Chapter 10 – The Storm that Walks in Shadow
The midday sun bathed the gilded domes of Topkapı Palace in blazing gold. The air was hot, yet Valide Sultan Kösem's quarters remained cool, serene, and as resplendent as ever.
Silken drapes swayed in the gentle breeze, and the harmonious melodies of the oud and ney mingled softly in the background. In one corner, a silver tray adorned with ruby-like pomegranate seeds sat beside a crystal pitcher of rose sherbet.
Kösem Sultan reclined gracefully upon the divan, her slender fingers gliding across exotic fabrics unfurled before her. Some were satin from Hindustan, others velvet from Damascus — recent offerings from one of the palace's newest court artists.
She was at peace.
Until the door opened, and Nigar Hatun entered with an unfamiliar urgency in her eyes.
She bowed her head.
"Validem… it's urgent. I must speak to you alone."
Kösem furrowed her brows slightly, then gave a subtle nod.
"Leave us."
The music stopped. Attendants, embroiderers, merchants, and maids all filed out in silence. Once the door closed, only the two women remained.
Nigar stepped closer and spoke quietly.
"Recep Pasha… is dead. He died in the dungeon."
Kösem leaned back, closed her eyes for a brief moment.
A faint smile ghosted across her lips. She whispered:
"Well done."
But Nigar had not finished.
"…But he wasn't killed by our hand."
Kösem's gaze froze. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the soft clink of sherbet in its glass vessel.
She turned her eyes to Nigar, but there was no surprise — only a readiness.
"So... they moved before us."
She fell silent. Then, slowly straightening her golden-stitched belt, she sipped her sherbet. The smile faded from her lips.
Just then, the door knocked again.
A servant girl entered, eyes cast down.
"My Lady… the Sultan approaches."
Kösem's expression stiffened. The storm was coming.
The doors to the Valide Sultan's chambers burst open.
Kösem stood tall, her golden belt firm, her gaze composed.
But the man who entered changed the air entirely.
Sultan Murad IV.
His eyes blazed with fury, though his voice, at first, was calm. He spoke a single word:
"Was it you?"
Kösem's face tightened, but she wore her usual mask. Raising her brows lightly, her tone smooth:
"What do you mean, my son?"
Murad stepped closer, his gaze sharper than a blade.
"Recep. Did you have him killed?"
Kösem tilted her head slightly, feigning just enough surprise.
"I only just heard of his death."
Murad's control cracked. His voice rose like thunder:
"Don't play games with me, Valide!"
"You knew he was captured. You knew he betrayed me. You knew he was in Yedikule."
"Surely the sparrows whispered it to you. The walls of the harem are filled with your ears."
Silence fell between them.
Then Kösem's mask broke. Her eyes darkened, and her voice became heavier, more real:
"No. I didn't kill him."
"Yes, the strings of Recep Pasha were once in my hands. Yes, I brought him into the palace. But I didn't know whom he truly served until it was too late."
"And yes… I let it be. Because those strings still served a purpose. For the sake of the state."
Murad erupted. His rage crashed like waves:
"How?! How could you tolerate a man who betrayed the empire?!"
"And worse — you married my sister to him and brought him into our bloodline?!"
He stepped in close, his voice a whisper of ice.
"Or is it that you, too, have betrayed me, Valide?"
Kösem's eyes sparked — with pain? Or fury? It was hard to tell. Her voice rose:
"I have protected this empire not so it would fall into your hands, but so it would stand tall."
"My struggle began before you even sat on that throne. I gave up motherhood for the sake of the state. If you accuse me, then know the weight you bear first."
They locked eyes — the most powerful man and woman of the empire — and the silence was sharper than any blade.
Then Murad turned to Kasım. His voice was calmer, but held the weight of judgment:
"What did you hear, Kasım?"
Kasım stepped forward, eyes cast down, but his voice was steady:
"Only what was spoken, my Sultan."
"Our Valide tells the truth."
Murad inhaled deeply. His fury dulled, but had not vanished.
He stepped back and paced the room. Hands behind his back, his gaze drifting. The room was quiet, but the storm had not passed.
He spoke again, slower now — voice lower, yet heavier.
"We interrogated the traitors. Leonardo… has never once stepped foot in the palace."
"The Grittis were his bridge. From trade, to information, to betrayal."
Kösem listened closely. Her eyes scanned his face, not for doubt, but for purpose.
Murad lifted his head. His voice softened, almost reconciliatory:
"I depart tomorrow, Valide."
Kösem raised her gaze.
"To where?"
A faint, ironic smile played on Murad's lips.
"You never trust what lies behind my steps. So you ask."
"Fine. You'll send word to the Divan:
'The Sultan departs on pilgrimage.'"
Kösem's eyes narrowed. She sensed something beneath the veil.
Murad's voice turned sharp again:
"But my true destination is Venice. Then Italy."
"Leonardo's roots lie there. Our lost relics, our secrets, our enemies — all trace back to that place."
He took a step closer.
"This knowledge stays between us — you, Cafer, Kasım, and Balibey."
"If another soul hears of it… when I return, no one shall be left standing."
Kösem didn't flinch. She held his gaze, not with fear, but pride.
"I raised you, Murad. But now, even the empire struggles to follow your steps."
Murad dipped his head slightly, his gaze steel and serenity combined.
"Then it's time. Pilgrims wear white. I'll ride in black."
And thus, Sultan Murad did not merely leave his mother with words —
He left her with a burden. And a storm on the horizon.