Page 87 of Crown of Storm and Silence
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't process that the warm, laughing woman who taught me to weave shadows into art is now scattered across the floor like discarded meat.
"Love is weakness," he tells me, but his voice breaks on the words. "The sooner you learn this lesson, the stronger you'll become."
I stare at the smoking remains of everything good in my world, my mind fracturing as it tries to understand. The shadows around me writhe with sympathetic grief, but they can't bring her back. Nothing can bring her back.
"You're a monster," I whisper, the words torn from somewhere so deep they taste like blood and ash. "You're a monster and I hate you."
His smile widens at that, genuine pleasure flickering in his dark eyes. "Yes," he says with satisfaction, as if I've finally learned an important lesson. "I am the monster that creates monsters,evladim. And someday, you'll thank me for it."
He steps closer, crouching down so we're eye to eye over the smoking remains of everything I loved. "You have my blood in your veins, my power in your bones. Fighting what you are will only make you suffer longer."
"I'll never be like you," I sob, but even as I say it, I can feel something dark and hungry stirring in response to the violence I've witnessed.
"We'll see," he says gently, reaching out to touch my face with fingers still warm from divine murder. "After all, who else is going to teach you how to use all that beautiful darkness?"
That's when I start screaming.
The memory releases me back to the present, where Erlik watches with obvious satisfaction. Around the table, theassembled demons and nobles continue their careful pretense of not listening, but I can feel their anticipation. They know something is coming; they can sense the violence building beneath my controlled facade.
"Does she know what happened to the last woman who bore your child?" he asks and sets down his wine glass carefully. "Poor Isil. The way she screamed as Altan's poison ate through her mind, how she clawed at her own face trying to dig out the madness your brother planted there. Such exquisite suffering—and all because you couldn't protect her from your family's petty jealousies."
He leans forward with vicious satisfaction. "I wonder... will you be any better at protecting this one? Or will your failures claim another innocent life?"
His smile turns razor-sharp. "Though I have to admit, I do hope she lasts longer than Isil did. Your first love barely managed many years of screaming before she finally had the courtesy to die. It would be such a shame if Nesilhan proved equally... fragile. The child deserves to see its mother suffer properly before the inevitable end."
Something snaps.
The rage that erupts from me transcends emotion and achieves something approaching divine wrath. My shadows explode outward with brutal yearning, wrapping around Lord Bael's throat before anyone can react. The demon's eyes bulge as darkness crushes his windpipe, vertebrae popping like kindling as I lift him from his chair.
"Touch her," I snarl, silver veins flaring beneath my skin as the poison feeds on my fury, "and I'll show you exactly what two centuries of Altan's tender care created."
Bael's corpse hits the floor with a wet thud that echoes through the suddenly silent dining room. The other guests shiftnervously in their seats, but none dare flee. They know better than to move without permission.
"Kaan," Erlik says mildly, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "You're ruining dinner. Poor Bael hadn’t even finished his dessert. Though there's my boy—I was wondering when you'd stop pretending to be civilized. Much more honest this way."
30
The Devil's Bargain
Kaan
The casual approvalin his voice makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to lean back in my chair with affected casualness, ignoring the corpse sprawled beside the table like it's a minor inconvenience. The poison writhes beneath my skin, hungry for more violence, more creative destruction.
"Now then," Erlik continues, adjusting his napkin with casual precision as if we're discussing mundane family matters, "I assume you're here about that pesky little poison slowly eating through your veins. Very dramatic timing, really—most people wait until they're actually dying before begging for help. Though I suppose 'slowly transforming into a monster' does add a certain urgency to family visits. Shall we get down to business, or would you prefer to kill a few more dinner guests first? I do have several I'm rather tired of."
"Remove it," I say, the words emerging rougher than intended. "Altan's curse. Remove it from my blood."
"Ah." He steeples his fingers, dark eyes gleaming with interest. "The poison that's slowly transforming you into what you were always meant to be. The poison that's finally teaching you to embrace your true nature. Why would I want to do that?"
"Because if I die," I say with the kind of smile that makes reality itself recoil in terror, "who rules the Shadow Court? I am your only heir to Kara Cehennem. There is no one else with the power to control the seven factions, no one else who can keep the realm from tearing itself apart. These idiots?" I gesture dismissively at the remaining demons. "They can't even survive dinner without getting murdered."
"The realm would tear itself apart within a week. Think of all that lovely chaos going to waste because nobody has the power to maintain order."
"A valid point," he concedes, though I can see him genuinely considering it. "The Shadow Court does require a certain... finesse to manage. These others lack your particular combination of ruthlessness and refined brutality."
"Exactly. And think of all the quality time we could spend together once I'm cured. Really explore the finer points of creative violence. Father-son bonding through mutual appreciation of suffering."
"Tempting," he admits, and I can see the idea appeals to him. "Though I have to ask—what's in it for me? Surely you don't expect paternal charity."
