Truth in Ashes Part Two
Nesilhan
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except stare at the man who raised me, the father who taught me to ride horses and read ancient texts and believe in honor—and hear him confess to murdering my child.
"You—" My voice comes out as a croak. "You killed—"
"I saved you," Father interrupts. "From bearing a monster's child. From raising a creature that would have destroyed everything you once believed in. One day, when you've returned to the Light Court and recovered from this temporary madness, you'll understand. You'll thank me."
Something breaks inside me.
Not my heart, that already shattered the day I lost my baby. This is something deeper. Something fundamental. The last fragile thread connecting me to the father I once loved snaps clean through, and what rushes in to fill the void is rage.
Pure, incandescent, all-consuming rage.
"Thank you?" The scream tears from my throat with enough force to shred it raw. My light magic explodes outward, golden fire erupting from my skin, and I don't try to control it. Don't want to. "You murdered my child and you think I'll thank you?"
"Nesilhan—" Solene reaches for me, but Zoran catches her arm, pulling her back.
"Don't," he says, his voice soulless. His face is the color of old parchment, his eyes fixed on Father with an expression I've never seen before. Disgust. Horror. Hatred. "Don't touch her right now."
"MY BABY!" The words rip out of me again, and I'm moving toward Father without conscious thought, my light magic blazing around me like wings of fire. "You killed my baby! You reached into my body and murdered the life growing inside me!"
"Guards—" Father starts, but he doesn't get to finish.
Kaan moves faster than thought.
One instant he's standing beside me. The next, Father is lifted off the ground by shadows that have wrapped around his throat like bands of iron, his feet kicking uselessly in the air as dark tendrils squeeze with deadly intent.
"You. Killed. My. Son."
Kaan's voice is barely recognizable. Not the silk-over-steel I've grown accustomed to. Not the dark amusement or the dangerous seduction. This is something older. Colder. The voice of a creature that has lived centuries and learned exactly how to make death last.
Father's face turns purple. His fingers claw uselessly at the shadows crushing his windpipe. Veins bulge in his temples. His legs kick weakly, uselessly, as he dangles in Kaan's grip like a broken puppet.
"I wondered," Kaan continues, his voice still soft, still terrible. "When Nesilhan lost our child, I wondered how an assassin breached every ward I'd placed. Wondered how she knew exactly when to strike, exactly where my wife would be vulnerable."
He pulls Father closer, until their faces are inches apart. Father's eyes are bulging now, bloodshot, filled with a terror I've never seen in him before.
"I told myself it was bad luck. Coincidence.
A failure of vigilance that I would spend eternity atoning for.
" Kaan's shadows curl inward, wound tight enough to kill, dark tendrils probing at Father's eyes, his ears, his mouth.
"But it wasn't a coincidence, was it? It was you.
Reaching into my home. Touching what was mine. "
His grip tightens. Father makes a gurgling sound.
"You murdered my son before he could draw his first breath."
"Guards!" General Altin shouts, finally breaking from his frozen shock. "GUARDS!"
Soldiers flood through the pavilion entrance, weapons drawn, faces pale with fear. They know who Kaan is. Know what he's capable of. But they're Light Court soldiers, and their lord is dying, and duty compels them forward despite the terror.
Kaan doesn't even look at them.
His shadows lash out like scythes, cutting down the first wave before they take three steps. Blood sprays across the white silk walls. Screams fill the air. A soldier's arm lands at my feet, still clutching his sword.
And through it all, Kaan's grip on Father never loosens.
"Stand down!" Father chokes out, blood flecking his lips. "Stand—" The word dissolves into a wet gurgle as Kaan's shadows tighten further.
"No." Kaan's voice is almost gentle. Almost tender. The voice of a man who has waited a very long time for this moment. "You die here. Today. For my son. For my wife. For every tear she's shed blaming herself for a loss that you caused."
More guards rush in. My light magic blazes to life without conscious thought, meeting them with walls of searing brilliance.
I don't know if I'm protecting Kaan or helping him kill my father, and in this moment, I don't care.
All I can see is Father's face, purple and bulging, and all I can feel is satisfaction.
Let him suffer. Let him feel a fraction of the agony he inflicted on me.
Beside me, Zoran draws his sword, but he doesn't move toward Kaan. He turns to face the incoming guards, positioning himself between them and us.
