His shadows wrap around us like a blanket of darkness, shutting out the world. His arms never loosen. His voice murmurs soft words I can't quite hear, words in the old shadow tongue that sound like prayers or promises or both.
"It wasn't your fault," he says, over and over. "It was never your fault. Do you understand? It was never your fault."
"I know," I whisper. "I know that now."
But knowing doesn't make it hurt less. If anything, it hurts more. Because at least when I blamed myself, I had something tofocus on. Something to do. A way to atone for a failure that was mine to own.
Now all I have is rage. And grief. And the terrible, empty knowledge that my father—the man who raised me, who taught me to fight, who told me he was proud of me—murdered my baby and let me tear myself apart with guilt.
"I'm going to kill him," Kaan says quietly. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday, when it won't hurt you to lose him, I'm going to find him and I'm going to take him apart piece by piece."
"I know." I press my face into his chest. "I think I want you to."
"Good." His arms tighten around me. "Then we'll do it together. When you're ready."
I don't know how long we stay there, wrapped in shadows and silence. Long enough for the sun to shift across the sky. Long enough for my tears to dry and my breathing to steady and the raw wound in my chest to scab over, just a little.
Finally, I lift my head.
"What happens now?" I ask.
Kaan's face is still pale, his eyes still dark with banked fury. But when he looks at me, something softer emerges. Something that looks almost like hope.
"Now we heal," he says. "Together. As much as we can."
He presses his forehead to mine.
"And then we make sure your father's legacy is nothing but ash and memory."
I close my eyes and let myself breathe. For the first time in months, the weight on my chest feels just a little bit lighter.
Our baby didn't die because I failed. Didn't die because I wasn't careful enough or strong enough or watchful enough.
Our baby was taken from us. By a monster who wore a father's face.
And someday—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday—we're going to make him pay.
Together.
CHAPTER 36
KIDNAPPING PLOT
Kaan
I can still feelthe blood on my hands.
The memory of Taren's throat beneath my shadows, crushing his windpipe as his face turns purple. The vicious satisfaction as his eyes bulge with the realization that death has finally come for him. The way his body goes limp just before Solene's plea stops me.
My shadows writhe around me, agitated by the memory of violence interrupted. By rights, Lord Taren should be dead. The confirmation that he ordered the assassination of my son—our baby—should have been his death warrant. Would have been, if Solene hadn't stopped me with that desperate scream.
But we've been forced to return to the Shadow Court without his head. Political necessity. Fucking diplomacy. The Light Court would retaliate with full force if I murdered their lord at a peace negotiation, regardless of his crimes.
So here I am, restless in the throne room, my shadows lashing out occasionally to shatter whatever unfortunate objectis within reach. The guards have wisely retreated to the far corners, and even Emir keeps a respectful distance.
"Bring me the generals," I growl, my voice still raw from shouting in that Light Court pavilion. "All of them. Now."
Emir nods and leaves without a word. Smart man. Centuries of friendship have taught him when not to speak.
