Chapter 45
The Betrayal's Blade
N esilhan
The library's afternoon light filters through crystal windows in patterns that should be soothing, but something cold has been growing in my chest since Kaan left for the neutral territories.
Through our bond, I can feel him, his patience fraying like rope under strain as he deals with whatever demands they're making, but it's not his anger that unsettles me.
It's the silence.
For the past hour, as I've been researching additional prophecy texts that Banu insisted we examine together, my friend has grown increasingly quiet.
Gone is her usual stream of commentary, her irreverent observations about ancient seers and their dramatic writing styles.
Instead, she sits across from me with an intensity I've never seen before, her green eyes fixed on passages about binding rituals and blood magic as if they hold secrets meant only for her.
From her position by the window, Elcin shifts slightly, her hand never straying far from her sword hilt. She's been my constant shadow since Kaan left, taking her protection duties seriously despite her occasional dry observations about being "the realm's most overqualified babysitter."
"Banu," I say carefully, noting how still she's become. "Are you feeling all right? You seem... different."
"Just concentrating," she replies without looking up from the ancient tome spread between us. "These passages about the darkest hour—there's something here we're missing. Something important about timing."
Her voice carries the same musical quality it always has, but underneath it, I catch something that makes my magical senses prickle with unease. A discordant note, like a familiar song played slightly off-key.
"Perhaps we should take a break," Elcin suggests from her post. "You've both been at this for hours. Even prophecies need proper digestion time."
"No," Banu says quickly—too quickly. "We're close to understanding something crucial."
"What?" I ask, studying her face for the tells I know as well as my own reflection.
"The birth," she says simply, finally meeting my eyes. "When exactly is your child supposed to arrive, Nesilhan? Have you calculated the precise timing?"
The question sends ice through my veins, though I can't articulate why. "Why would the exact timing matter for research purposes?"
"Because," she continues with that same strange intensity, "the prophecy isn't random.
The 'darkest hour' references specific magical conditions that only occur at certain celestial alignments.
If someone wanted to influence the birth, to ensure it happened at precisely the right moment for binding rituals—they would need to know exactly when to act. "
Understanding crashes over me with devastating clarity. Not just academic curiosity, but the kind of detailed planning that speaks of conspiracy. "Banu, how long have you been researching binding rituals specifically?"
"Long enough," she replies, and something in her tone makes my blood freeze.
Elcin straightens from her casual lean against the window frame, her warrior instincts clearly triggered by the shift in atmosphere. "Perhaps we should call for tea," she says carefully, her eyes never leaving Banu. "Clear our heads."
The tome before us begins to glow with soft golden light, the pages turning of their own accord as if guided by invisible hands.
The text that appears makes my breath catch—not the familiar prophecy we've been studying, but something else entirely.
Something about sleep and dreams and souls separated from their vessels.
"Banu," I say carefully, backing away from the table as wrongness floods my senses. "What is this? This isn't the prophecy text we were reading."
"Read it," she says with gentle authority, and her voice carries harmonics that make my eyelids suddenly heavy. "Just read what's written there, Nesilhan. It's very important that you understand."
"Don't," Elcin warns, starting forward, but the words on the page are already drawing my attention with hypnotic force.
Despite every instinct screaming danger, I find myself reading the ancient script that speaks of enchanted sleep and borrowed time.
"When consciousness departs the flesh, when dreams become reality and reality fades to shadow, the soul may wander paths not meant for living feet. In sleep profound and magical deep, the spirit sees what waking eyes cannot perceive, though such visions carry price beyond mortal comprehension."
The library begins to blur around the edges, reality softening like wax near flame. I hear Elcin shouting something, see her moving toward me with desperate speed, but Banu's voice continues from somewhere very far away.
"Sleep now, dear friend," she whispers with infinite sadness. "Dream of what's real, and wake to what must be."
Darkness claims me like falling into velvet, and the last thing I see is Banu's face twisted with an anguish so profound it looks like dying, and Elcin's hand reaching for me just a heartbeat too late.
The dream feels more real than waking, more solid than stone.
