Truth in Ashes Part Two #2
He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. His throat is mottled purple and black where Kaan's shadows bruised him. Blood leaks from his nose, his mouth, the corners of his eyes.
He looks pathetic. Small. Nothing like the powerful lord who controlled my entire life.
"I want you to know something," I say, and my voice is steady now. Cold and clear as winter ice. "I want you to understand exactly what you've done."
I crouch down until our faces are level.
"You didn't save me," I tell him. "You didn't protect me.
You destroyed me. You murdered the child I loved more than my own life, and you let me believe it was my fault.
For months, Father. For months, I woke up every morning hating myself for failing to protect my baby.
I tore myself apart with guilt. I pushed away everyone who tried to help me.
I nearly destroyed my marriage because I couldn't bear to look at Kaan without being reminded of what we'd lost."
My voice drops to a whisper.
"And the whole time, it was you."
Father opens his mouth. Closes it. For the first time in my life, he has nothing to say.
"I'm not going to kill you," I continue. "Not because you deserve to live. Not because I've forgiven you. But because I want you to spend every remaining day of your miserable existence knowing the truth."
I stand.
"You haven't saved the Light Court. You've doomed it.
When word gets out about what you've done, and it will get out, I'll make sure of it, you'll lose everything.
Your position. Your power. Your precious Council's protection.
Every ally you've ever had will abandon you, because no one will trust a man who murders his own grandchild. "
Father's face goes gray.
"You wanted to control the prophecy," I say. "You wanted to decide who lived and who died, which realm rose and which fell. But you forgot something important, Father."
I let my light magic rise around me, brighter than it's ever been.
"The prophecy wasn't about my child. It was about me. And you've just given me every reason in the world to burn your precious Light Court to the ground."
I turn my back on him.
"Kaan." My voice is exhausted. Empty. "Take me home."
He's at my side in an instant, shadows wrapping around us both. His hand finds mine, and I feel his rage still pulsing beneath his skin, barely contained, desperate for release.
"This isn't over," he tells Father without looking at him. "She may have chosen mercy. I haven't. The only reason you're still breathing is because I love her more than I hate you."
His shadows tighten around us.
"But if you ever come near her again, if you send another assassin, if you threaten her in any way, if you so much as speak her name—I will unmake you so completely that not even the gods will remember you existed."
Solene is already tearing open a portal, her hands shaking so badly that the edges flicker and warp.
"Go," she says, her voice raw. "I'll... I'll contact you when I can. When I've figured out what to do about—" She looks at Father, and the disgust on her face mirrors my own. "About everything."
I pause at the portal's edge. Turn back to look at my sister, the stranger who wears our mother's face.
"You could come with us," I say. "You don't have to stay here."
"I know." She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "But someone needs to make sure he doesn't cause any more damage. And I have responsibilities here. People who depend on me."
"He'll try to spin this," I warn her. "He'll try to make himself the victim."
"I know." Her jaw tightens. "But I won't let him. I'll make sure everyone knows the truth about what he did."
I nod slowly. "Then I'll see you again. Sister."
The word feels strange on my tongue. Foreign. But not unwelcome.
"Sister," Solene echoes, and this time her smile is real. Sad, but real. "Take care of yourself. And—" She glances at Kaan. "Take care of him too. Whatever else he is, he loves you. Anyone can see that."
Kaan says nothing. His shadows haven't stopped moving—coiling, searching, his eyes still fixed on Father's crumpled form with murderous intent. But his hand tightens around mine, and I feel him drawing strength from the contact.
Together, we step through the portal.
Zoran follows close behind, pausing only to look back at Father one last time.
"You're no longer my father," he says quietly. "From this moment forward, I have no father. Nesilhan is the only family I have left."
Then he's through the portal, and Solene's magic snaps closed behind us.
The portal deposits us in the Shadow Court's courtyard. Home.
The moment we arrive, my legs give out. Kaan catches me before I hit the ground, sweeping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. His shadows cocoon us both, blocking out the light, creating a small dark space where nothing exists but the two of us.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you, sevgilim. Let it out."
And I do.
I break.
Completely, utterly, catastrophically break.
The sobs tear out of me from somewhere deep and wounded, somewhere I've been afraid to touch for months.
I cry for my baby, for the tiny life that was cut short before it could begin.
I cry for the mother I never got to be, for the first smile I'll never see, for the small warm weight I'll never hold in my arms. I cry for all the months I spent hating myself, blaming myself, when the truth was so much worse.
I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes are swollen and there are no tears left.
And through it all, Kaan holds me.
His shadows wrap around us like a blanket of darkness, shutting out the world. His arms never loosen. His voice murmurs soft words I can't quite hear, words in the old shadow tongue that sound like prayers or promises or both.
"It wasn't your fault," he says, over and over. "It was never your fault. Do you understand? It was never your fault."
"I know," I whisper. "I know that now."
But knowing doesn't make it hurt less. If anything, it hurts more. Because at least when I blamed myself, I had something to focus on. Something to do. A way to atone for a failure that was mine to own.
Now all I have is rage. And grief. And the terrible, empty knowledge that my father—the man who raised me, who taught me to fight, who told me he was proud of me—murdered my baby and let me tear myself apart with guilt.
"I'm going to kill him," Kaan says quietly. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday, when it won't hurt you to lose him, I'm going to find him and I'm going to take him apart piece by piece."
"I know." I press my face into his chest. "I think I want you to."
"Good." His arms tighten around me. "Then we'll do it together. When you're ready."
I don't know how long we stay there, wrapped in shadows and silence. Long enough for the sun to shift across the sky. Long enough for my tears to dry and my breathing to steady and the raw wound in my chest to scab over, just a little.
Finally, I lift my head.
"What happens now?" I ask.
Kaan's face is still pale, his eyes still dark with banked fury. But when he looks at me, something softer emerges. Something that looks almost like hope.
"Now we heal," he says. "Together. As much as we can."
He presses his forehead to mine.
"And then we make sure your father's legacy is nothing but ash and memory."
I close my eyes and let myself breathe. For the first time in months, the weight on my chest feels just a little bit lighter.
Our baby didn't die because I failed. Didn't die because I wasn't careful enough or strong enough or watchful enough.
Our baby was taken from us. By a monster who wore a father's face.
And someday—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—we're going to make him pay.
Together.