Chapter 21
FATHER AND DAUGHTER
Ada
The corridors of the Light Palace stretched endlessly before me.
I moved through passages I had known since childhood, past tapestries woven with threads of captured sunlight, past windows that overlooked gardens where I had played as a girl.
Servants pressed themselves against the walls as I passed, their eyes wide at the sight of the Light Princess striding through the palace with purpose burning in every step.
My father needed me. And the man I loved was waiting for news that could change everything.
The guards outside my father's chambers moved to intercept me, but I did not slow. My light flared in warning, a corona of pure gold that sent them stumbling back with hands raised to shield their eyes.
The doors opened onto chaos.
Gün Ata's receiving chamber had been transformed into something between a sickroom and a council meeting.
Healers in robes of white and silver clustered around tables laden with herbs and crystals and implements I did not recognize.
Advisors in the formal attire of the High Council stood in tight knots, their voices low and urgent.
And everywhere, everywhere, the smell of burning incense meant to mask something else, something that smelled like fading light magic.
I pushed through them all.
My father lay in his bed, propped against pillows that seemed to swallow his diminished frame. The sight of him made my breath catch.
He had always been the sun. Not metaphorically, not poetically, but actually and truly a being of such radiance that to look upon him was to understand why mortals had once fallen to their knees before gods.
His hair had shone like spun gold, his skin had glowed with inner fire, his eyes had burned with the light of a thousand dawns.
For three thousand years he had ruled the Light Court, had watched empires rise and fall, had stood as an eternal beacon against the darkness that crept at the edges of the world.
Now his hair lay lank against the pillows, more gray than gold. His skin had taken on a pallor that made him look carved from pale marble. And his eyes, those ancient eyes that had witnessed the birth and death of civilizations, seemed tired in a way I had never seen before.
He looked diminished. He looked weary.
Something was very wrong.
The advisors noticed me first. Lord Cevdet, my father's main advisor, curled his lip in that particular expression of disdain he reserved for my presence.
Lady Zehra, who had served on the council since before my birth, exchanged a significant glance with Lord Osman.
The High Priest Mehmet, resplendent in his ceremonial robes, actually stepped between me and the bed, as if to shield my father from the sight of his own daughter.
I wanted to backhand him for this, my anger flared and sparks of light escaped through my fingers.
"Princess Ada." His voice dripped with false sympathy. "This is not an appropriate time. Your father needs rest."
"You have no idea what my father needs." I kept my voice level, but allowed my light to pulse beneath my skin, a reminder of exactly who they were addressing. "Please step away. I need to see him now."
"With respect, what your father needs is not for you to decide." This from Lord Cevdet, who had never troubled to hide his opinion that a woman had no place in the line of succession. "The council is managing his care. You may return when we determine it is appropriate."
I stepped closer to him, close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes.
"When you determine? He is my father, Cevdet.
My blood. And I will be the one caring for him, not a group of politicians who see his illness as an opportunity to position themselves for power.
" I let my gaze sweep across the assembled advisors, letting them see the steel beneath my words.
"Unless one of you would like to explain to me exactly what is wrong with him and what you have been doing about it? "
Silence. Of course none of them knew, and none of them were prepare to do anything about this mysterious illness.
"I thought not." I turned toward the bed. "Now leave us. All of you."
"You cannot simply—" Lady Zehra began.
A voice from the bed cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
"She can." My father's words were quiet, but they carried the weight of millennia. "And she is right. Leave us."
The advisors fell silent immediately, years of conditioning overriding their petty power plays. Even the healers paused in their ministries, heads bowed in automatic deference.
One by one, they filed out, their faces masks of barely concealed resentment.
The healers gathered their implements and retreated to the antechamber.
High Priest Mehmet lingered longest, his eyes fixed on me with an expression I could not read, before finally bowing his head and following the others.
The door closed behind them and I exhaled sharply, diminishing my light magic.
I crossed to my father's bedside and took his hand in both of mine. His fingers were cool, and the skin felt thinner than I remembered.
