Page 61

Hakan

T wo days had passed since our intimate encounter in the forest clearing.

Two days of Ada carefully avoiding being alone with me, of villagers rebuilding structures damaged by our magically induced storm, of my shadows growing stronger while my body healed.

And two days of watching Kiraz, studying her movements, her magic, her features that stirred strange recognition.

"So…" Sarp's voice cut through my thoughts with the subtlety of a dull blade. "Is no one going to mention the magical storm that nearly leveled the western forest the day before yesterday? The one that just happened to coincide with you and Ada disappearing for hours?"

I kept my eyes on the dagger I was sharpening, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. My shadows coiled tighter around me, betraying my inner turmoil.

"The villagers have some colorful theories," he continued, shifting painfully in his sickbed but clearly enjoying himself. "Old Aylin claims her chickens laid eggs with shadow swirls inside. She's calling them 'passion eggs.'"

"Don't you have injuries to attend to?" I growled, the blade gliding on the whetstone with more force than necessary.

"Apparently near-death experiences make me chatty," Sarp replied with a grin.

Though he remained confined to his bed, I'd noticed his movements becoming more fluid over the past day while his impressive healing abilities kicked in—another reason he'd been invaluable on shadow missions for years.

"Besides, I've spent five years watching you brood over Ada.

Forgive me for finding your current situation somewhat… entertaining."

My mind flashed involuntarily to two days earlier—Ada's unexpected kiss in the forest clearing, the way she had pressed herself against me with a hunger that matched my own.

How quickly we had lost ourselves in each other, magic flaring around us like a tempest. But the timing nagged at me.

She'd initiated our encounter just as my questions about Kiraz were growing. Coincidence? Or calculated distraction?

"My relationship with Ada is none of your fucking business," I growled.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping over the floor.

The whetstone clattered onto the table. I didn't care if he was my friend or not.

I was in a bad mood, because I thought Ada played me two days ago. She was distracting me from something.

"Relationship?" Sarp raised an eyebrow. "So there is something to discuss."

My shadows lashed out without conscious thought, knocking over a cup of water beside his bed. Sarp merely chuckled, undeterred by my display of irritation.

"She has you by the balls…smart Ada, smart," he observed, his tone softening slightly. "Again."

"Shut the fuck up," I muttered, though without real heat.

"I know you better than anyone," he countered. "Well enough to see that whatever's between you two is far from resolved."

I couldn't argue with that assessment. Five years of carefully constructed walls had begun to crumble the moment Ada and I had been thrown together again, even in the Shadow Court.

"The child," I said, abruptly changing the subject. "Kiraz. There's something unusual about her."

Sarp's amusement faded, his expression growing more guarded. "What do you mean?"

"She commands shadows," I said, watching him carefully. "Not just any shadow manipulation—precise control that resonates with mine. Like calling to like."

Sarp shrugged, though the gesture seemed forced. "She has light, so anything is possible at that age. Maybe Nadine had a tryst with some shadow realm traveler years ago. You know how popular your warriors are with the ladies in border towns."

The suggestion was presented casually, but something in his tone rang false. "Shadow magic isn't randomly inherited," I pressed. "It follows bloodlines. Specific bloodlines tied to the shadow lords."

"Maybe Nadine has better taste than we thought," Sarp suggested with a smirk. "Could have been any shadow lord passing through. They're not exactly celibate, your noble brethren."

I leaned forward, closing the distance between us. "But there's more. Two days ago in the forest, when danger threatened, Kiraz's shadows didn't just appear—they reached for mine. Recognized mine." I lowered my voice. "Tell me what you know, Sarp. Now."

"Some kids are just gifted," Sarp replied, a little too quickly. "Look, why the sudden interest in the child's parentage? We should be focusing on recovering your strength, on finding a way back to the shadow realm before your father grows even more suspicious."

His deflection only heightened my curiosity. "You're hiding something."

"And you're being paranoid," he countered, meeting my gaze steadily. "Not everything is a conspiracy, Hakan. Sometimes a child is just a child with an unusual gift."

I recognized his evasion for what it was. We'd fought side by side too long for me not to know when Sarp was concealing truth. But before I could corner him further, the door opened.

Nadine entered, carrying fresh bandages, her expression cooling when she saw me.

"I need to change Sarp's dressings," she said, her tone making it clear she wanted me gone.

"Actually, Nadine, I need some air," Sarp said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and wincing as he did so. "Been cooped up too long."

Nadine frowned. "You shouldn't be moving yet?—"

"Fresh air speeds healing," Sarp insisted, already limping toward the door. "Won't be long."

Before Nadine could object further, he had slipped out, leaving me alone with her.

I stepped back but didn't leave. "Perhaps you can satisfy my curiosity first," I said, watching her carefully. "About Kiraz."

Her hands stilled momentarily before resuming their task of arranging supplies. "What about her?"

"Her shadows," I said bluntly. "They respond to mine. As if they know me."

