Page 86 of Crown of Light and Ashes
I spent centuries cultivating power, building walls, ensuring no one can ever again have that kind of hold over me. And now this prophecy speaks of a child—my greatest vulnerability walking in flesh and blood.
My shadows flicker and dim around me, responding to my sudden unease. I struggle to keep my expression neutral, but through our bond, I feel Nesilhan's surprise at whatever she senses from me.
"And you believe this?" I ask carefully, my voice betraying none of my inner turmoil.
"I don't know what to believe anymore." Her voice breaks slightly. "Everyone has lied to me. My father and Aslan always knew, but said nothing."
Something protective and possessive surges through me at her vulnerability, pushing back against the unfamiliar fear. Without thinking, I reach out to touch her cheek, my thumb gently brushing away a tear.
"Then we'll discover the truth together," I say, surprising even myself with the words. "And make those who manipulated us pay dearly for their games."
From the corner of my eye, I notice Banu quickly retrieving something from the floor—a small vial with iridescent liquid that shifts with an otherworldly luminescence—something that doesn't belong in a simple cottage, something that speaks of deeper magic at work. The fairy's movements are furtive as she swiftly tucks it into a hidden pocket, clearly not meant to be seen. It looks like something significant, perhaps connected to whatever Aslan was planning, but Nesilhan's injuries demand my immediate attention, so I file the observation away for later.
"Can you stand?" I ask Nesilhan.
When she shakes her head weakly, I sweep her into my arms, cradling her against my chest with unexpected gentleness. Her scent—sunlight and blood and something uniquely her—fills my senses, calming the chaos of my thoughts.
"Emir, prepare the blood healers," I command. "Banu..."
The fairy hovers nervously, one hand protectively over the pocket where she hid the vial, clearly expecting punishment for her earlier insolence.
"You may accompany us," I say finally. "Your healing abilities appear... adequate."
"High praise from the lord of compliments," Banu mutters, but follows as I carry Nesilhan from the cottage.
As we leave, I catch the hushed conversation between Emir and Banu trailing behind us.
"Is that what we're calling 'creatively sadistic' these days?" Banu's wings flutter nervously. "Noted."
"You should see his collection ofpreserved moments," Emir says, his voice dropping. "There's a particularly vivid one from the Northern Campaign that still makes senior warriors faint."
"And yet you stay loyal to him. Either you're the bravest man I've ever met or the most foolish," Banu says.
"Perhaps both," Emir admits, a hint of something warmer flickering in his usually stoic expression. "Though I prefer to think of it as job security. No one else wants the position."
"Can't imagine why," Banu retorts. "Though I must admit, there's something... intriguing about a man who can stomach this level of horror without running away screaming."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Emir replies, and I glance at him to see the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
As we move into the night air, I feel Nesilhan's fingers brush against the vial containing Aslan's soul. Her touch is light, questioning.
"A memento," I tell her softly. "To remind you that nothing, not death, not prophecy, not fate itself,will take you from me."
The crystal glows faintly against my belt, Aslan's consciousness trapped in eternal torment inside. In his suffering, I find a savage satisfaction. What's mine remains mine. Always.
I carry her through the darkness toward home, the prophecy's words echoing in my mind. A child of shadow and light. My child. For the first time in centuries, I find myself afraid of what the future might hold—and more terrifyingly still, afraid of how much I might want it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vulnerable Truths
Nesilhan
I FEEL WEIGHTLESS in Kaan's arms as he carries me through the silent corridors of the Shadow Court. The journey from the cottage passes in a haze of pain and exhaustion, my mind refusing to process everything that had happened. Aslan's soul is trapped in a vial on Kaan's belt. My father's manipulation. The prophecy that apparently orchestrated my entire life. Too much. It's all too much.
Banu hovers beside us, her wings casting prismatic patterns along the dark stone walls. She hasn't stopped watching me since we left the cottage, her usually mischievous expression replaced by genuine concern that tightens my chest. Even Emir walks with unusual tension, his hand never straying far from his sword’s hilt.
As we reach Kaan's private chambers, a cluster of shadow healers wait outside the door, their somber faces and dark robes markingthem as practitioners of blood magic. The sight of them sends a ripple of revulsion through me. More hands on my body. More violation. More intrusion.
