Chapter 17
BATTLE
Nesilhan
The war room is a cacophony of raised voices and heated arguments when the scout stumbles in, his face ashen and streaked with grime. The room falls silent as all eyes turn to the disheveled man, his chest heaving with exertion and his eyes wide with panic.
I feel a chill run down my spine, a sense of foreboding settling in my gut like a lead weight.
I've seen that look before, on the faces of soldiers who have witnessed horrors beyond imagining.
My fingers twitch instinctively, itching to summon my magic, to feel the comforting weight of my power at the ready.
"My lord," the scout gasps out, his voice trembling with exhaustion and something else, something that makes my blood run cold.
"Taren's elite guards—they're slaughtering civilians.
The villages near the palace, they're—" His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his hands shaking as he grips the edge of the map table for support.
Kaan's eyes narrow, his darkness pooling at him like a restless snake. "How many guards?" he demands, his voice sharp as a blade.
The scout shakes his head, his eyes haunted. "I can't say exactly, my lord. Maybe ten, maybe more. They're moving too fast, cutting down anyone in their path."
Kaan doesn't explode. Doesn't rage. He just looks at the report for a long moment, something cold and ancient settling behind his eyes.
"I'll handle it myself," he says softly.
Somehow, that's worse.
"I'm coming with you," I say immediately, stepping forward to stand at his side.
Kaan's head snaps towards me, his eyes flashing with a fierce protectiveness that steals my breath. "No," he says, his voice brooking no argument. "It's too dangerous, Nesilhan. I won't risk you getting hurt."
I feel a surge of anger and frustration rise up in me, hot and bitter on my tongue. "I'm not some delicate flower, Kaan," I snap, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "I'm a trained warrior, just like you. I can handle myself in a fight."
Kaan's expression softens slightly, but I can still see the stubborn set of his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes.
"I know you can," he says, his voice gentler now.
"But these aren't just any soldiers. They're Taren's elite, hand-picked for their brutality and ruthlessness.
I can't bear the thought of you facing them, of seeing you hurt. "
I take a step closer to him, my eyes locked on his. "And I can't bear the thought of you facing them alone," I say, my voice fierce with emotion. "We're in this together, Kaan. For better or worse. I won't let you do this without me."
For a long moment, Kaan just stares at me, his eyes searching mine as if he's trying to read my very soul. Then, slowly, he nods. "Alright," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "We do this together. But you stay close to me, understand? I won't lose you, Nesilhan. Not now, not ever."
I nod, my throat tight with emotion. "I understand," I whisper.
Kaan turns to the others, his expression hardening into one of grim determination. "Emir, Elcin, Zoran, you're with us," he says, his voice ringing with authority. "The rest of you, stay here and guard the palace. We don't know if this is a diversion meant to draw us away."
I catch Zoran's eye, a wordless exchange passing between us. These are our father's men, warriors we once respected and trusted. The betrayal cuts deep, a bitter sting of disappointment and anger.
Elcin steps forward, her storm-grey eyes flashing with fierce loyalty. "I wouldn't be anywhere else," she declares, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "Where Nesilhan goes, I go."
I feel a surge of gratitude for my cousin's unwavering support. Knowing she'll be by my side, along with Kaan, Emir and my brother, gives me a sense of strength, a glimmer of hope amidst the gathering darkness.
There's a flurry of activity as everyone rushes to prepare for battle.
I hurry to my chambers, my heart pounding in my chest as I don my leather armor and strap my daggers to my belt.
My hands tremble slightly as I braid my hair back from my face, the familiar motions doing little to calm the rising tide of fear and anger in my gut.
When I return to the war room, the others are already gathered, their faces grim and their weapons gleaming in the torchlight. Kaan stands at the head of the table, his armor as black as his shadows and his eyes blazing with a fierce determination.
"Yasar will join us as well," Kaan says, and I feel my heart stutter in my chest. I can sense Yasar's presence behind me, can feel the weight of his gaze on my back. The thought of being near him, of feeling the pull of the binding that ties us together, makes my skin crawl with revulsion.
