Page 77 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"I want to go back to the village," she says suddenly, her voice carrying that particular note of determination I've learned to recognize. "I need to speak with Elçin. I need to know who is after me. I need answers."
I look up from the shadow-wreathed reports I've been pretending to read—updates on the realm's growing instability, warnings about lords declaring independence, pleas for intervention I no longer have the clarity to provide. Elçin's arrival had stirred fear in Neslihan. Fear that wasn’t necessary. I could protect her, but I also wanted to put Nesilhan’s mind at ease.
"She won't give up information easily," I say, shadows coiling restlessly around my feet as the poison responds to my protective instincts.
"I know," Nesilhan replies, her hand moving unconsciously to her throat where silver scars mark the places violence touched her. "But I need to understand why she came to that village. Especially now."
"Of course," I manage, though speaking requires more effort than it should. "Whatever you need."
She studies my face with those perceptive eyes that see too much. "Are you all right? You look..."
"Magnificent? Devastatingly handsome? In desperate need of a haircut?" I attempt levity, but my voice emerges rougher than intended, carrying harmonics that make the crystal windows vibrate.
"Kaan." The way she says my name—soft, concerned, achingly familiar—makes something crack inside my chest. "The poison is spreading, isn't it?"
I can't lie to her. Not when silver veins pulse visibly beneath my skin, not when my very presence makes shadows writhe with malevolent enthusiasm. "It's... progressing," I admit carefully.
Her expression crumbles slightly, and I see her fighting the urge to reach for me. The knowledge that she wants to comfort me but can't bear to be touched cuts deeper than any blade. "How much time?"
"Weeks, maybe, difficult to say," I say with the confidence of someone who's made peace with his own damnation.
I stand abruptly, restlessness clawing at me from the inside. The healing chamber feels too small, too confining, and I need movement, need purpose to quiet the poison writhing beneath my skin. "We can go now, if you're ready. Get you those answers."
Nesilhan looks up at me from her chair, surprise flickering across her features. "Now?"
"No time like the present," I reply, though the truth is I'm desperate to escape these walls before the shadows start reaching for things they shouldn't touch. Movement might settle the feeling, might give me something to focus on besides the silver veins spreading through my system.
The portal to the village tears reality with violent enthusiasm, bleeding darkness at the edges where my control wavers. The journey should be effortless, but maintaining even this simple magic while the poison spreads requires conscious effort that leaves me drained and shaking.
"The passage might be rough," I warn her, extending my arms with careful invitation. "Portal travel while the poison spreads..."
She steps into my embrace without hesitation, and the feel of her small form against my chest nearly undoes me. I've been starving for her touch, aching for the simple comfort of holding her close. My arms wrap around her with trembling restraint, pulling her tight against me as the portal's chaos swirls around us.
"Press your face here," I murmur against her hair, guiding her cheek to rest against my chest where the poison hasn't yet claimed the fabric. The scent of her—warm honey and sunlight—floods my senses, making the poison writhe with hunger beneath my skin. But this is worth the agony, worth the way the toxin claws at my control. This moment of holding her, protecting her, feeling her trust as she lets me shelter her from the dimensional storm.
We emerge at the edge of Yildizkaya as morning light continues to paint the sky in soft hues. The portal closes behind us with a sound like tearing silk, and still I don't release her. Still, she doesn't pull away. For a handful of heartbeats, we stand there, her warmth pressed against my chest, my arms creating a cocoon of safety around her trembling form.
The peaceful village spreads before us, morning smoke rising from chimneys as families begin their daily routines. The normalcy of it—the simple, uncomplicated existence these mortals enjoy—feels like mockery to the chaos consuming my system.
We make our way through familiar streets, and I can sense the villagers' careful distance. They know what I am, what I'm becoming, and they're wise enough to avoid drawing the attention of a creature losing his grip on humanity.
Mira's cottage appears ahead, warm light spilling from windows to paint golden rectangles on the cobblestone path. Before we can even knock, the door swings open, and the healer's lined face appears, creased with immediate concern.
"Nesilhan," she says, her voice thick with relief and worry. "How are you feeling? After what those monsters did to you..." Her gaze travels over the visible marks, the way Nesilhan still moves with careful grace to avoid jarring her injuries.
"Better," Nesilhan replies, though we both know it's only partially true. "The physical wounds are healing."
Mira nods, understanding the unspoken weight of trauma that lingers. "And the child?"
"Safe. Strong." Nesilhan's hand moves protectively to her belly. "Mira, I need to ask you something. Elçin—is she still here?"
The healer's expression grows cautious. "She's staying in the old watchtower at the village edge. Said she preferred the solitude." Her eyes flick between us. "Why do you ask?"
"I need to speak with her. About why she is here."
Mira's concern deepens. "Are you certain you're ready for that conversation? You've been through so much, and sometimes knowledge... it carries its own kind of pain."
As if summoned by our conversation, a figure emerges from the shadows at the path's edge. Elçin moves with the silent stealth of a predator, her dark clothing having allowed her to approach undetected.
