Sepehr considered his father's death a blessing when it finally came.
He'd spent years now running the satrapi in all but name as his father's health, both body and mind, declined. A plague-fever had ripped through the household, killing his mother, wife and son and leaving his father addled. The last two years had been stressful as he did all he could to keep his family's enemies from finding out about the extent of the illness. His father had always been a cautious, even paranoid, man, and so Sepehr had to teach himself the practicalities of statecraft with the help of a few trusted advisors.
It helped that he was the eldest son, and of an age that those outside the household expected to be taking on some of these duties as the heir.
Sepehr spent his father's last days busier than ever. He visited his father twice a day, at dawn and dusk, still informing the sick-pale man of what he planned to do each day and then what he accomplished.
This morning, his younger brother Daryush was at his father's side as always. Sepehr envied the younger man his freedom, though he wouldn't say so out loud.
"Send me a judge and a scribe!" his father announced. He looked better than he had in several weeks, and Sepehr inwardly dreaded whatever proclamation he would have to work around later.
"I'm glad to hear you're well enough to speak," Sepehr said, a dutiful son who hated to see his father in this state. He sent for his father's favorite judge, Farivar, and a scribe as soon as he left to take care of the day's business.
There was a chill as he hurried away.
His father passed before Sepehr could return at sunset.
"It's over," the servant announced, her breath hitching. She tried to say something else, but Sepehr was already running down the hallway.
Outside of his father's rooms, Sepehr found his brother Daryush crying. Parisa, Daryush's wife, was there, along with their small children and all of his father's advisors. The judge and scribe he'd send in earlier looked ashen.
"We'll begin the mourning rites at sunset. I ordered most of the supplies prepared last month when he was ill, so we-"
Daryush couldn't hold it in anymore, apparently. "You've just been waiting for him to die, haven't you?"
Sepehr froze and stared at his brother, not sure what to make of the outburst.
"We've all known this was coming..." he started slowly, not sure what his brother wanted to hear. He looked around for support, but no one spoke. "I know you were close to Father and you must feel this very keenly, but I have to organize-"
"Actually, my prince, you don't," Farivar said.
"Of course I do. What kind of son and heir would I be if I did not?"
The judge took a deep breath. "Just before he died, your father proclaimed that Daryush would be his heir."
"That's ridiculous. Daryush, just announce you don't want to be satrap and we can get on with this."
"You weren't even there!" Daryush shouted. "You've been waiting for him to die this whole time just so you can take over!" Parisa put her hands on her husband's shoulders, but Daryush would not be calmed.
To his own surprise, Sepehr realized he was laughing. "What do you think I have been doing, brother? I have been running the household, maintaining the port, making sure that our enemies did not take advantage of Father's illness. I have been acting as the dutiful heir I am."
"You were," his brother spat.
Sepehr took a deep breath. "Very well, brother. If this is your wish as well as Father's, I will not argue with you in your grief. I will retire to my rooms and prepare for the funeral."
The funeral went smoothly, largely due to the fact that it had been planned far in advance. Afterward, Sepehr waited for his brother to come to his senses. Daryush had no experience running the satrapi or even the household; he couldn't even manage to win a game of shatranj. Sepehr expected that he would wait his brother out.
Meanwhile, he took advantage of the mourning rituals to mask his mood. He was angry at his brother and hurt by his father, but there was nothing to be gained in showing it.
After a few days he realized, to his surprise, that he was mourning. Not his father, whose death he had been waiting for, but his wife and son, who had died more than two years before.
"I know you must remarry," Khandeh said to him. She'd been in and out of delirium for days, and they'd had this conversation four times now. Sepehr held her hand just as tightly, wondering if this would be the last time.
"But please, please don't forget me," she continued. "I feel as if I've already stopped existing."
"I will never forget you," Sepehr vowed again, and pulled his hands away from hers so he could switch the compress on her head for a cool one.
"Take care of our son," she begged me.
"I will not forget our son," he repeated, not having the heart to tell her that their son had died hours before. He stayed by her side, assuring her that she was still alive, until she finally succumbed to the fever.
"Your brother is looking for you," Farivar found Sepehr in the library, staring out the window with a melancholy air.
"I was under the impression that he couldn't stand the sight of me."
Farivar frowned. "Things are not going well, Sepehr. Your brother is not listening to anyone, even his counselors. He offends the outsiders who come to him. He is popular with the people for now, but without the taxes he cut, the treasury will empty sooner rather than later, and his poor diplomacy is already reducing what comes in."
Sepehr shook his head. "There's nothing I can do. He has been given the title and the power, and he will not listen to me."
The judge leaned close. "There are people who recognize that the position should be yours, you know.
"That would be treason."
"Would it? What about the good of the family? The city?"
A thin smile spread across Sepehr's face. "The family and the city have been more than happy to let this happen."
It wasn't long before the hints and requests that Sepehr should see his brother became a demand, delivered by a pair of armsmen.
"Sepehr, I order you to help me."
He stepped back in surprise. "You order me? Now I am your servant?"
"You are a member of this household and I am the head of it. It is my pleasure to order you about if I wish."
"I am still a prince of the household."
"You still seek the title of satrap? A title which is not yours to have?"
Sepehr shook his head. "No, brother. It is yours to run." He turned and left before his brother could say anything more.
"I would speak to you," a woman called from outside his rooms. Sepehr stepped into the hall, and only then did he recognize Parisa's handmaiden. She bid him follow her, and took her the rooms of her mistress.
"What can I do for you, sister?" he greeted Parisa.
She shook her head. "It is advice for you, not something you can do for me."
"Then I wait humbly to hear it."
"My husband is..." Parisa shook her head. "Why won't you help him?"
Sepehr shook his head. "I will not let him order me around. He's welcome to the satrapi, but I have my pride too."
She glared at him. "You should leave in exile soon, should you value your life."
"Would Daryush really?" Sepehr began to ask, but it wasn't as hard to believe as it would have been only a season before.
Parisa looked at the floor, her voice not above a whisper. "Please leave before my husband feels the need to prove his point."
He wasn't sure if she meant her presence or the city, but he nodded and returned to his rooms.
Could he leave? He had been raised to dedicate his life to the satrapi, to the strength of his family and the legacy of his father.
His father had taken that legacy from him, and the satrapi was not his to worry about. Daryush had made that very clear.
Parisa's advice made sense. What else was there for him here? Death or rebellion?
Once, he had envied his brother's freedom. Now he had it. It was time he did something with it.
The satrapi was small.
The desert was wide, and the world wider still. Sepehr faced it with dry eyes and no regrets.