Page 16 of The Book of Heartbreak

The bearer is reborn to suffer and thus to give suffering; a soul carrying the weight of an endless cycle.

A loop of existence from which there is no escape.

This fate defies the natural order. As I pen these words, I can’t help asking myself: what purpose does such eternal suffering serve?

What lesson is to be learned from a punishment so enduring?

May Allah show mercy on those bound by such a fate, for they are trapped in an eternity of cruelty.

Excerpt from The Book of Betrayal, Müneccimba s i Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena

The following day, despite how disloyal it makes me feel, I head to the Maiden’s Tower. I have to understand why exactly Munu is so frightened of Leon, and which one of them is telling me the truth about breaking curses.

As I step out of the house, Muzaffer’s driver Gokhan emerges from out of nowhere and follows me, asking if I need transportation. I wonder, as I firmly reject his offer, if Muzaffer has instructed him to keep an eye on me. As if I need a babysitter.

I descend the narrow slope, taking my time to avoid a misstep, so I won’t snap an ankle and jeopardise the fresh start I’ve sought in Istanbul.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I reach the bottom of the street.

When I dart around the corner, I lift my hand to shield my eyes from the sun’s blinding rays and cross the road.

Istanbul thrums with a chaotic rhythm. Crowds weave through the sidewalks, their lively conversations and laughter blending with the constant honking of taxis and the melodic shouts of street vendors.

Overhead, gulls screech as they soar through the sky.

Nobody could ever feel alone in Istanbul, I decide, walking along the seafront in search of a way to reach the Maiden’s Tower.

When I spot the island-bound boat amid the bustling port, I surge forward, determined to catch it.

Once aboard, the gentle sway underfoot leaves me light-headed.

Perhaps travelling across the water for the first time, or the thrill of my new-found independence, or the fear of what might go wrong, makes me dizzy.

Challenging menacing seers who look like heart-throbs wasn’t exactly on my to-do list when I arrived in Istanbul.

Finally, the boat sets sail, and the clamour of traffic fades into the sound of lapping water. I try not to think about the promises I made to Munu – to stay away from Leon, and the tower – and how, with a single trip, I’m breaking both.

When the boat docks at the islet, I unwrap a mint humbug, bracing myself against the daunting thought that this picturesque landmark is said to have once been a prison to a poor maiden. It looks so peaceful that I struggle to believe there’s any truth to the tale.

Instead of joining the stream of tourists flocking the arched entrance of the courtyard, I veer off and skirt the perimeter.

The island’s shore is jagged with rocks bristling against the sea.

Up close, the tower’s weathered exterior looks pristine, a result of recent renovations that mask any signs of its turbulent past, which, according to the tourist information boards, includes surviving three earthquakes and a fire.

A peculiar yet familiar sensation stirs within me as I study the structure, as if I’ve wandered on its grounds before.

Perhaps this sense of déjà vu originates from Daphne’s painting, and the memories of her telling me the tale of the tower.

I’ve listened to it countless times, so I can recite it from memory.

After a seer prophesied her death at the age of eighteen, the maiden was confined to this island for protection.

But Death still arrived on her eighteenth birthday, as a serpent hiding in a fruit basket, weaving through a cluster of grapes like a ribbon.

The maiden greeted the snake with naive curiosity, having never encountered such a creature before.

There’s something so tragic about this story – how the maiden didn’t expect harm from the snake. How her father’s attempts at shelter and protection left her vulnerable.

If misfortune is written in your stars , Munu used to say each time Daphne told me this story, you could jump on a spaceship to Mars and it would still follow you.

A gull shrieks above, jolting me back to the present. Dispelling the veil of nostalgia, I refocus on my mission. I didn’t come here to daydream.

I head into the courtyard, where the crowds have now dispersed, and there I find what – or rather, whom – I came for.

Leon.

He leans against a wall near the entrance, a striking figure in his security guard uniform. He was already good-looking in his shabby T-shirt and shorts, but the sleek suit makes him something else. I despise myself for finding him so attractive.

