Chapter 12 – A Route Beyond the Sun
Chapter 12 – A Route Beyond the Sun
The first rays of dawn spread like a golden veil across the domes of the palace.
The stone walls of Topkapı had just begun to warm, and the birds perched silently on the window ledges.
The Sultan, having completed the morning prayer, had withdrawn to his private study.
Fatih's sword still rested in its ornate case at the far edge of the desk—quiet, but heavy with history.
There were three firm knocks on the door.
"Enter."
Balibey stepped in, his footsteps heavy but measured.
He bowed with respect and spoke directly.
There was clarity in his eyes and certainty in his voice:
"My Sultan… the preparations for the expedition are complete.
By noon today, a ship will depart from the port.
According to records, it's registered as a Hajj caravan."
The Sultan nodded slightly, listening.
Balibey continued:
"But the true plan is this:
The ship will make its first stop at the island of Rhodes.
When it docks, we'll disembark quietly—posing as a sick pilgrim in need of rest.
From there, a separate, hidden vessel will carry us to Venice."
A pause lingered.
Balibey finished without hesitation:
"We will guard the sword, the shadows, and the secret.
That is the plan, my Sultan."
The Sultan narrowed his gaze, turning toward the map.
He traced his fingers from Istanbul to Venice.
Then he pressed down upon Rhodes.
"This route… is correct.
And this journey… will be a march of an unseen army."
He lifted his head and locked eyes with Balibey.
"Let the last prayers be whispered before we land.
Because once we arrive—our enemies won't have breath left to pray."
Balibey bowed deeply. "As you command."
The Sultan glanced toward the sword case at the edge of his desk.
What it held now was more than a blade—it was a decision forged in steel.
As the palace slowly awakened elsewhere, Kösem Sultan was already on her feet.
Light filtered softly through silk curtains, spilling across an untouched tray of sherbet and fresh fruit.
A gentle knock.
The door opened without waiting.
The Sultan stepped in.
Kösem rose immediately. Her eyes scanned her son's face, but she said nothing.
The Sultan took a deep breath.
He approached slowly.
And for the first time in a long while, he spoke not as a ruler issuing orders—
but as a son in need of a mother's strength.
"Mother… it is time for my journey."
Kösem's eyes welled slightly, but she held her head high.
"You are leaving."
She spoke it not as a statement, but as a prayer.
The Sultan nodded.
"I intend to return.
But if I do not…"
He did not look away.
"…I entrust the state to you."
Kösem took his hand.
And not like a mother—but like the hand of a nation, steadying its sovereign—she said:
"Power is yours.
But beware… for the deadliest poison often wears the face of loyalty."
The Sultan bowed his head.
Silence settled between them.
Then Kösem opened a drawer and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment.
She handed it to him.
"When you reach Venice, go to this inn.
Someone will be waiting.
Your first help will come from there."
The Sultan unfolded the note.
It bore only two words:
Volans Cervi
He gave a faint smile as he looked up.
"Flying deer… is it?"
Kösem inclined her head. "That's the name of the inn. That's what the foreigners call it.
But inside… they'll know who you are."
The Sultan folded the note and tucked it into his inner pocket.
He looked at his mother once more—
then leaned in and kissed her forehead.
"Grant me your blessing, Mother."
"It is yours," Kösem said, her voice trembling.
But no tears fell.
Because the mother of a sovereign does not weep.