Chapter 16 #2
The guilt crashes over me in waves. Not just for the choice I can't remember making, but for the brother I apparently left behind when I fled. "Zohan, I'm so sorry. I don't remember, but if I truly?—"
"You don't need to apologize," he says quickly, reaching for my hand before stopping himself—a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by Elcin. "You gave me life. Everything I have, everything I am, exists because you were willing to sacrifice your happiness for mine."
"How noble," Elcin says, her voice carrying just enough acid to sting. "And what have you done with this gift of life she gave you? How have you honored her sacrifice?"
Zohan's composure cracks slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Elcin says, "that most grateful brothers don't wait months to search for their missing sisters. Most don't arrive with convenient timing just as other family members appear. And most don't look quite so…calculating when they think no one's watching."
The tension in the square ratchets up several degrees. Zohan rises from the fountain's edge, his posture shifting from grieving brother to something more dangerous.
"I don't know what you're implying?—"
"I'm not implying anything," Elcin cuts him off, her own stance shifting subtly into something that screams trained warrior. "I'm stating facts. Your story has holes, your timing is suspicious, and your emotional responses don't quite match your words."
"Time is getting away from us," I say finally, noting how the sun has moved across the sky and feeling suddenly exhausted by the undercurrents I don't understand. The tension between them is making my head pound.
"Of course," Zohan says, but his attention remains fixed on Elcin.
"You need rest. But Nesilhan—" He catches my arm gently as I stand, his touch making something uncomfortable twist in my chest. "Please.
Stay away from him. You have no idea how truly evil he is, what he's capable of when he doesn't get his way. "
"I don't understand?—"
"He's murdered thousands," Zohan continues urgently, and I catch the way Elcin's eyebrows rise slightly.
"Burned entire villages for sport. He's a creature of pure darkness who destroys everything he touches.
That man you've been talking to, Sinan—he would be so much better for you.
Kind, gentle, human. He could give you the normal life you deserve. "
The earnestness in his voice, the desperate concern, makes my chest ache. But beside me, Elcin makes a sound that might be skepticism.
"Burned villages," she repeats thoughtfully. "How many, exactly? And when?"
Zohan falters slightly. "I…many over the years.”
"Recent years? Old years? During wartime? Personal vendetta?" Elcin's questions come with the precision of someone conducting an interrogation. "Details matter when you're painting someone as a monster."
Before Zohan can respond, shouts erupt from the direction of the cottage. Emergency, crisis, the kind of commotion that demands immediate attention. I hurry toward the sound, both Elcin and Zohan following close behind.
The scene that greets us is chaos. Old Henrik, the village's most stubborn farmer, lies groaning in the dirt outside Mira's cottage, his weathered face gray with pain. His prized cow stands nearby, looking entirely unrepentant for whatever damage she's caused.
"What happened?" I demand, dropping to my knees beside the injured man.
"Stupid animal caught him in the ribs," one of the onlookers explains. "He was trying to milk her from behind instead of the side. She let him know what she thought of that arrangement."
I can see the damage immediately—several ribs clearly broken, possibly a punctured lung, given his labored breathing. Henrik is conscious but in obvious agony, his hands pressed to his side as he tries to breathe.
"I need to heal him," I say, reaching for the familiar warmth that lives in my palms.
"No." Mira's voice cuts through the crowd with sharp authority. "Absolutely not. You need to preserve your strength for the baby. Healing magic drains you, and you're already exhausted."
"But he's in pain?—"
"He'll live," Mira says firmly. "Broken ribs heal on their own with time and rest."
I look down at Henrik's face, twisted with agony, and feel something rebel in my chest. "I can't just leave him like this."
"You should," Banu says from beside me, her musical voice carrying obvious disdain. "Honestly, standing behind a cow when she's agitated? He was practically begging for a kicking. Some people have no sense of self-preservation."
"That's not the point," I snap, my hands already moving toward Henrik's injured side. "I can help him."
But before I can touch him, Banu steps forward with a sigh of theatrical exasperation. "Oh, for the love of— Move aside, you bleeding heart."
