Page 101 of Crown of Ashes and Desire

"But what if Kiraz wakes?" I asked, torn between my daughter's needs and my friends' safety.

"I'll handle it," Iris assured me. "She'll be safe here. The cottage has protective wards, and she knows to stay inside if she wakes."

Reluctantly, I agreed. But as we prepared to leave, I made a silent vow—after this, no more separation. Whatever came next, I would find a way to keep my daughter close and safe.

When we returned to the healing house, I found Sarp barely conscious on a makeshift bed Melo had prepared. His usually impeccable appearance was marred by dirt, blood, and what appeared to be golden burns across half his face.

"You absolute fool," Melo whispered, her voice breaking as she knelt beside him. Her human form trembled with anemotion I'd never seen her display. "You reckless, stubborn, magnificent fool."

Despite his injuries, a ghost of Sarp's familiar smirk appeared. "Miss me?" he murmured weakly. "I told you... I always keep my promises."

Then his eyes rolled back, unconsciousness claiming him as Nadine rushed forward, already calling for fresh bandages and healing herbs.

I stood between the two wounded men—one who had sacrificed himself to save me, one who had apparently fought through hell to return to Melo. Both of them broken because of a conflict that stretched back centuries, to the very gods Ak Ana and Kara Iye whose powers now flowed through my daughter's veins.

Kiraz—a child of both shadow and light, embodying the very balance that ancient prophecy had foretold, though she had no idea of her true heritage. The balance that Midas had corrupted, that Hakan and I were now attempting to restore.

If she was discovered, if Erlik learned of her existence, she would become a target—or worse, an instrument in his quest for power. What would Hakan do if he knew? Would he keep her secret, protect her from his father's ambitions? Or would duty to the shadow realm outweigh the bond of blood he didn't even know existed?

I gazed at Hakan's face, now peaceful in a healing sleep, our binding humming between us with the melody of silent song. So much power in this room—shadow and light, life and death, past and future—all hanging in precarious balance.

When I looked between Hakan and thought of Kiraz sleeping safely at the cottage, I felt the weight of my deception pressed over my chest as a physical burden. Five years of lies. Five years of keeping father and daughter apart. All to protect them both,I told myself, but sometimes in the darkest hours of night, I wondered who I was really protecting.

What I did know with bone-deep certainty was that I would burn both realms to ash before I let anyone harm my child—be it Erlik, another Shadow Lord, or even her unknowing father who lay broken because he had chosen to save me.

Hakan

Pain. It greeted me with familiar cruelty when consciousness returned, radiating from wounds that should have killed me. I lay motionless, assessing my surroundings through barely opened eyes. Unfamiliar ceiling. Scents of healing herbs and light magic. The soft predawn glowfiltering through shuttered windows. I was surprised to feel good in this unfamiliar space.

Across the room, I spotted Sarp in another bed, bandages covering half his face and wrapping around his torso. He was deep in healing sleep, his breathing steady but labored, clearly still recovering from whatever injuries he'd sustained.

Not the shadow realm. Not anywhere I recognized. Had Ada brought me here after the battle? The last thing I remembered was taking Midas's golden blades meant for her, the searing pain when they'd pierced my body, and then her light enveloping me while darkness claimed my vision.

How had I not seen the trap? I, the Shadow Lord, master strategist, had walked us straight into Midas's ambush. The realization burned almost worse than my wounds. And yet, when that deadly golden bolt had sped toward Ada's unprotected back, I hadn't hesitated. No tactical calculation, no weighing of options—just a bone-deep certainty that I couldn't let her die. This whole thing was a total clusterfuck.

I pushed myself upright, biting back a groan while half-healed wounds protested. My shadows were weak, coiling sluggishly beneath my skin in faded wisps rather than the living darkness they should be. Vulnerable. Exposed.

The small cottage was silent and empty, but I sensed Ada's scent. She was here, her light still lingering in the air and something else that I couldn't place—another source of power, very similar to mine. Whoever had been tending me was gone, at least for the moment. I rose carefully, testing my limbs. Functional, if barely. My clothes had been replaced with simple linen garments—plain and sturdy, nothing like the ornate attire befitting the Shadow Lord.

Good. Anonymity would serve me better than title in what was clearly light territory.

I slipped outside, drawing my depleted shadows closer, their dark tendrils barely responsive. I masked their signature. Dawn was just breaking, painting the unfamiliar village in soft gold. Whitewashed stone buildings clustered around a central square, where early risers were already setting up market stalls. Some kind of temple stood at the northern edge, marked with symbols I didn't immediately recognize.

I was glad when no one paid me particular attention—to the outsiders I was just another wounded man in a village that apparently specialized in treating them. I kept my posture deliberately hunched, head slightly bowed, moving with the deliberate care of the recently injured rather than my natural predatory grace.

The village was waking now, smoke curling from chimneys while the market square filled with voices. I drifted between stalls, listening for information, for any hint of where, exactly, we were and how precarious our position might be.

"…messengers from the capital say Midas himself vanished in the border skirmish…" "…shadow forces retreated, but there are rumors…" "…princess of light, some say she was there when…"

The rumors had spread fast, way too fast. I filed away each fragment, constructing a picture of the aftermath. Midas was presumably dead, but I needed proof before drowning in any more conclusion. The shadow forces—my forces—in disarray. And rumors of Ada's presence, though no one seemed certain.

Lost in thought, I failed to notice the small form darting between market stalls until we collided. The impact was negligible to me, but it sent the child—a girl of perhaps five—tumbling backward onto the dusty ground.

"Watch where you're going, little serpent," I growled, instinctively annoyed at the interruption of my thoughts.

She glared up at me, utterly unfazed by my tone. Something in her gaze caught me off guard—a fierce intelligence, an absolute lack of fear. Dark hair framed a face that struck me as oddly familiar, though I couldn't place why. There was something in the set of her jaw, the arch of her eyebrow that stirred a strange recognition.

"No, you watch where you're going," she retorted, and picked herself up with dignity that bordered on comical in one so small. "You're too tall to see what's down here."

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