Page 82 of Crown of Ashes and Desire

When evening approached, she followed me to my chambers, the silence between us heavy with unspoken truths. I thought of her mind shattered for two years, lost in darkness because of me.

I’d break the world before letting her suffer like that again.

Even if it meant breaking myself instead.

Later, as Ada slept beside me, carefully maintaining the distance between us, I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting her in silver that reminded me of her light magic. Two years lost in darkness because of me. Two years of her light extinguished. I pressed a hand to my chest where the binding had returned as a familiar ache, one that had settled back into the dull throb I'd grown accustomed to. This pain was nothing compared to what she had endured. Perhaps it was only right that I should carry some small fraction of what I had caused her. When I drifted toward sleep, one thought remained clear: I would find another way. I had to.

Ada

Iwoke to darkness and the sound of Hakan breathing beside me. The Shadow Realm's ethereal glow filtering through the windows told me it was the deepest hour of night, when even most shadow folk would be sleeping. My body curved instinctively toward his warmth before memory crashed back—the betrayal, the pain, the hatred that had sustained me for five years.

Except that the hatred felt different now. Thinner somehow. Like a cloak I'd worn for so long, it was beginning to fray at the edges.

I slipped from bed silently, careful not to wake him. In sleep, his face lost its hardness. The angles softened, the perpetual crease between his brows smoothed away. He appeared almost like the man I'd loved—the one who had gazed at me with devotion, who had whispered promises against my skin.

That man was gone, I reminded myself. Destroyed by ambition, corrupted by power. And yet…

Something didn't make sense. The pieces didn't fit together. Since returning to the Shadow Court, I'd caught glimpses of a different Hakan beneath the cruelty—one who watched me when he thought I wasn't observing, with an expression that resembled something like regret.

And now there was this—his insistence that I sleep in his chambers "for protection." The gentleness in his touch when he thought I was asleep. The way he called out my name in his dreams, voice aching with something that sounded suspiciously like longing.

Sleep eluded me. I needed air, space to think away from his presence. I pulled on a robe, shoes, and slipped from the chamber, moving silently through the darkened corridors of the palace. Seven days remained until the ritual—nine days to find an answer or face whatever fate Hakan claimed he was trying to spare me from.

The night gardens were empty, bathed in the ethereal glow of the Shadow Realm's moons. I wandered among exotic flowers that bloomed only in darkness, their perfume heavy and intoxicating.

My light magic swirled absently at my fingertips when I considered whether to tell him about Kiraz. The secret felt heavy, a burden I’d carried for five years. Would knowing about his daughter change anything? Would it matter to the man he’d become?

I closed my eyes, remembering our daughter’s face. Her eyes—his eyes. The stubborn tilt to her chin was all him. She was almost five now, safe in my father’s realm, hidden away from the Shadow Realm and the man who had abandoned us both without ever knowing she existed.

The thought of Kiraz brought its usual ache, but something else surfaced with it—the memory of Hakan with the shadow children in the courtyard. He’d been distant, observing rather than participating, but I’d seen something in his expression while he’d watched them. Not disgust or indifference. Something closer to…longing? Impossible.

My wandering led me to the edge of the gardens, where high walls normally contained the palace grounds. But tonight, something was different. A small gate stood ajar, unguarded. Freedom beckoned, unexpected and tempting.

I hesitated, suspicious. An unguarded exit seemed too convenient, possibly a trap. Was someone testing me? Trying to give me enough rope to hang myself with? I glanced around, seeing no watchers in the shadows, sensing no magical surveillance.

After careful consideration, I weighed my options. The voice could be a trap, but staying meant accepting this prison indefinitely. Yet leaving meant abandoning Melo, my closest friend who had risked everything to help me. Could I really slip away without her, leaving her to face whatever consequences Hakan might devise? And I was still in my nightgown - hardly prepared for whatever lay beyond these walls.

But the alternative was spending perhaps years watching through windows while my life passed by, never knowing if another chance would come. Melo would understand, I told myself, though guilt twisted in my stomach. She was resourceful enough to deflect Hakan's suspicions, at least for a while. And whoever was offering this escape might not wait.

I made my choice, hoping Melo would forgive me and that this wasn't the worst mistake of my life. Even if it was a test, I decided it was worth the risk. Whatever punishment Hakan might devise couldn't be worse than the stifling confinement of the past weeks. And if I was being deceived, better to know who was behind it.

The shadow city spread below the palace hill, a maze of narrow streets and leaning buildings. Unlike the sterile perfection of the palace, the city pulsed with strange life even at this hour—night markets catering to nocturnal shadow folk, taverns that never closed, and mysterious establishments whose purposes I could only guess at. The Shadow Realm operated on different rhythms than the Light Realm, with certain businesses and rituals reserved for the darkest hours.

I pulled my hood lower, grateful for the dark cloak that helped me blend in. I wandered without direction, drinking in the sights and sounds of a world I’d never truly seen before.

The architecture told stories my tutors had only hinted at—buildings with foundations of ancient stone, predating the Sundering when shadow and light were one realm. History surrounded me, not in dry lessons but in living memory preserved in stone and shadow.

Then I felt it—a sharp tug of fear that wasn’t my own. A psychic cry for help, thrumming with terror and desperation. Child’s fear. I’d felt something similar when Kiraz had nightmares, a maternal connection that transcended physical proximity.

I followed the sensation, drawn through twisted alleys and shadowed squares toward the oldest part of the city. The buildings here were old, stone worn smooth by centuries of shadow magic. The sensation led me to a crumbling tower that rose, as it appeared like a broken tooth against the night sky.

The fear intensified when I approached, accompanied now by the acrid scent of dark magic—blood magic, forbidden even in this realm of shadows. My light gathered instinctively in my palms when I slipped through the tower’s entrance.

Inside, stone stairs spiraled downward. The psychic cry grew stronger with each step, pulling me deeper below the city streets. The air thickened with magic, carrying the metallic scent of blood and the sharp tang of fear.

I reached a heavy iron door, pushed it open without hesitation. The scene inside froze my blood.

A circular chamber, walls carved with ancient symbols that pulsed with sickly green light. I recognized several of the runes from my studies—symbols that predated the Sundering. Five hooded figures stood around a stone altar, their shadows stretching grotesquely in the magical glow. And on the altar, a small form struggled against black bindings—a child, no more than four or five, her face contorted in terror.

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