Page 117 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"Nesilhan," I call, my voice breaking on her name. "NESILHAN!"
The void where our bond should be yawns wider, a chasm of loss that threatens to swallow me whole. I stumble toward the shrine, desperation lending strength to my battered body.
Through blurring vision, I see Banu hovering nearby, her expression stricken. Our eyes meet for one electric moment—her face flooded with pain and genuine guilt, tears gathering in her inhuman eyes. Without a word, she turns and darts away, disappearing into the night sky with unnatural speed.
"My lord, wait—" Emir begins, but I ignore him, focused solely on reaching the ancient structure.
The shrine's interior is cool and dark, untouched by the destruction my power wrought outside. Moonlight filters through a cracked dome overhead, illuminating the circular chamber with pale, ghostly light.
Empty.
The shrine is empty—no sign of Nesilhan, no evidence she was ever here—just ancient stone and dust, undisturbed for eons.
"She is not here," I murmur, disbelief warring with growing horror. "But the bond—I felt it break. I felt her…"
Strength abandons me, and I collapse to my knees on the cold stone. A sound escapes me—a noise between a sob and a scream, a sound I have never made in all my lifetimes of existence. The walls around me crack in response, marble splitting from floor to ceiling.
Emir finds me there, minutes or hours later. I cannot tell how much time has passed. His face is grave as he kneels beside me, concern overriding protocol.
"My lord," he begins, but I cut him off, my voice a broken thing I barely recognize.
"She is gone, Emir," I say, the words hollow in my throat. "Nesilhan is dead."
"You cannot know that for certain," he replies, though his expression betrays his doubt.
"I do know." My hand presses against my chest, where an emptiness spreads like poison through my veins. "The bond is gone. Not weakened. Not blocked. Gone." I meet his eyes, letting him see the raw devastation I can no longer hide. "A blood bond only severs completely with death."
Emir's face pales. "Are you certain? Could there be another explanation?"
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Such as? A magical severance? Even if such a thing were possible, it would kill the unprepared." I shake my head, grief crushing my chest like a physical weight. "No. She is dead, Emir. She ran from me, believing I was a monster who would harm her, and now she is gone."
The magnitude of the loss crashes over me in waves, each one more devastating than the last. Not just my wife, not just the woman who defied me at every turn, who saw past the monster I pretended to be, who made me feel warmth I thought had died lifetimes ago. But a woman who died believing the worst of me. Who never knew that I had not killed Isil. That I would never have harmed her. That I had begun to care for her in ways I never intended, never expected, never wanted.
A strangled sound escapes me as understanding crystallizes with brutal force. For the second time in my immortal existence, a woman I might have loved has died believing the worst of me.
First Isil, taking her own life because she believed the shadow curse would corrupt me beyond saving.
Now Nesilhan, fleeing to her death because she believed I would harm her as I supposedly harmed Isil.
The symmetry is devastating—a cosmic joke so cruel it shatters what remains of my control. Shadowfire surges, responding to my anguish by lashing out at the ancient walls. Cracks appear, spreadinglike lightning across the dome overhead. Dust and debris rain down as the structure begins to shake.
"My lord," Emir urges, rising to his feet. "The shrine is becoming unstable. We must leave."
"Let it fall," I reply, my voice dead. "Let it all fall."
"Kaan." He uses my name—a risk he rarely takes. "She would not want this."
A bark of bitter laughter escapes me. "She thought I was a monster who would murder her. Perhaps it is time I lived up to her expectations."
I rise to my feet, having fundamentally changed within. The grief remains, but darkness, cold and ancient, has taken its place at my core. Power that demands retribution. Power that will not rest until everything connected to her death has been reduced to ash.
Her father. The Light Court. The fairy. The prophecy. All of them played their parts in this tragedy.
All of them will pay.
"My lord?" Emir speaks carefully as I stride past him, shadowfire gathering strength with each step.
"Prepare the army," I command, my voice carrying a new, terrible resonance that makes even the bravest guard flinch. "We are marching on the Light Court at dawn."
