Page 32 of Crown of Storm and Silence
Dream of the moon and the silver sun
Close your eyes and drift away
To lands where only angels play
My voice cracks on the last line as tears track down my cheeks, and suddenly I'm not just singing to my unborn child. I'm five years old again, small and frightened in a darkened room, while gentle hands smooth the hair back from my forehead.
"Sleep now, my starlight,"a woman's voice whispers in my memory, soft and warm and infinitely patient."Mama's here. The shadows can't hurt you when you're dreaming of moonlight."
The memory unfolds—vivid and complete and devastating. My mother. Dark hair like mine, eyes the color of honey, singing this same lullaby while I clung to her nightgown and trembled from whatever nightmare had torn me from sleep.
"Mama," I breathe, the word a broken sob in the quiet cottage.
She's gone. I know that with bone-deep certainty, the same way I know the sun will rise tomorrow or that water flows downhill. Lost somewhere in the void where my past used to live, along with everything else that might help me understand what I felt today.
"I don't know who we used to be," I whisper to my belly, my voice still thick with tears. "I don't know what choices I made or what I was running from. But that man today—Kaan—when he touched you, when he spoke to you..." I press my hands more firmly against my belly. "You knew him, didn't you? Even if I can't remember, you remember him."
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with a longing so sharp it steals my breath. Whatever bond connected us through our child, however briefly, it felt like coming home to something I didn't even know I'd lost. The same way this lullaby feels—like finding a piece of myself I thought was gone forever.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into the memory of my mother's voice, her gentle hands, the safety of being loved unconditionally. Even as sleep begins to pull me under, I can't shake the feeling that both my mother's lullaby and Kaan's broken endearments are pieces of the same puzzle—fragments of love that somehow survived even when my memories didn't.
Sleep takes me gradually, pulled under by exhaustion and the lingering echo of that haunting lullaby. But instead of the usual chaotic fragments of memory, my dreams are surprisingly peaceful.
I'm walking through long grass that sways in a warm breeze, the sky above painted in shades of gold and rose that belong in fairy tales. The air smells of wildflowers and something else—something dark and intoxicating that makes my pulse quicken with recognition.
In the distance, a figure approaches through the swaying grass. Tall, imposing, moving with that deadly grace I remember from our encounters by the river. But there's something different about him here, something that makes my heart skip rather than race with fear.
Kaan.
The smile he wears as he draws closer is unlike anything I've seen from him in waking life—soft, genuine, full of warmth that transforms his sharp features into something breathtaking. This isn't the dangerous stranger who terrifies villagers or the desperate man who claims ownership of my stolen memories.
This is someone who loves me.
"You're here," he says, his voice carrying wonder and relief in equal measure. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to find me."
"Find you?" I ask, but somehow I understand. This place, whatever it is, belongs to both of us. A space between waking and sleeping where the barriers between us don't exist.
"Lie with me," he murmurs, and his hands are gentle as they guide me down into the soft grass. "Let me show you what you've forgotten."
I should be afraid. Should remember that this man is dangerous, that his touch carries the promise of shadows and possession. But here, in this golden place that exists only in dreams, I feel nothing but safety and a longing so deep it steals my breath.
His mouth finds mine, and the kiss is everything I didn't know I was missing. Soft at first, then deeper, more demanding, as if he's trying to pour five months of separation into this single connection. His hands frame my face with reverent care, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize I was crying.
"I've missed you," he breathes against my lips. "On Atheon, how I've missed you."
The words should mean nothing to me—how can I miss someone I don't remember? But my body knows him, responds to his touch like a flower turning toward the sun. When his hands begin to explore, mapping curves and valleys with the familiarity of ownership, I arch into his touch instead of pulling away.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing kisses along my throat. "So beautiful, and mine. Always mine."
The possessiveness should terrify me, but instead it sends heat spiraling through my veins. His mouth trails lower, and when his tongue finds the sensitive spot where my pulse beats frantic and wild, I gasp his name like a prayer.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Say my name. Remember how it feels to belong to me."
His shadows begin to move then, but they're not the violent, chaotic things I've witnessed before. These are gentle, caressing, wrapping around my wrists and ankles with silk-soft touch that makes me shiver with anticipation rather than fear.
"Kaan," I breathe, and the sound seems to unlock something primal in him.
His mouth moves lower, pressing kisses to my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the curve of my belly where our child grows. Each press of his lips brands me—heat sinking through skin and muscle, imprinting need into my bones. Each touch sends fire racing through my veins, awakening something primal and desperate that I didn't know existed within me.