The devil , Munu whispers in my head. And his gaze locks on to me with an unyielding magnetism as if to prove her right, robbing me of the chance to study him as freely as I desire.

I notice a subtle twitch in his impassive expression as he sets eyes on me.

In a heartbeat, he closes the gap between us.

‘Silverbirch. What are you doing here?’

‘Visiting the museum,’ I try to respond as nonchalantly as I can muster.

‘Is that so?’ He sounds unconvinced. ‘I’d hoped you’d finally decided to show me your cards.’

‘Well, unlike you, I’m not a gambler.’ I use sarcasm to mask my nervousness. ‘Or a con artist.’

‘Not everything is as it seems, Sare Silverbirch.’ Now he looks annoyed, and I feel pleased with myself for deflating him.

‘So you say.’ I adjust my bag on my shoulder. ‘Oh, also . . . Before I forget, let me tell you something very important.’

God, I’m really not good at this.

He seems amused, his arrogant smile back in place, all ears for whatever I might blurt out next. Suddenly, all the carefully curated words in my head seem ridiculously foolish to voice aloud.

‘Leave Munu alone.’ I lift my chin higher, forcing down the fear. ‘Stop raising enquiries about her.’

‘And why exactly would I do that?’ He steps closer.

Too close. My breath quickens at the scent of his cologne.

Physical closeness isn’t my forte, after all.

It takes a lot of willpower to maintain unwavering eye contact, but I’m determined to prove his intimidation tactics won’t work on me.

Despite my resolve, the depths of his eyes – dark with hints of honey – grow more disconcerting by the moment.

‘Because—’ I swallow hard. ‘If you upset my friend, that means you upset me. And trust me, you wouldn’t want to cross your landlord’s granddaughter.’

‘Do you realise –’ he tilts his head slightly, and we’re so close now that the scent of mint from his breath washes over me – ‘that I’m only doing my job?’

Of course, these oh-so-secretive duties again. Leon, Munu – everyone seems to have some grand purpose, a role to play on a mysterious chessboard where I’m just a pawn being shuffled around.

I fold my arms. ‘What sort of job involves threatening innocent spirits – or ethereals, if I’m obliged to use your fancy terms.’

‘Can you imagine the chaos if the ethereals walked among us freely?’

I can’t, obviously. I don’t even fully grasp what ethereals are, or what they do here, or why they need permission in the first place. I clamp my mouth shut to avoid further embarrassment and mask my irritation.

‘Someone has to put in the effort to maintain order.’ Leon smiles again, as if talking to a small child. ‘If things go awry, the Hidden would be the first to be displeased, and I bet they’d be way more pissed off than you. Or your friend, whatever she’s up to.’

I’d be surprised if he could say a single word without patronising me.

‘You’re not the only one with a highly confidential, top-secret mission,’ I snap at last, attempting to assert authority, though the remnant of dominance is fading like the taste of the mint humbug on my tongue.

‘Ah, and what exactly is your mission?’

Shit . I suddenly realise what I just let slip.

Leon draws even closer, as if daring me to step back. His height surpasses mine, a head taller than me, imposing. The locks of our loose hair entwine, stirred by the sea breeze. I am rooted to the spot.

He doesn’t scare me, I reassure myself, holding his gaze. I can’t show any weakness. I won’t back away.

Fuck. Perhaps coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

‘Are you after the books?’ His voice is suddenly a whisper.

I gawk at him. ‘What books?’

‘ The books,’ he grunts.

‘I have no idea what you’re waffling about.’

His eyes glint with curiosity and he retreats to establish some much-needed distance between us. I try to seem unperturbed by his movement, and his stare remains fixed on me, as if he’s hunting for a reaction.

‘So as I was saying,’ I fumble. ‘Stay away from Munu, or you’ll regret it.’

With this ultimatum, which I have no idea how to fulfil, I turn away to head into the tower, abandoning Leon in the courtyard. A glance over my shoulder doesn’t deliver relief when I note that he isn’t following me. Instead, a weight settles in my chest, uncomfortably close to disappointment.

