Chapter 37 #3
The commander breaks through three guards at the edge of the wall, wild magic blazing. Father doesn't even look—a gesture, a flare of light, and more reserves appear, pushing the Fae commander back.
"You see?" He returns his attention to me, sword point hovering over my heart. "Your monster cannot save you. The Fae cannot reach you. Your army is fighting its own battles. There is no rescue coming."
I look past him, searching for any hope. Kaan is tearing through guards, but they keep coming. The commander is pinned down by a dozen soldiers. Yasar is nowhere I can see.
No one is coming.
"In the end," Father says softly, "you have only family. Only blood. Only me."
He raises the blade.
Light magic gathers along the edge—so bright it burns afterimages into my vision, so bright it drowns out the sun. This isn't just a sword anymore. It's judgment. It's execution. It's every choice I made that led to this moment.
"I am sorry," Father says, and the terrible thing is that he means it. "You gave me no choice."
The blade begins to fall.
Time stretches.
I watch the sword descend—slow, impossibly slow—blazing with enough power to burn through any defense I could raise. I watch the light reflected in Father's eyes, the certainty there, the absolute conviction that he is doing the right thing.
I watch Kaan on the other side of the golden wall, shadows exploding from him in waves, killing and killing, but never fast enough. I see his face. The terror there. The knowledge that he won't reach me in time.
I watch the commander fighting desperately against the guards, wild magic flashing, getting closer but not close enough, never close enough.
The blade is inches from my chest.
I think: this is how it ends.
I think: I'm sorry.
I think: Kaan—
A blade erupts from Father's chest.
Light-crystal steel, slicked with blood, punching through golden armor from behind. The tip stops six inches from my face, close enough that I can feel the heat of the light magic still crackling along its edge.
Father's eyes go wide.
His killing stroke falters. His sword drops from fingers that have suddenly forgotten how to grip. He looks down at the blade protruding from his chest—looks at it with the confused expression of a man who cannot understand what he's seeing.
"You..." he manages.
Behind him, still gripping the sword, stands Zoran.
My brother's face is wet with tears. His hands are steady on the blade. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet and clear and absolutely certain.
"You chose wrong."
Father tries to turn. His legs won't cooperate. Blood bubbles from his lips, golden-tinged with light magic. "Zoran... my son..."
"You chose your pride over your children." Zoran's voice breaks on the words but doesn't stop. "Your power over your family. Your certainty over love."
"I was trying..." Father reaches for him, golden gauntlet scraping against Zoran's arm. "I was trying to save you both. I was trying to..."
"I know." Tears stream down Zoran's face. "I know you believed that. I know you thought you were protecting us."
He leans close, and his next words are barely a whisper. "But some things can't be saved, Father. Some choices can't be undone. And you made your choice a long time ago."
Father's mouth moves. No sound comes out.
Zoran twists the blade.
Father's body jerks. A sound escapes him—not a scream, not words, just a wet exhale of air and blood and light. His eyes find mine. Hold them. I see something there I've never seen before.
Zoran wrenches the blade free.
Then he draws his sword upward in one swift, brutal motion.
Father's head separates from his shoulders.
Golden light sprays across the mud, across my armor, across Zoran's tear-streaked face.
The head rolls, coming to rest against a shattered wagon wheel, eyes still open, still surprised.
The body stands for one moment—a headless thing in golden armor, light magic flickering and dying—then crumples to the ground.
Lord Taren Alari is dead.
The golden wall freezes.
Fifty elite guards, the Light Court's finest, suddenly without purpose. Their commander lies headless in the mud. Their lord—their god, their reason for fighting—is gone. The wall doesn't break so much as dissolve, soldiers stumbling back, weapons dropping from nerveless fingers.
Kaan breaks through.
He crosses the distance between us in three strides, dropping to his knees beside me, his tendrils of night encircling us both. His hands find my face, then move carefully to my injured shoulder. Even his gentle touch makes me gasp—white-hot pain shooting down my arm.