But as much as I hate to admit it, Yasar's magic is powerful. His abilities could mean the difference between victory and defeat, between life and death for the innocent civilians caught in the crosshairs of this war.
Kaan must sense my hesitation, because he steps closer to me, his hand finding mine and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know it's hard for you to be around him," he says softly, his voice meant for my ears alone. "But his magic is strong. We could use his help. Would that be alright?"
I take a deep breath, trying to steady the racing of my heart. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to say no, to keep Yasar as far away from me as possible. But I know that Kaan is right. We need all the help we can get.
"Fine," I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. "Let's go."
We ride out into the night, our horses' hooves pounding against the earth as we race towards the besieged villages.
The night air is cool against my skin, the moon a thin sliver of silver in the ink-black sky.
Kaan's shadows cloak our movements, wrapping around us like a living mist as we move silently through the deserted streets.
But even as we draw closer to our destination, I can't shake the feeling of unease that coils in my gut. The villages are too quiet, the air too still. It's as if the very world is holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break.
And then, as we round a corner and the first village comes into view, I realize with a sinking sense of dread that we're already too late.
The village is a scene of utter devastation, the houses reduced to smoldering ruins and the streets littered with the bodies of the dead.
The stench of smoke and blood hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste—copper and ash coating my tongue, making me want to gag.
I feel bile rise in my throat as I take in the carnage.
A child's doll lies in the dirt, one porcelain arm reaching toward the sky. Beyond it, a woman's hand extends from beneath a collapsed doorway, her fingers still curled as if grasping for help that never came.
"Gods," Elcin breathes beside me, her voice lifeless.
But there's no time to process the horror of what we're seeing, because in the next moment, they're upon us.
My father’s guards materialize from the smoke and shadows—ten, fifteen, twenty silver-clad figures stepping from the ruins like death given form.
Their armor glints in the moonlight, each piece pristine despite the blood that stains their blades.
They move with the coordination of wolves circling prey, spreading out to surround us.
We're outnumbered five to one.
For a single heartbeat, everything freezes. I can hear my own pulse thundering in my ears, feel the weight of my daggers in my hands, taste the acrid smoke that burns my lungs with each breath.
Then Kaan's shadows explode outward like a tsunami of living darkness, and the world erupts into chaos.
The first guard reaches me with inhuman speed, his sword arcing toward my throat in a silver blur.
I drop beneath the blade, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle the loose strands of my hair, and drive my dagger up through the gap in his armor where leather meets steel.
The resistance of flesh and muscle gives way with a sickening ease.
Hot blood spills over my hand, slick and viscous, as he gurgles and falls.
No time to think. The next one is already on me.
I weave between two guards, my magic crackling to life in my palms like bottled lightning.
The familiar surge of power floods through my veins, electric and intoxicating.
Lightning arcs from my fingertips in jagged white branches, and the guard on my left convulses, his scream cutting off as his body locks rigid.
He drops, the smell of burnt flesh and ozone acrid in my nose, making my eyes water.
I spin, barely deflecting a sword strike aimed at my ribs. The impact sends shock waves up my arm, my bones rattling, my teeth clicking together hard enough to make my jaw ache. But I use the momentum, letting it carry me into a roll and I come up striking.
My magic surges again—wind this time, raw and violent. I shape it with a thought, a concentrated blast that catches three guards mid-charge. They stumble backward, arms windmilling. One crashes into a burning timber. The wet crack of his skull makes my stomach lurch, but he doesn't get up.
Around me, the battle is a symphony of steel and screams. Kaan is magnificent and terrifying in equal measure, his shadows given terrible purpose.
They whip and coil like serpents made of midnight, each tendril razor-sharp.
A guard charges him and is suddenly impaled on a spike of pure darkness that erupts from the ground.
Another is lifted bodily into the air by shadowy hands and slammed into a stone wall with bone-crushing force.