Her small hands settle on Henrik's ribs, and immediately, golden light begins to flow from her palms. Not the warm glow of my healing magic, but something brighter, more refined. Ancient power that speaks of centuries of practice and knowledge I can't begin to fathom.
The crowd gasps as Henrik's breathing eases, his color returning to normal as bones knit themselves back together with impossible speed. Within minutes, he's sitting up, running his hands over his side in amazement.
"How?" I breathe, staring at the fairy I thought I was just beginning to know.
Banu shrugs, but there's something self-conscious about the gesture. "Fairy magic. Much more efficient than your hit-or-miss light business."
Banu's gaze shifts to Elcin with something that might be malice. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
For the first time since Elcin arrived, I see something crack in her composed facade. A flash of fear crosses her features—so quick I almost miss it—before her warrior's mask slides back into place.
I'm vaguely aware of both Zohan and Elcin going very still at Banu's pointed comment, though their reactions seem different—Zohan looks curious, while Elcin's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, looking between Banu and Elcin with growing confusion.
But Banu just waves her hand dismissively. "Ancient history," she says, though her eyes never leave Elcin's face. "Some stories are better left buried."
The tension hangs in the air like a blade, sharp and dangerous. Around us, the crowd begins to disperse as Henrik struggles to his feet, testing his miraculously healed ribs with obvious amazement.
"Bless you, little one," he says to Banu, his voice thick with gratitude. "However you did that, you've saved me weeks of misery."
"Yes, well," Banu says, waving him off with obvious discomfort. "Try not to antagonize any more livestock. Some of us have better things to do than patch up the victims of agricultural stupidity."
Henrik chuckles and shuffles away, leaving us in awkward silence. The weight of everything I've learned today—about my marriage, my past, the cryptic tensions between people who claim to care about me—presses down on me like a physical force.
But it's Zohan's reaction that catches my attention. Instead of concern about the strange undercurrents between Banu and Elcin, he looks almost…pleased. Like he's filing away information for later use.
"I need to go inside," I manage, swaying slightly on my feet.
"Of course," Mira says immediately, her healer's instincts kicking in. "You've had enough revelations for one day."
As I turn toward the cottage, I see Sinan approaching from the direction of the market, his storm-gray eyes bright with concern. The sight of him—solid, reliable, uncomplicated—makes something ease in my chest.
"Elif," he says, using the name I've grown comfortable with. "I heard shouting. Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine," I lie, because the truth is far too complicated to explain.
Banu makes a sound of disgust. "Oh, wonderful. Prince Charming arrives to save the day." She brushes past Sinan with obvious disdain, heading for the cottage door. "I'll be inside when you're done with your little performance."
Sinan's expression hardens, his shoulders squaring as he watches the fairy with cold disapproval. "What's her problem?" he asks, his voice carrying an edge of authority that wasn't there before.
"I don't think she trusts easily," I say, which is possibly the understatement of the century.
"Are you sure you're all right?" He steps closer with deliberate confidence, his presence imposing as he grips my chin gently but firmly, tilting my face up to meet his scrutinizing gaze. "You look pale."
"Sinan," I say impulsively, "do you trust me?"
"Absolutely," he replies without hesitation, his voice commanding and sure. "What do you need from me?"
The quiet dominance in his tone, the way he stands like an unmovable force ready to shield me from the world, makes something twist in my chest. Here is strength. Here is unwavering protection, a man who would move mountains without question.
"I want to try something," I say quietly.
Before he can ask what, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his.
Sinan takes control immediately, his arms pulling me against his solid chest as he claims the kiss with confident hunger.
His hands grip my waist possessively, his mouth moving against mine with practiced skill and barely restrained desire.
He tastes like raw determination and masculine certainty, like everything I thought I wanted in a man who could anchor me.
And I feel nothing.
Not the explosive connection I have with Kaan, not the desperate hunger that makes my body sing with recognition. Just pleasant warmth and the crushing weight of guilt that settles in my stomach like swallowed stones.
When we break apart, Sinan's eyes burn with satisfied desire and something deeper. "Elif," he growls, his voice thick with want, "I've been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you."
"I know," I whisper, hating myself for the disappointment that must be written across my face.