"Baba." I kept my voice steady, though my heart was racing. "Tell me what is happening. The truth."
He studied my face for a long moment, and I saw pride flicker in those tired eyes. "You handled them well. Better than I would have at your age."
"Baba."
A small smile touched his lips. "Always so impatient.
" He shifted against the pillows, grimacing slightly.
"This illness, whatever it is, seems determined to push me toward the eternal light sooner than I had planned.
The healers cannot explain it. My power fades a little more each day, like a candle burning down.
" He squeezed my hand. "I have ruled for three thousand years, little light. Perhaps it is simply time."
"Do not speak like that."
"Why not? It is the truth." But there was no self-pity in his voice, only acceptance.
"I was already ancient when the divine mark found me, you know.
A thousand years I ruled this court as a mortal king — well, mortal by our standards.
Building what I could with ordinary hands.
Erlik was already a god by then. Had been for longer than I care to remember.
I used to wonder if the Light Realm would ever answer the way the darkness answered him.
" His gaze grew distant. "And then one morning I woke and my skin was golden and the halls were singing and I understood that the realm had chosen me — not because I was worthy, but because I was willing.
" He squeezed my hand. "Two thousand years I have carried that mark. I have watched civilizations rise and fall. I have loved and lost and loved again.”
“Oh Baba.”
His eyes softened. "I watched you grow from a fierce little girl into a woman strong enough to face down my entire council without flinching. That alone would be enough of a legacy."
I bowed my head, pressing my forehead to our joined hands. "Baba, I came because something happened. In the Border Forest. We were attacked. Masked men, twelve of them. They would have killed me."
The change in him was immediate. His eyes sharpened, the cloudiness burning away as something ancient and terrible stirred beneath the surface.
For a moment, I saw not my father but the god who had razed entire kingdoms, who had once turned a rival lord's bloodline to ash for a lesser slight than threatening his daughter.
"Who?" The word was soft, but the temperature in the room dropped. "Who dared touch you?"
"I don't know. They wore masks. Shadow Guards, perhaps, but I cannot be certain." I swallowed. "Hakan killed them. All twelve. His magic... it erupted. Shadows, Baba. Not light. He didn't know what he was until that moment."
My father was silent for a long moment. But I saw something shift in his expression—not just concern for me, but a dawning, terrible realization.
"When did this happen?"
"Two days ago."
His jaw tightened. "Two days." The words came out flat, dangerous.
"My daughter was nearly murdered two days ago, and not one of my advisors thought to inform me.
Not one healer. Not one guard." He tried to push himself up against the pillows, and I saw the effort cost him—saw the tremor in his arms, the way his light flickered and dimmed.
But his eyes burned with a fury that had nothing to do with illness.
"They think because I am confined to this bed that I am already dead.
That they can keep secrets from me. Make decisions without my knowledge. "
"Baba, you need to rest—"
"I need to know what is happening in my own realm." He gripped my hand with surprising strength. "What else? What else have they kept from me?"
I hesitated. "Serkan has issued a decree. Any shadow-wielder found within Light Court borders is to be executed on sight. No trial, no defense. He is using your illness to—"
"Serkan issued a decree?" My father's voice went deadly quiet. "Under whose authority?"
"He claims he is acting as regent during your... recovery."
For a moment, the room filled with light—not the warm, golden glow I had grown up with, but something harsher, more ancient.
The shadows in the corners fled. The windows blazed.
I felt the heat of it against my skin, the raw power of a god who had ruled for millennia remembering exactly what he was.
Then it faded, and my father slumped back against the pillows, breathing hard. The display had cost him. But his eyes—his eyes were still burning.
"They circle like vultures," he said softly.
"Thinking the lion is too weak to bite. Serkan.
Cevdet. Perhaps even Mehmet, with his pious platitudes and his hungry eyes.
" That cold smile touched his lips—not the warm, fatherly expression I knew, but something older, harder.
"They forget who made them. Who can unmake them just as easily. "