"Purified," Osman announced. "Blessed. Welcomed fully into the light."
They dragged his limp form to the side of the hall, where his mother waited with tears streaming down her face. "Thank you," she whispered as they deposited her son at her feet. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Her eyes remained fixed on the priests, the nobles, anyone who might be watching to assess her sincerity.
If she displayed anything other than thankfulness, she would be next.
They brought the second child forward. Then the third. Each purification lasted between two and five minutes.
I counted them as they fell. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Yara was sixth.
She did not weep when they led her to the circle. Did not beg or plead. She simply walked with her chin raised and her jaw set in that stubborn manner I remembered from childhood, when she had insisted on climbing the tallest tree in the palace gardens even though everyone warned her she would fall.
She had fallen, of course. Broken her arm in two places. But she had reached the top first.
The chains forced her to her knees upon the cold marble. The drums resumed their terrible cadence.
"Wait."
The word escaped my lips before I knew I meant to speak it. The drums faltered. Heads turned throughout the hall.
"Princess Ada." Osman's voice remained smooth. "Does something trouble you?"
Every gaze in the hall fixed upon me. My cousin Ezra stood near the front with her lips pressed into a thin satisfied line, as though she had been waiting for me to do something foolish. Near the pillars, I felt Hakan's eyes on me too—watching, always watching.
"This girl," I heard myself say. "I know her. She was kind. Gentle. Surely there are others more in need?—"
"The girl's shadow-taint was measured at seventeen percent," Osman interrupted. "Well above the threshold for mandatory cleansing. Your compassion speaks well of you, princess. But you must trust that we understand what is best for these poor tainted souls."
"She is but a child?—"
"She is plisk." The word came from my aunt, Lady Seher. "Half-breed filth with shadow-trader blood. Perhaps, niece, you would benefit from remembering where your loyalties ought to lie. You are Gün Ata's daughter. You are light incarnate. Conduct yourself accordingly."
I felt Yara's gaze upon me. Felt her hope curdling into acceptance as she understood that I was powerless—that whatever we had once been to each other meant nothing in this hall of golden light and golden lies.
"Forgive me," I said. "I spoke out of turn."
"You are forgiven. Your heart is tender." Osman turned back to Yara. "Let us continue."
The light descended.
Yara screamed.
But this time, Osman gestured to a priest who stepped forward bearing a whip unlike any I had seen—its lashes wrought of concentrated light, solidified into golden strands that hummed with divine energy. Where they moved through the air, they left trails of radiance like wounds in the world.
"The shadow-taint in this one runs deep," Osman announced. "Seventeen percent requires more thorough methods."
The first lash struck Yara across her back.
Her scream changed—became something raw and inhuman, a sound I had not known mortal throats could produce. Where the light-whip kissed her flesh, it did not merely burn. It carved into her. It opened her skin in smoking furrows that glowed gold at the edges, wounds that somehow burned and bled at once.
The second lash crossed the first. She arched up from her knees, bound hands clawing at empty air. The third caught her across the shoulders. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth—each accompanied by that terrible shriek, each leaving another luminous wound that wept light instead of blood.
My father had signed the order for this. For all of this. He'd smiled at dinner last night while somewhere, girls like her waited in cells for their "sacred gift."
"The corruption is being drawn forth," Osman explained calmly. "The divine light identifies the tainted blood and burns it away. The pain is cleansing. The pain is holy."
I could not breathe. Could not move. My fingernails cut crescents into my palms, but I could not look away. Could not stop hearing her screams as they echoed off the golden walls and marble floors and the impassive faces of nobles who sipped wine and whispered behind their fans.
