Page 89 of Crown of Storm and Silence
The lie tastes like ash in the air between us, but a blood oath is binding even for him. I extend my hand as he makes a precise cut across his palm, then mirrors it on mine. Our blood minglesas we clasp hands, and I feel the magic seal around us like chains.
"There," he says, releasing my hand with obvious satisfaction. "Now then, for the purification ritual to be most effective, we should make this... official. A wedding ceremony here in Kara Cehennem would seal the blood bond properly—ensure the magic takes hold completely."
His eyes light up with genuine delight at his own suggestion. "How wonderfully traditional it would be. Yes, I think that would be quite... memorable for everyone involved. You know, we've never actually had a proper wedding here—plenty of funeral services, the occasional human sacrifice, but never a celebration where both parties remain breathing throughout the entire ceremony. It'll be such a refreshing change of pace."
"How romantic," I say through gritted teeth, though every instinct screams against bringing Nesilhan to this place. "Nothing says 'happily ever after' like exchanging vows in a realm where the wedding cake traditionally screams when you cut it. I'm sure she'll be thrilled by the ambiance—very 'gothic nightmare meets family reunion from hell.' Should I register for gifts at Torture Implements & Beyond?"
Erlik chuckles with genuine amusement. "I do so love your sense of humor, my boy. It will make the ceremony much more entertaining."
The remaining demons around the table have been following our conversation with the rapt attention of spectators at a gladiatorial match. Lady Lilith has actually stopped examining her nails and is now openly staring, her ice-chip eyes glittering with malicious anticipation. Count Andromalius has begun taking notes on what appears to be parchment made from human skin, his quill scratching eagerly as he documents what will undoubtedly become palace gossip within hours.
"Tell me, Father," I say with false conversational lightness, "exactly how does one plan a wedding in the realm of eternal suffering? I assume the traditional 'something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue' becomes 'something cursed, something tortured, something stolen, something that makes you question your sanity?’”
"Oh, we'll handle all the arrangements," he assures me with the enthusiasm of someone planning their favorite type of party. "The ceremonial chamber will need to be prepared, of course. We'll have to clear out the current occupants—though I suppose a few screaming souls might add to the ambiance. Very atmospheric."
"Naturally," I reply through gritted teeth. "And I suppose the traditional wedding march will be composed entirely of the lamentations of the damned?"
"How delightfully perceptive of you," Erlik says with genuine pride. "Though I was thinking we might commission something original. Perhaps a requiem in the key of suffering major?”
The casual way he discusses transforming our wedding into a supernatural horror show makes my shadows writhe with violence. But the poison continues its relentless advance through my system, silver fire eating away at what little time I have left.
"Just remember our blood oath," I warn, darkness coiling around my fingers in ribbons of shadow that make the remaining demons shift nervously in their seats. "If anything happens to her—if she so much as gets a papercut during this visit—magical binding or not, I'll find a way to turn this entire realm into a crater and dance on the ashes."
"Of course," he agrees with a false sincerity that sets every alarm in my head ringing like cathedral bells. "The blood oath ensures I couldn't harm her even if I wanted to. We're family, after all."
The lie hangs heavy between us, thick with malice and false sincerity, but the poison leaves me no choice. Around the table, the assembled demons have begun whispering among themselves, their voices creating a susurrus of excitement that makes my skin crawl. They know something significant has just occurred, can sense the shift in power dynamics that comes with successful manipulation.
I rise from the table with what dignity I can muster, stepping over Bael's corpse with practiced ease. The silver veins beneath my skin pulse with renewed vigor, as if the poison is celebrating its victory. Each step toward the door feels like walking through quicksand, the weight of what I've just agreed to settling on my shoulders like a lead blanket.
I force myself to meet his eyes one last time, memorizing that hunting smile for future reference.
Erlik's smile widens, that same terrifying expression that has haunted my nightmares for two centuries. "Do give Nesilhan my regards when you return to her. Tell her I'm very much looking forward to our meeting. I have so many... questions about her experiences with shadow magic."
The promise in his voice makes my blood freeze, but I force myself to continue walking. Behind me, I can hear him instructing the servants to clean up the mess, his tone suggesting this is a perfectly normal end to family gatherings. The casual way he discusses Lord Bael's corpse—as if murder over dinner is simply another course to be cleared away—reminds me exactly what kind of creature I've just made a bargain with.
"Oh, and Kaan?" he calls out just as I reach the dining room doors. "Do try not to die before the ceremony. It would be such a shame to waste all this lovely planning."
His laughter follows me through the corridors
31
The Return
Nesilhan
The healing chamberfills with Banu's musical laughter as she recounts another elaborate tale from our shared past, her delicate hands gesturing wildly as she spins what I'm fairly certain is a completely fabricated story about the time we supposedly convinced the entire Light Court that I was secretly a were-rabbit.
"And then," she continues, her green eyes dancing with mischief, though something in her timing feels slightly off, "you actually hopped across the throne room during the formal dinner, nose twitching and everything. The High Chancellor was so scandalized, he dropped his soup directly into his lap. Hot leek and potato, if memory serves. Very undignified squealing ensued."
"I did not hop," I protest through giggles, though the mental image she's painting is so absurd I can't help but laugh. "That's completely ridiculous."
"Oh, but you did!" Banu insists, launching herself into what appears to be a demonstration of rabbit-like movements thatwould be more convincing if she weren't still recovering from broken ribs. "Very dignified hopping, mind you. You maintained perfect posture throughout the entire performance. It was quite elegant, really."
The healers had suggested that happy memories might help restore more of my past, but I suspect Banu is inventing half of these stories purely for entertainment value. Not that I mind—her ridiculous tales are exactly what I need after days of heavy revelations and darker truths.
"You're making this up," I accuse, settling more comfortably in the chair beside her bed.
"I would never!" she gasps with mock indignation, one hand pressed to her chest in a theatrical display of wounded innocence. "Though I may be embellishing certain details for effect. Creative license, you understand. The truth is often terribly boring without proper seasoning."
