Page 13 of Crown of Light and Ashes
In the next few hours, I will get what I want and bind myself to her.
Somewhere deep inside, I hope she's still burning with that same defiant fire I first glimpsed years ago. Breaking her will be so much more satisfying if she fights back every step of the way.
I tell myself this is about strategy, about binding a powerful enemy to me through ancient magic. But the truth, which I barely admit even to myself, is far simpler and far more dangerous: I've wanted her since that moment five years ago. The political advantages are merely a convenient excuse. Perhaps Emir sees this more clearly than I'd like to admit.
After all, what's the point of being a monster if your victims don't scream?
Chapter Four
The Last Embrace
Nesilhan
I WAKE WELL before dawn, my body alert despite the restless night. The stars visible through my narrow window tell me there's ample time before sunrise. Years of training have conditioned me to function on minimal sleep—a skill that will serve me well in the Shadow Court, where I suspect vigilance might be the difference between life and death.
The chamber is silent save for the soft hiss of dying embers in the fireplace. I press my ear against the door momentarily, picking up the steady breathing of the two guards Kaan posted—a precaution that would be insulting if it weren't so amusing. They think they're guarding a helpless court lady, not someone who has infiltrated fortresses far better protected than this.
I twist my mother's ring on my finger—theonly piece of home I have with me in this foreign place. With practiced precision, I press the small moonstone setting in a specific pattern. It clicks softly and reveals a hidden compartment containing a fine powder—a sleeping agent I've carried with me since my first deep-cover mission. I carefully tap a portion into my palm, then move to the door and blow a careful stream of the mixture through the crack beneath. While I know the patrol patterns throughout the palace, these personal guards were assigned specifically to me and followed no regular schedule that I could observe. The powder will take effect quickly, making the guards drowsy but not unconscious. Just enough to slow their reactions and dull their senses.
I move across the room quickly, my gaze lands on my wedding dress that hangs like a specter in the corner, the black fabric seeming to absorb what little light filters through the narrow windows. I turn away from it, pushing aside the sense of dread that threatens to rise whenever I think about what today holds.
Focus on the now. One step at a time.
I change into the plainest outfit I could assemble from the Shadow Court garments provided for me—black trousers and a simple gray tunic. I twist my hair into a tight knot at the nape of my neck. After the servants left me yesterday, I spent hours methodically examining every inch of my chambers. I knocked on each stone in the walls, testing for hollow sounds. I checked the floorboards for loose panels, ran my fingers along the mortar lines searching for drafts, even inspected the seemingly solid fireplace for hidden mechanisms. Hours of meticulous work, but it paid off when I discovered what I was looking for—a narrow maintenance passage behind the heavy tapestry depicting a Shadow Court victory.
I slip behind the tapestry and into the narrow passage beyond. It's tight, dusty, and pitch black, but my fingers trace the rough stonewalls confidently. I count each step, creating a mental map I can use to navigate my return.
The passage twists and turns, occasionally branching. I am guided by intuition and the subtle drift of fresh air. Eventually, I emerge into a small storage room near the kitchens, where servants are already beginning preparations for the day's festivities—my wedding feast. The irony almost makes me smile.
I wait for a gap in their movements, noting the patrol pattern I've memorized since arriving. Twelve guards, rotating positions every seventeen minutes, with a deliberate gap in coverage near the eastern kitchen—either sloppy security or a trap. I choose to risk the latter, timing my movements to the cook's shouting that provides perfect audio cover.
The early morning palace is a maze of activity and shadow, but I navigate it like I've lived here for years rather than one night. It's what I was trained to do—adapt, observe, survive. My inner map of the palace is still forming, but I've memorized enough to find my way to a servants' exit near the eastern gardens.
Outside, the twilight of the Shadow Court is slightly lighter, heralding the coming dawn. I move quickly along the edge of the grounds, using ornamental hedges and architectural features for cover. The boundary between Shadow and Light is nearly two miles from the palace—a neutral zone where the magic of both realms mingles in unpredictable ways.
It's there that Aslan will be waiting, if my message reached him. Before being brought to the Shadow Court, I'd managed to dispatch a coded warning through one of our established channels. A contingency I'd set up years ago, never truly believing I'd need to use it.
As I near the palace walls, I spot a patrol of guards making their rounds. I freeze, pressing myself against a cold stone column, barely breathing as they pass within feet of me. One turns his head in mydirection, and I prepare to incapacitate him if necessary, my hand finding the hairpin concealed in my sleeve—not the poisoned one my father gave me, but one modified to serve as a weapon in its own right.
The guard's attention is drawn away by his companion's comment about how he's hungry and can't wait to end his shift. They continue on their route. I exhale slowly, then move again when they're out of sight.
The outer wall is my first major obstacle—fifteen feet high and regularly patrolled. But walls are built to keep armies out, not single assassins in. There's a drainage channel near the eastern corner that narrows to a grate barely wide enough for a small person to squeeze through. Fortunately, I've always been slender.
The channel smells of stagnant water and decay, but I ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on moving quickly and silently. The metal grate at the end is secured with a rusted lock that yields easily to the thin pick I keep woven into my braid.
Beyond the wall, the landscape transitions from the manicured palace grounds to the wilder growth of the Shadow Realm's outer territories. Dark trees with twisted trunks reach toward the twilight sky, their branches creating patterns that seem almost deliberate, as if the forest itself is watching.
I move with greater caution now, aware that the forests of the Shadow Court have dangers beyond mere guards. Strange creatures inhabit these woods, drawn to the unique magical properties of the boundary lands.
As I travel, the landscape gradually begins to change. The twisted black trees give way to a mixture of shadow-touched foliage and more familiar Light Court flora. The air feels different too—less oppressive, though still nothing like the golden warmth of my homeland.
I reach the designated meeting point—a small clearing concealed within a dense thicket of magic-dampening thornbushes, where a stream bisects the boundary between realms. The unusual magicalproperties of this precise location create a natural blind spot in scrying magic, one of the few truly secure meeting places in the borderlands. On one bank, the water runs clear and bright; on the other, it turns dark and still, reflecting nothing. The convergence creates a strange, shimmering effect where the two meet.
He isn't here yet. I check the position of the stars visible through the canopy. I'm early, but not by much. I settle into a defensive position that offers both cover and a clear view of all approach routes. The waiting is always the hardest part of any operation—that uncomfortable space where plans are set but outcomes remain unknown.
A strange stillness falls over the forest, the typical ambient sounds fading to nothing. I dismiss it as the natural caution of wildlife near the boundary, but a prickle of unease remains.
My mind drifts to Zoran, still within the Shadow Court palace. My impetuous, well-meaning brother who inadvertently delivered me into this situation. After years of believing his sister was merely a diplomatic attaché, he now knows I'm a trained killer. The shock in his eyes still haunts me. He looked at me as if seeing a stranger wearing his sister's face.
