“By mortal reckoning, she was only seventeen years old," Sarp continued, examining his apple. "Third-generation half-blood. Shadow taint of what, twelve percent? Doesn't matter. Thorough cleansing, the priests said. Very thorough. Apparently it took six hours." He looked up. "Want to know how I know that? Because I could hear her from my dormitory. Six hours of screaming and then silence, and this morning the priests blessed the purification wing and called it mercy."
Nobody spoke. My father’s jaw had tightened. I said nothing.
"Anyway." Sarp's smile returned — bright, sharp, dangerous. "Second piece of news. Much more cheerful."
"Doubtful."
"I've decided to court Ada."
The words landed in the silence like a blade thrown into a table.
Baba went still beside me. I felt his attention shift — not to Sarp, but to my face. Watching.
I gave them nothing.
"She's brilliant," Sarp said, ticking points on his fingers. "She's beautiful — devastatingly so. She laughs at my jokes, which shows excellent taste. My family's respectable enough that the court won't riot. And unlike certain people —" He waved his apple in my direction. "I actually know how to speak to a woman without making her want to commit violence."
"Since when?" I didn't look up from wrapping my knuckles. "Last I checked, you and I have spent the past three years making Ada's life miserable. Or have you forgotten the time you told her the Academy rooftop was open to students so she'd get caught by the night patrol? Or when you bet half the lordlings she'd cry if someone insulted her father's policies at dinner? She did cry, by the way. You collected your winnings."
Something shifted in Sarp's expression. Quick, there and gone.
"People change," he said.
"People don't change. They just find better reasons for the same behavior." I tossed the bloody wrapping cloth aside. "But by all means — court her. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear that the man who spent years helping me torment her has suddenly developed a conscience and a hard-on at the same time."
"Charming as always." Sarp bit into his apple, unbothered. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a do whatever you want." I tossed the bloody wrapping cloth aside. "She's a nuisance. Always has been. If you want to make her your problem permanently, that's between you and your poor judgment."
"That's a lot of opinions about a woman who means nothing to you."
"I've known her since we were children. I'm allowed to make observations." A beat. "Doesn't mean I give a shit what happens to her."
"No," Sarp agreed. "You're not blind. You're something much more interesting." He stood, tossing his apple core into a bin with perfect accuracy. "Well, this has been illuminating. I'll startat the Crowning Moon Festival next week. Walk her through the gardens. Buy her something pretty from the night market." He paused, watching my face. "The jasmine stall near the eastern gate — the one at the border where the light and shadow traders set up side by side and pretend the law doesn't apply after dark. She always liked jasmine, didn't she? I seem to remember her wearing it in her hair when we were young. Before we decided she was beneath our attention."
The word jasmine landed somewhere behind my ribs and stayed there.
"I wouldn't know," I said. "I don't catalog women's perfume preferences."
"Course you don’t." Sarp smiled — not the easy grin, not the sharp one. Something quieter. The kind that holds a mirror up to someone who refuses to look. "Any objections?"
"Why would I have objections?" I picked up a fresh training blade, testing the weight. "You want to spend your evenings listening to a girl lecture you about half-blood welfare while she looks at you like you're something she scraped off her boot — go ahead. Light Court women are all the same anyway. Pretty and pious and completely fucking insufferable the moment you get past the silk." I rolled my shoulder, moved back toward the dummies. "Just don't come crying to me when she bores you half to death."
"Course not," Sarp said pleasantly.
I was already swinging.
Behind me, Sarp glanced at my father — eyebrow twitching upward, a silent question.
Milan gave the smallest shake of his head. Not yet.
"Alright then," Sarp said softly. He walked to the door. Paused. "Oh, and Hakan? That scar on your jaw." He nodded at it. "It suits you. Very rugged. Very 'I got too close to the woman I don't care about and she branded me for it.' The girls at court will love the mystery."
He left before I could respond, whistling something obnoxiously cheerful that echoed down the corridor like a taunt.
Baba and I stood in the silence. Four destroyed dummies. Blood on the floor. Dawn breaking through the high windows, painting the carved names on the walls in gold.
"Don't," I said, before he could open his mouth.