"Stand down!" he shouts at the soldiers. "All of you, stand down!"
"Lord Zoran—" General Altin starts.
"That man murdered my nephew!" Zoran's voice cracks like a whip. "He ordered an assassin to kill her unborn child! Whatever happens to him now, he brought it on himself!"
The guards hesitate. Confusion ripples through their ranks. They look at Father, dangling from Kaan's shadows. At me, blazing with light. At Zoran, their own prince, standing against them.
"He's lying," Father wheezes. "They're all—"
Kaan's shadows squeeze, and the words cut off in a strangled gurgle.
"I've been patient," Kaan says. "I've held back. Played politics. Let you live because killing you would have started a war my wife didn't want."
His face twists into something terrible. Something hungry.
"But you already started the war, didn't you? The moment you sent that assassin into my home. The moment you decided that my son's life was worth less than your political machinations."
He pulls Father even closer. Their noses are almost touching now.
"So let me be very clear about what happens next," Kaan whispers, and his voice carries clearly through the silent pavilion. "I am going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. I am going to take hours to end your miserable existence, and I am going to enjoy every single second of it."
Father's eyes roll back in his head. His struggles are weakening.
"And when you finally die," Kaan continues, "I will find every single person who helped you plan this. Every adviser, every guard, every servant who knew what you intended. And I will kill them too. I will build a monument of corpses to commemorate what you took from me."
"STOP!"
Solene's scream cuts through the chaos like a blade of pure light.
Power explodes from her, raw, uncontrolled, nothing like the polished magic she displayed earlier. It slams into everyone in the pavilion with building-leveling force. Guards go flying. Silk walls tear from their moorings. The makeshift throne topples and shatters.
Kaan staggers back but keeps his feet, a spear of light piercing his shoulder. Black blood sprays across the ruined floor.
But his grip on Father loosens. Just for a moment. Just enough.
Father crumples to the ground, choking and gasping, his hands clawing at his bruised throat.
Kaan reaches up and grips the light spear embedded in his shoulder. Without hesitation, without even a flicker of pain crossing his features, he rips it out. Black blood pours from the wound for a moment before shadows swirl and seal it closed.
He takes one step toward Father's fallen form.
Solene throws herself between them, her hands raised, light blazing around her like a shield.
"Please," she gasps. "Please, I can't—I didn't know. I swear I didn't know what he'd done. But if you kill him here, the Council will retaliate with everything they have. It will be total war. Thousands will die."
"Thousands have already died," I hear myself say. My voice sounds strange. Distant. Like it belongs to someone else. "Because of him."
"I know." Tears stream down Solene's face. "I know, and I'm sorry, and I will never forgive him for what he's done. But please—" Her voice breaks. "Please don't make me watch you kill him. He's still my father. Whatever else he is, he's still—"
"He's a monster." Kaan's voice is flat. Absolute. "He murdered my son. He tortured my wife with grief and guilt for months while she blamed herself for his crime. He deserves far worse than death."
"I know," Solene whispers. "I know he does. But I'm begging you—not like this. Not here. Please."
I watch them face each other—my husband and my sister, light and shadow, rage and desperate pleading. The pavilion has gone silent except for Father's ragged breathing and the distant sounds of chaos outside.
I should say something. Should intervene. Should stop this before it goes any further.
But all I can think about is my baby.
My baby, who never got to take a first breath. Who never got to open their eyes and see the world. Who died in blood and pain because my father decided their existence was inconvenient.
"He killed my child." The words come out broken. Shattered. "He killed my baby and let me believe it was my fault."
Kaan's head turns toward me. His eyes are still black with rage, his shadows still writhing with hunger for violence, but something in his expression softens when he sees my face.
"I know, sevgilim." His voice is gentle now. Gentle and devastated. "I know."
"I want him dead." I say. "I want him to suffer the way I've suffered. I want to tear him apart with my bare hands and watch the light leave his eyes."
"So do I," Kaan says quietly.
"But—" My voice breaks. I force myself to continue. "But Solene's right. If we kill him here, like this, it becomes about politics again. About war and power and who controls what. And I don't want his death to be about any of that."
I step forward, pushing past Solene, until I'm standing directly over my father's crumpled form.