"Truly loyal? Perhaps two of the seven faction lords—Lord Kemer and Lady Almila, if I had to wager. Lord Aren, obviously, though he looks like he'd rather drown himself in the wine cellar. The rest..." Emir shrugs, the gesture speaking volumes. "They'll kneel to whoever sits the throne when the dust settles. Right now, they're not convinced that will be you."
Two faction lords I can trust. Five who'd slit my throat if they thought they could get away with it. The mathematics of rebellion are stark and unforgiving.
"Names," I say. "I want names of the traitors, the fence-sitters, and the faithful. Everything you have."
"I'll have a full report prepared within the hour," Emir promises. "But first—you should know that Lord Riza has been the most vocal about claiming regency. He's gathered significantsupport among the eastern factions, the ones who survived the gateway collapse. He's been arguing that your disappearance proves you're unfit to rule during a crisis."
Riza. Of course it's fucking Riza. The man's loyalty has always been questionable at best, and he controls the eastern territories—Dogu Gölgeleri, the Eastern Shadows. He has the resources, the position, and the ambition. In my absence, he's clearly decided this is his moment.
"Where is he now?"
"His own realm, last I heard. He's been holding court there, accepting oaths of fealty from lords who've 'lost confidence' in your leadership. Playing at being king without actually claiming the title yet." Emir's expression darkens. "He's waiting to see if you really are dead.”
"How entrepreneurial. I admire a man who sees opportunity in tragedy." I examine my nails with studied disinterest. "I'll have to remember that admiration when I'm ripping his spine out through his mouth."
Emir and Zoran exchange a glance—the kind of look shared by people who've spent weeks translating each other's silences.
"He's back," Zoran observes dryly.
"Was there ever any doubt?" Emir replies, but there's relief beneath the stoicism.
"What would you have us do, my lord?" Emir asks.
I let the silence stretch for a moment, then push away from the broken pillar I'd been leaning against. "I want them all here. Tomorrow night. Every lord who claims allegiance to the Shadow Court. Send riders. Send messengers. Use whatever methods necessary. I don't care if you have to drag them here in chains—everyone attends."
Emir's expression doesn't change, but I see approval flicker in his eyes. This—the dark humor, the casual threats, the absolute confidence—this is the Shadow Lord he knows.
"I'll send the summons immediately," he says. "Though I should mention—supplies are critically low. We can host maybe fifty people comfortably, a hundred if we ration food."
"Then we ration," I say flatly. "Comfort is overrated. Fear and hunger make for much more attentive audiences anyway."
"As you command." Another stiff bow, another wince of pain. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"
I study him—really look at him for the first time since we arrived. The broken arm. The wounds. The exhaustion is so deep it's carved lines into his face. Then I look at Zoran, who's swaying slightly on his cane, his face gray beneath the remnants of Light Court golden complexion.
"Yes," I say, surprising all of us. "Both of you—go get those injuries properly tended by a healer. Get the blood cleaned off. Eat something. Sleep for at least four hours. Then you can return to duty."
Emir opens his mouth to protest.
"That's an order, General," I cut him off. "You're no use to me if you collapse from exhaustion in the middle of a war council. And take Banu with you. She needs rest too."
"I'm fine," Zoran starts.
"You're leaning to the left and your hands are shaking. If you collapse before tomorrow's council, I'll be forced to deliver the eulogy I spent two months not having to give. Don't make me waste good material."
For a moment, I think they might actually argue. Then Emir just nods, too exhausted to fight.
"Thank you, my lord," he says quietly.
Zoran's protest dies on his lips. He glances at Nesilhan, who gives him a look that clearly says don't you dare argue.
"Fine," he mutters. "But I need to tell you something first. Both of you." His gaze shifts between me and Nesilhan, and something in his expression makes my shadows coil tighter."There are rumors. Intelligence I've gathered over the past few weeks. It can't wait."
"Then speak," I say. "Quickly."
Zoran's jaw tightens. "My father has someone new. A commander he's been keeping hidden until recently. The Light Court is calling them..." He swallows hard. "They're calling them the Twilight Heir."
The words land like stones dropped into still water. I feel Nesilhan go rigid beside me.
