands, but which the soul can never translate. ~Arnold Bennett

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Trust me, my Thirsty Rose ... I will do nothing that could harm you. I never would ...

But he almost did.

Snarling at his damnable weakness that could have cost his precious wife her health, even her life, Erik threw the untasted bottle of red wine smashing into the hearth. The flames reached high to embrace the offering in a loud whoooosh of blaze and heat. Momentarily diverted, Erik stared then looked away. With his pent up rage as yet unsatisfied, he cleared all items from the desk with one vicious swipe of his arm. An unlit candlestick went flying into a wall and he kicked back a chair.

Clutching his hair tight at his scalp, he clenched his teeth and glared above the hearth at the wolf's head in its frozen, smirking leer.

"I need fear no external risk to her safety," he growled at the beast's head. "I am as dangerous a threat!"

He considered ripping from the wall the leering wolf that seemed to mock him and hurling it into the fire to meet its final doom - when a muffled exclamation brought his crazed gaze swinging to the study entrance. The servant girl who stood there backed up a step, her eyes wide with fright as she looked from the mess on the floor then up to him.

"What do you want?" he ground out.

"I ... b-beg pardon, sire." She gripped the open door as if she might turn and run and barely prevented herself from doing so. "Th-the room, it is ready. As you asked."

"Go!" He waved her away but before she could do more than spin around, he called out, "Wait!" Once she again gave him her wary attention, he added gruffly, "Your sister. Has she experienced further dreams? Dreams involving my queen?"

"N-non, sire."

"How is it that you speak French? You have never spoken it before."

She blinked, taken aback by his swift change of topic as he'd hoped. He knew the reason but wanted to hear her explanation.

"I – my father was a member of the Kris – the council. He taught it to Luminitsa and me. It was his violin you play. The violin Armando brought you."

"Yes," he nodded impatiently.

"I never felt the need to speak it. You know our language. And the Queen wants to learn it better."

"And where did you get the bottle of wine you earlier brought to me, Narilla?"

"The wine?" She questioned as though suddenly struck ignorant.

Erik watched her carefully. "You were the one to retrieve it from the cellar?"

She nodded. "I – I, yes. I took it from the third shelf of the rack. The first rack. It's easiest for me to reach."

"Do you always choose from there?"

"I don't usually get the wine."

"Who does?"

"I don't know, sire. Armando?" She nervously pulled at her fingers hidden in her skirts. "I have heard the Drabarni order him to collect a bottle before."

"And how many hands does each bottle pass through?"

"Hands?" She abruptly stopped fidgeting though her body still trembled. "I think – I –I don't know. The Drabarni, Lupita, myself – any servant ordered to bring it. I – I'm not certain, Su Majestad."