"Nesilhan. Look at me. Nesilhan."
I try to speak. Nothing comes. My voice has abandoned me.
"Your shoulder's shattered," he says, his voice rough with barely controlled fury. Not at me—at the situation, at nearly losing me. "Can you move your fingers?"
I try. They twitch weakly, but the pain makes my vision blur.
"Emir!" Kaan's voice cuts across the dying battle. "Get healers to the command tent. Now. And find Banu—her magic works fastest."
"I can still fight—" I start.
"You can still bleed out if I don't get you to safety.
" He's already lifting me with surprising gentleness despite the blood and chaos around us, cradling my injured arm against his chest. "Besides, I have a reputation to maintain.
Can't have my wife dying after I've spent all this effort keeping her alive. "
Around Kaan's protective hold, I stare at Father's body—at the blood pooling beneath it, at the head with its open eyes and surprised expression. At the man who raised me and tried to kill me and loved me, in his own broken way, until the very end.
"It's over," he says quietly. "It's finally over."
Around us, the battle dies. Word spreads through the valley—the Lord of Light is dead. Light Court soldiers throw down their weapons. Some kneel. Some run. Some simply stand, lost, unable to comprehend a world without the man they served.
The fae commander lands nearby, wild magic settling into stillness.
The giant butterfly's wings fold closed.
Silence falls over Kizil Vadi.
Kaan starts moving, carrying me toward the command tent. Each step jostles my shoulder and I bite back whimpers of pain.
"Stay with me," he murmurs.
"The healers will have you sorted soon. Banu's magic can fix almost anything."
"Almost?" I manage.
"Well, it couldn't fix your taste in husbands, but we can't expect miracles." Despite everything—the pain, the grief, the shock—I almost laugh.
Silence falls over Kizil Vadi.
Not a peaceful silence. A heavy one. The kind that follows catastrophe, when the world is still catching up to what just happened.
The command tent's interior swims in and out of focus. Kaan lowers me onto a cot with surprising gentleness, but even that careful movement sends white-hot agony through my shattered shoulder. I bite down on a whimper, refusing to give the pain that satisfaction.
"Here." He brushes blood-matted hair from my face, his shadows still coiling protectively around us. "The healers will—"
"My lord!" A young healer rushes over, hands already glowing with golden light. "Let me see—"
"Find Banu," Kaan interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."
"She's still on the field, my lord. She's—"
"Right here." Banu limps through the tent entrance, blood-splattered and exhausted, but her magic is already flickering to life around her hands. "Move aside. Let me look at her."
Kaan steps back, though his shadows remain close—a dark, protective canopy that makes the other healers give us a wide berth.
Banu's hands hover over my shoulder, her expression tightening. "Bone fragments everywhere. This is going to hurt."
"Everything already hurts," I manage.
"Fair point."
Her magic sinks into the wound like molten gold, and I arch off the cot with a strangled cry. Pain explodes through every nerve, white-hot and all-consuming. Kaan's shadows surge forward instinctively.
"Kaan." I force the word through gritted teeth. "I'm fine. Go."
"You're not—"
"The battle's not over." I meet his eyes, trying to focus through the agony. "Your soldiers need you. Finish this."
For a moment, I think he'll refuse. But then he leans down, pressing his forehead briefly to mine—a gesture so tender it steals what little breath I have left.
"I'll be back soon," he murmurs.
"I know." I manage something that might be a smile. "Go be terrifying."
He leaves, and I close my eyes as Banu's magic knits bone back together with agonizing care. Other healers cluster around, their voices a distant murmur as darkness pulls at the edges of my consciousness.
Father is dead. Zoran killed him. The Light Court is broken.
It's over.
The thought repeats itself like a prayer as Banu's healing magic pulls me under, and for the first time in months, I let myself believe it might actually be true.