"There has to be another way," I hear myself say, and I sound like a stranger. Desperate. Broken. "There's always another way. I'll make a bargain with Erlik. With anyone. Name the price?—"
"There is no price," Seraphine says, and the gentleness in her voice is worse than cruelty. "This isn't about power or deals. It's about time, and we're running out of it. You need to decide. Now."
I look at Nesilhan's unconscious face. So pale. So still. Her hand lies limp at her side where moments ago—before she passed out—it had been pressed protectively over her belly.
I already know.
Gods help me, I already know what I'm going to choose.
Because I've been here before. I've lost a woman I loved who chose death over watching me become a monster. I've spent a hundred years trying to save Isil, watching pieces of my soul die with each failed attempt, until there was nothing left but the monster everyone sees now.
And I cannot—I will NOT—survive that again.
Even if it makes me a monster.
Even if my wife hates me for it.
Even if my child's blood is on my hands.
Even if I'm making the wrong choice.
"Save her," I tell Seraphine. My voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "Save my wife."
"My lord, are you certain?—"
"SAVE HER!"
The command carries enough magical weight that every healer in the room gasps. Seraphine's body moves before her mind fully processes, her hands glowing with concentrated golden light as she pours everything she has into Nesilhan's failing body.
I watch across the thread between us as it happens.
The tiny spark of consciousness that was my child—that innocent, fragile life that had been calling for me to save it—flickers.
Once.
Twice.
Then it goes dark.
The silence that follows is the sound of my world ending.
I slam back into the present so violently I stagger.
Nesilhan is still across the room, watching me with those golden eyes that used to look at me with desire. With passion. With something that might have become love if I hadn't destroyed it.
Now they hold only ashes.
"You chose me," she says quietly, "because you were too much of a coward to be alone again."
The accuracy of it steals my breath.
"Yes." The word tastes like blood and failure. "Yes, I chose you because I'm a selfish bastard who would rather be damn innocent than survive your loss. I chose you because the thought of holding your corpse while our child grew up without a motherwas more than I could bear. I chose you because—" My voice breaks. "Because losing Isil broke something in me that never healed, and I knew losing you would finish the job."
"So our child paid the price for your trauma."
"Yes."
"Our innocent baby died because you were too damaged to make the right choice."