Inside the tower, soft light filters in from above, bathing the stone walls. In the absence of any curtains, the hardwood floor reflects the sunlight. Even with the throng of people, there’s a sense of calm – a serenity unlike any I’ve felt before.

The upper floor is a round room, encircled by large windows that frame breathtaking views of the sea like a living painting.

There’s an exhibition of calligraphy that captivates the onlookers with the swirls and flourishes of an ancient language.

In the centre, a sturdy wooden column climbs towards the vaulted ceiling, anchoring the room like the mast of a ship.

I lean against the smooth railing. Here, suspended between the land and the mass of water, I feel the strange sense of déjà vu again.

As if I’ve been right on this spot before.

But it’s impossible. I’ve never set foot in this place until today.

I drift over to the window, where the sea stretches wide and knowing under the vast sky. With a deep sigh, I allow myself to wonder how it would feel to be someone else.

Someone untouched by curses.

Someone who has never faced death.

Someone . . . normal.

There is a tranquillity here, a familiarity that pulls me in.

I nestle inside a windowsill and close my eyes briefly, surrendering to a sense of peace, until a ship’s long, bitter horn jolts me back to reality.

There’s a sour taste in my mouth and a dull ache on my shoulder.

Checking my watch, I’m shocked to find it’s nearly 3 p.m. Did I fall asleep?

I rise back to my feet, bumping against an unexpected obstacle. I look down to see a leather-bound book, seemingly out of place on the museum’s polished floor. I could swear it wasn’t there when I arrived. With a mix of reverence and curiosity, I lean down to scoop it up.

The worn cover is weathered, but the title gleams boldly in gold.

Müneccimbasi Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena: A Guide for Breaking the Most Enigmatic Curses.

Breaking the most enigmatic curses?

The claim sends a shudder down my spine. Sufi Chelebi . Isn’t that the guy Leon mentioned? Could this be the book he wouldn’t stop harping on about – the mysterious ‘materials’ he spoke of? Well, he’s clearly not been looking very hard.

The book is larger than an ordinary hardback.

Heavy to hold. It looks old. Shouldn’t such an object be under glass protection rather than lying abandoned on the floor?

I scan the room for a museum attendant, but there are only tourists.

Perhaps I could just quickly flick through and glimpse the secrets of this so-called curse-breaking.

I hurry downstairs and burst through the doors into the courtyard.

The sun’s rays strike my eyes sharply after the dim interior.

Squinting, I stumble towards the archway only to collide with a figure.

We’re two opposing currents in the flow of visitors and the crush sends a surge through my body.

I spin around, ready to apologise – and meet with Leon’s frown.

The abruptness of the encounter sends us both staggering, but he’s the first to speak beneath the aggressive caws of the gulls flickering above us.

‘Careful.’ He composes himself, then his gaze falls on the book clutched to my chest. His eyes widen with an astonishment that’s too authentic to be an act. ‘H-how— Where did you find that?’

‘This?’ I raise the book with a smirk. The wind picks up, twining through my hair and tugging at the pages. The paper rustles, as if the tome wants to be cracked open.

‘Stop waving it around,’ he admonishes, extending an arm to snatch it from me, but I shrink back, clutching the book closer. ‘Do you even realise what you’re holding?’

‘I thought I could have a quick look, seeing as you’re letting it lie around like a piece of rubbish on the floor.’

‘What? It didn’t— It couldn’t—’ His eyes darken. ‘Don’t try to trick me, Silverbirch.’

‘Why would I trick you?’ I scowl. ‘Is it my fault museum artifacts are scattered about the place?’

‘Don’t you get it?’ he hisses. ‘That book does not belong to the museum.’ Then he groans, as if talking to me is insufferable.

‘We can’t discuss it here. Come inside, to the office.

’ A large gull lands nearby, its beady eyes lingering on us.

‘Now.’ He grabs my wrist. I don’t know why I let him drag me inside, but perhaps I’m so desperate to learn how to break a curse, that I do.