Nadine's face revealed nothing, but the slight tightening of her grip on the bandages told its own story. "Kiraz has many gifts."

"Including shadow magic that typically only passes through shadow lord bloodlines," I observed, my patience wearing thin. "I'm curious about her father."

"I don't see how that's relevant to you," she replied with forced calm.

I moved closer, the shadows in the room darkening with my approach. A vial on the shelf trembled as my power brushed against it. "Whose blood runs in her veins, Nadine? Which shadow lord sired her?"

"Kiraz's parentage is her own business," Nadine said, her voice hardening. "And mine."

"Of course," I agreed with mock politeness. "Though I can't help but wonder which shadow lord might have passed through this area around five years ago. Her magic feels…familiar somehow."

Nadine's eyes flashed, genuine anger replacing her careful neutrality. "Kiraz is my family. That's all you need to know."

The vehemence of her response was telling. There was something here—some secret she was protecting fiercely.

"I meant no offense," I said, raising my hands in a placating gesture that was at odds with my growing suspicion. "The child is gifted. I merely thought her father might appreciate knowing of her progress."

"Her father is not in the picture," Nadine replied, her tone cold. "By his own decision."

An interesting choice of words. Not that the father was unknown or had died, but that he had chosen absence. A shadow lord who had abandoned his responsibilities? Or something more complicated?

"That's unfortunate," I said. "Shadow magic requires proper guidance to develop safely."

"She has all the guidance she needs," Nadine said, turning away in clear dismissal. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to."

She left the room, her stiff posture betraying her agitation. I remained, mulling over our exchange. Her defensiveness only confirmed my suspicions that Kiraz's parentage was far from ordinary.

The pieces refused to align neatly. Nadine's fierce protection. Sarp's obvious deflection. Everyone's tension when I showed interest in the child. And most telling—Kiraz's shadows that danced with mine like long-lost kin.

A dark suspicion formed. What if Kiraz was somehow related to me through my father? What if Erlik had sired a child with my Ada during one of his many power plays? It would explain the secrecy, the protective instincts of the villagers, even Ada's involvement in hiding her.

The thought twisted my gut. If my father had forced himself on Ada, if Kiraz was born of such violation…

I would make sure my father would never see the light of day, I would destroy him.

I had witnessed his cruelty firsthand, and had been its target often enough, but even for him, such an act would be a new depth of depravity.

But no—that didn't align with Kiraz's age or with Nadine's claim that the father had chosen absence. My father never abandoned potential assets, only destroyed those that failed to serve his purpose.

Unless…

Memory flashed—those two missing years, bound by my father's spell. A void where recollection should be. An icy fear crept through me. What if the connection I felt with Kiraz was more direct? What if during those blank years…?

"Fuck, calm down. Ada would have shared this, she wouldn't let Erlik touch her," I muttered, shadows writhing around me in response to my agitation. If my father had manipulated me to that extent, had used me as an unwitting pawn in some elaborate scheme involving the light realm…

No. Even he had limits. And surely I would remember something so significant, spell or no spell.

Yet a memory surfaced—fragmented, elusive. Ada's face, years younger, illuminated by firelight. Her whispered words I couldn't quite grasp: something about "our future" and "worth fighting for."

When dusk approached, I made my way back toward the village center, determined to speak with Ada directly, to cut through the web of evasions and half-truths. I'd had enough of secrets and shadows—at least those that weren't my own.

As I neared the healing cottage, I found Sarp sitting on the front porch, pale but alert, keeping watch over the village approaches. His eyes were scanning the forest edge with the vigilance of a man who'd survived too many ambushes to ever feel truly safe.

Before I could approach him, a commotion erupted from the western forest. Shouting. The crash of underbrush. Then a figure burst into the clearing—Melo in her human form, bloodied and disheveled, clothes torn, a wound seeping at her side.

"Ambush!" she gasped, staggering forward. "Western meadow—Midas's generals?—"

Cold dread seized my heart. "Ada? Kiraz?"

"Gold weapons," she managed, collapsing to her knees.

"They were waiting—I tried to warn them—they used gold dust—" She gestured to the shimmering particles clinging to her wounds and clothing, a substance I recognized from ancient shadow texts as one of the few materials that could neutralize shapeshifter magic.

"Couldn't transform—couldn't get back in time?—"

Sarp pushed himself up from his chair, alarm overriding his pain. "How many?"

"At least fifteen," Melo rasped. "Elite gold guard. All wielding weapons like Midas's—they've somehow replicated his gold magic."

My shadows erupted around me in a violent storm. In that moment, all questions of parentage and secrets fell away before a single, consuming truth: they had taken what was mine to protect.

The revelation slammed into me, cold and merciless. All the deflections, the evasions, the efforts to keep me occupied in the village—they hadn't been hiding Kiraz's parentage from me.

They had been hiding her from someone else.

Someone who had found her anyway.