"The fun," Emir says, heading for the door, "is in winning this war and watching Lord Taren's face when he realizes he's lost. Focus on that instead of creative threats."
He pauses at the threshold. "And Kaan? They're right to resent you. But they also desperately want to believe in you again. Don't waste that. We can't afford to lose anyone else."
The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with the maps and the red pins marking everything we've lost.
I trace my fingers across the map, my shadows following the movement like living ink.
Three days until we attack. Three days to prove I'm worth the loyalty of the only two who stayed.
I just hope it's enough.
CHAPTER 33
FAMILY FEAST
Kaan
The great hallblazes with torchlight, deliberately bright to create the illusion of celebration. At the high table, I sit with Nesilhan beside me, her black hair cascading down her back in elaborate braids. Emir and Banu flank us, with Elçin, Yasar, and Zoran positioned further down the table. The two faction lords occupy the lower tables with their entourages, their earlier tension transformed into cautious optimism fueled by flowing wine and elaborate dishes.
"The eastern lords seem convinced," Nesilhan observes quietly, lifting her goblet to her lips. Her shoulder brushes mine—a casual intimacy that would have been impossible weeks ago.
"They want to believe we have a plan," I reply.
Her lips curve. "Don't we?"
"We have the beginnings of one," I admit, allowing myself a rare half-smile. "Assuming your father doesn't do something spectacularly stupid."
"When has he ever done otherwise?" She leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "I give it three days before he violates his own ceasefire."
"Two," I counter, and her laugh—soft and genuine—warms something in my chest that had been cold for far too long.
My shadows curl contentedly around us both, and for the first time in months, sitting beside her doesn't feel like sitting beside an open wound.
Silver chains—normally invisible—flicker into existence around her torso, constricting visibly with each breath she takes.
"Nesilhan?" Alarm shoots through me as I watch her face contort with sudden pain.
Further down the table, Yasar makes a strangled sound, doubling over in obvious agony. I can see the silver chains materializing around him too, pulsing with the same erratic energy that's wrapped around Nesilhan.
Elçin is on her feet immediately, moving with the decisive speed that has made her one of our most valued strategists. "Get them both to a private chamber," she commands, her voice cutting through the confused murmurs rising around us. "Now."
I lift Nesilhan carefully, her body wracked with pain as the silver chains tighten. Banu clears a path through the startled guests while Zoran half-drags Yasar behind us.
"What's happening?" I demand as we enter a small antechamber off the main hall, laying Nesilhan gently on a chaise.
"The binding is destabilizing," Elçin explains tersely, her hands moving in intricate patterns as she examines the silver chains. "I've been studying it for some time—the energy flow has been erratic ever since we returned from the Veil. Something about passing through that realm destabilized the magic. This was inevitable."
"Can you stop it?" Nesilhan gasps, her face contorted with pain.
Elçin's expression is grim. "Not stop—transfer. The binding needs an anchor point, but it can be redirected if both original anchors are unstable simultaneously."
"Redirected where?" I demand.
"An object would be safest," Elçin replies, though something in her tone makes my shadows twitch with suspicion.
Banu snaps her fingers suddenly, those unsettling eyes flaring. "Aslan's soul bottle! The one you captured his essence in when you killed him."
"The crystal vial?" My shadows stir at the memory—the satisfying moment nearly two years ago when I'd trapped Aslan's soul, condemning him to an eternity of witnessing his lover in another man's arms. "It's in my vault."
