Page 97 of Crown of Storm and Silence
The Blood Bond Restored
Nesilhan
I standat the edge of the ceremonial circle, my heart hammering against my ribs as I take in the elaborate preparations Erlik has made. Runes carved into the black stone floor pulse with silver light that matches the poison spreading through Kaan's veins. Candles arranged in precise geometric patterns burn with flames that cast no warmth, only an eerie blue radiance that makes everything look underwater.
This is supposed to be a simple blood bond renewal, a technical necessity before the purification ritual can begin. But nothing about this feels simple. The magical pressure in the room makes my teeth ache, and every instinct I possess screams that we're walking into something far more complex than Erlik has admitted.
"Charming décor," Banu mutters from beside me.
"Banu," I warn quietly, though I share her unease.
Kaan stands across the circle from me, and my chest tightens at the sight of him. The silver veins have spread even more, creating raised patterns across his skin that pulse with their ownmalevolent light. His face is gaunt with exhaustion, shadows deep beneath his eyes, and when he moves, I can see the effort each step costs him.
We're running out of time.
"The ceremony is quite straightforward," Erlik says from his position near the throne, his voice warm and concerned like a loving father. The false kindness in his tone makes my stomach turn. He's dressed in elaborate dark robes, playing the role of proud patriarch despite being the creature who stood by and enjoyed watching his other son destroy Kaan's first love. "Simply join hands within the circle, speak the binding words, and allow the magic to flow between you."
He makes it sound simple, like we're just saying wedding vows instead of binding our souls under a demon's watchful eye.
"And the purification ritual will follow immediately?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
"Tomorrow evening," Erlik replies with that same false smile. "The blood bond must settle first, establish proper resonance. These things cannot be rushed."
Of course they can't—because nothing involving demons is ever as simple as advertised.
I take a breath and step into the circle, the runes immediately flaring brighter in response to my presence. The magical pressure intensifies until it feels like standing at the bottom of an ocean, crushing weight pressing against my chest from all sides.
Kaan follows, his shadows writhing restlessly around his feet as he moves to stand before me. The moment he crosses the circle's boundary, the silver poison in his veins responds with vicious enthusiasm, spreading visibly up his throat until I can see it pulsing beneath the skin of his jaw.
"Your hands," Erlik instructs, his tone deceptively gentle. "Palm to palm, fingers interlaced. The magic must have clear pathways between you."
I reach for Kaan with trembling fingers, and the moment our skin touches, electricity races up my arms. Not the gentle warmth I remember from our previous connection, but something raw and desperate, his magic reaching for mine with starving hunger.
"Now speak the words," Erlik continues, producing an ancient book that looks like it's bound in skin. "Repeat after me: 'By blood and shadow, by light and darkness, I bind myself to thee.'"
"By blood and shadow," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper.
"By light and darkness," Kaan continues, his rough tone carrying undertones that make the very air shiver.
"I bind myself to thee," we finish together.
The moment the words leave our lips, the world explodes.
Not with sound or light, but with sensation so overwhelming it drives me to my knees. The bond doesn't restore gradually; it slams into place with the force of an avalanche, connecting us so completely that for a terrifying moment, I can't tell where I end and he begins.
And with that connection comes the memories.
They don't return gently, like fragments of a half-remembered dream. They crash into my consciousness like a dam bursting, twenty-seven years of life flooding back in a torrent that steals my breath and threatens to drown me completely.
I am five years old, sitting in my mother's lap while she braids flowers into my hair and hums the lullaby from the music box. Her hands are gentle, patient, and when I ask why she looks sad sometimes, she tells me that love is both the most powerful magic in the world and the most dangerous.
I am ten years old, watching my mother cry after another failed diplomatic mission. "Sometimes peace requires sacrifice,starlight," she whispers, pressing the music box into my hands. "Promise me you'll remember that love is worth any price."
I am thirteen, blade trembling in my grip as my instructor shows me how to kill silently. "Mercy is a luxury assassins cannot afford," he says. "But justice—justice is always worth the blood on your hands."
I am twenty-two, standing over an unmarked kill with a blade still dripping blood. The man had been reaching for a child in the marketplace, his intentions written clearly in his leering eyes. My hands don't shake as I clean the steel. I feel nothing but satisfaction.
I am twenty-seven, dancing at the Light Court's harvest celebration, when a messenger arrives with news that changes everything. Zohan has killed a shadow adviser. An accident, he claims, but the Shadow Court demands blood for blood. Unless...
