Page 87 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"No," I whisper, my fingers curling into Kaan's tunic. "No healers."
He pauses, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. I sense surprise through our connection, then understanding. I feel what he went through inside him when he tore Aslan's body apart and extracted his soul. Kaan turned into a real monster then.
"Leave us," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "All of you."
The healers exchange glances but withdraw without protest. Even Emir hesitates only briefly before bowing and stepping back.
"You too, fairy," Kaan adds when Banu tries to follow us into the chamber.
"But she needs…" Banu begins, her wings fluttering with indignation.
"She has me," Kaan interrupts, his shadows swirling more thickly around us both in a possessive display. "You've done enough."
Something passes between them, a silent communication I don't fully understand—before Banu reluctantly nods.
"I'll be nearby," she tells me, squeezing my hand before retreating.
"Thank you, Banu," I whisper, gratitude filling my voice. "For everything." I don't have the strength to say more, but my eyes convey what words cannot—she tried to save me when no one else could, fought against Aslan's barrier until her magic nearly broke.
The door closes behind us with a soft finality, leaving me alone with Kaan in his chambers—our chambers now, I suppose. The realization brings a strange mixture of comfort and unease.
He carries me to the massive bathroom adjoining his bedchamber, setting me on my feet with unexpected gentleness. My legs tremble beneath me, still weak from the drugs Aslan forced into my system. Without a word, Kaan steadies me, one arm around my waist, as hereaches to start the bath. The sound of running water fills the silence stretching between us.
"I can do this myself," I insist, though we both know it's a lie. I can barely stand, let alone bathe myself.
He ignores my protest, his attention focused on testing the water temperature. Steam rises from the massive black marble tub, scented with herbs I don't recognize.
"Your wounds need cleaning," he says, his voice controlled, careful. "The cut on your arm could fester if not treated properly."
I glance down at my arm, wincing at the ugly gash that runs from elbow to wrist. Banu's healing stopped the bleeding, but the wound remains raw and angry. My dress hangs in tatters around me, stained with blood and dirt. Aslan's blood. My blood. The thought sends a shudder through me. I want it all off me in an instant, I want to rip it apart myself, but I have no strength to move.
"Let me help you," Kaan says, and it's not a command but a request—a distinction that surprises me.
I should refuse. Should insist on maintaining this last bastion of independence. But exhaustion crashes over me in a wave that threatens to bring me to my knees. He must sense it through our bond because his arms encircle me again, supporting my weight.
"Yes," I whisper, the word barely audible.
With careful hands, he removes the remains of my dress, his expression darkening as he uncovers more bruises, more evidence of Aslan's brutality. I feel his rage again through our connection, his fury that manifests itself as his shadows begin a dance of misery around us. I expect to feel exposed, vulnerable beneath his gaze, but instead, I find a strange comfort in his controlled rage. It's not directed at me but for me—a distinction I couldn't grasp until today.
The water is perfectly warm as I slide into it, a small sigh escaping my lips as the heat begins to work on my aching muscles. Kaan kneelsbeside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before taking a soft cloth and soap into his hands.
I watch him, fascinated by the transformation. Where is the monster who bottled Aslan's soul? The Shadow Lord who tears apart his enemies without mercy? The man before me bears little resemblance to either as he carefully washes the blood and grime from my skin. He's gentle and silent, and something inside me breaks as I try to read his emotions through our link.
His shadows, usually so wild and threatening, calm to gentle ripples that occasionally brush my skin with feather-light touches. The contrast to Aslan's violation is so stark that tears spring to my eyes before I can stop them. I don't want to break in front of him, but I keep sobbing, unable to stop myself.
"Did I hurt you?" Kaan asks immediately, his hands stilling.
I shake my head, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.
He resumes his task, working in silence as he cleans each wound, each bruise, with a tenderness I never believed him capable of. When he reaches the cut on my arm, he murmurs something in an ancient language. His shadows seep into the wound, stitching the torn flesh together without pain, leaving only a thin silver line where the deep gash had been.
"You can heal," I say, the first words I speak since entering the bath.
"When I choose to," he replies, his eyes never leaving his task. "Shadow magic can break or mend, depending on the wielder's intent."
"Like light magic," I observe.
His gaze flicks to mine, something almost like surprise in their depths. "Yes. Like light magic."