I'm standing in a place that exists between shadow and light—not the comfortable twilight of the Shadow Court, but something harsher, more desperate. The air tastes of copper and desperation, while sounds echo from somewhere just beyond perception.
"Nesilhan!"
Banu's voice reaches me across an impossible distance, high and desperate with terror that cuts through my chest like a blade. "Please! If you can hear me, please help!"
I run toward the sound, my feet moving across ground that shifts between marble and mist with each step. The voice grows louder, more frantic, accompanied by sounds that make my soul recoil.
"Stop! Please, I can't—the pain—someone help me!"
I find her in a chamber that defies architectural logic, walls stretching into darkness while crystal formations pulse with sickly light.
Banu hangs suspended in the center of the space, her gossamer wings spread wide as silver chains bind her wrists and ankles.
But it's not the restraints that make me scream—it's what's being done to her.
Figures in hooded robes circle her suspended form, their faces hidden but their purpose clear.
They're stealing pieces of her essence, drawing gossamer threads of light from her skin with instruments that gleam like captured starlight.
Each extraction makes her convulse with agony, her screams echoing off crystal walls.
"Her memories of friendship," one figure intones with clinical detachment. "Her loyalty, her protective instincts. All must be extracted to ensure perfect compliance."
"No!" I shout, running toward them with desperate fury. "Stop! You're killing her!"
But my feet won't carry me closer, no matter how hard I run. The distance between us remains constant while Banu's agony continues, her essence being systematically harvested by creatures whose faces I cannot see.
"Nesilhan," she gasps, her green eyes finding mine across the impossible space. "They're making me—I can't fight what they're—please, you have to run when you wake up. Don't trust?—"
One of the figures raises a device that looks like crystallized screaming, pressing it against Banu's temple. Her words cut off in a shriek of pure agony, and I watch in horror as more of her essence flows into their instruments.
"The final extraction," the lead figure announces with satisfaction. "Remove her capacity for independent thought. Leave only the mission parameters and basic functionality."
"NO!" I scream, my voice tearing with desperation. "STOP! I'LL DO ANYTHING! TAKE ME INSTEAD!"
But they can't hear me, or they don't care. The extraction continues while Banu's struggles grow weaker, her beautiful green eyes growing dim as piece after piece of who she is gets stolen away.
"Nesilhan," she whispers with the last dregs of her true self. "Remember—not all—prisons—have—bars—nest of—stars?—"
The light dies in her eyes, leaving something that wears her face but carries no trace of the friend I've loved for years. The figures step back with obvious satisfaction, examining their harvest while the empty shell that was once Banu hangs motionless in her chains.
"Perfect," the lead figure declares. "Now deploy the asset. The target must be eliminated during the darkest hour, when the child is most vulnerable to extraction."
I wake gasping on the library floor, my head cradled in Elcin's lap as she presses cool fingers to my temples. The magical sleep dissipates slowly, leaving me disoriented and terrified.
"Thank the gods," Elcin breathes. "You've been unconscious for nearly an hour. I couldn't wake you—whatever magic she used was beyond my ability to break."
"Banu," I gasp, struggling to sit up. "Where's Banu?"
"Gone," Elcin says grimly. "The moment you fell unconscious, she just... walked out. I had to choose between pursuing her and staying to protect you."
The dream's horror clings to me, those images of torture and extraction too vivid to be mere imagination. "We have to find her. Something's wrong—something's been done to her."
"I've already sent guards to search," Elcin assures me, helping me to my feet. "But Nesilhan, what happened? What did you see?"
Before I can answer, a sound reaches us from somewhere below—faint but unmistakable. Crying. Soft, desperate sobs that could only belong to one being.
"That's her," I whisper, my heart racing. "That's Banu."
"It could be a trap," Elcin warns, her hand moving to her sword.
"I don't care." I'm already moving toward the door. "She's in trouble."
We descend through the palace together, Elcin insisting on taking point despite my protests. The corridors feel different somehow—shadows deeper than they should be in afternoon light, while magical resonances pulse through the walls with alien rhythms.
The sobbing grows louder as we descend toward the dungeons, accompanied by the sound of chains rattling against stone.