As Kalugal started the engine and pulled away from the airstrip behind the ambulance, Areana struggled with the silence. The turmoil in her head was like a buzz in her ears, thoughts spinning too fast to catch.
She needed to fill the quiet with something.
Anything.
"Jacki." She turned to the blonde woman beside her, "Kalugal told me how you two met, but only the highlights. I'd love to hear it from you. If you don't mind sharing."
Jacki smiled warmly. "It's quite a story, actually. But I should start way before I met Kalugal, so you will understand the context of how we met and why. It all started when I was recruited into a government paranormal program because of my precognition ability..."
As Jacki talked about covert operations and stalking Kalugal wearing a disguise, Areana listened. Or tried to listen. The words washed over her, but what she really heard was the cadence of Jacki's voice—warm, full of life and love when she spoke about Kalugal.
This was the woman her son had chosen. Who had chosen him despite meeting him under extremely unusual circumstances, and who had given him a son.
She was grateful that Kalugal had found his truelove mate.
Her attention kept drifting to Darius and his dark blue eyes. They were such an unusual shade, like the ocean at twilight, and he watched her with an intensity that seemed far too mature for someone so young. He didn't fuss or cry or demand attention. He just observed, as if trying to understand who this new person was and why she kept touching his hand.
"I'm sorry I missed his first birthday," Areana said, interrupting whatever Jacki had been saying about a charity she was running. "I wish I could have been there."
"You couldn't have been," Jacki said gently. "You were trapped. But you're here now, and that's what matters."
"We could throw Darius another party," Kalugal offered from the front seat. "Make it a welcome celebration for you and another birthday celebration for Darius. He would love having another birthday cake."
Darius's face brightened. "Cake!"
It was the first word Areana heard him say, and it was perfectly clear. "Do you like cake?" she asked, even though it was obvious.
He nodded. "Nana, cake!"
She laughed. "Nana will get you a cake even if she needs to bake it herself, and even though she has never baked anything in her life."
"Really?" Jacki asked. "You've never baked or cooked?"
Areana shook her head. "I'm a goddess." It felt so liberating to say that after having to pretend she was just another immortal for so long. "I've always had servants."
Jacki chuckled. "Of course, you have. What was I thinking?"
"Did I say something wrong?" Areana asked.
Perhaps it wasn't polite to brag about being a goddess among immortals.
"Not at all." Jacki reached over Darius to clasp her hand. "It's just that I feel like such a Cinderella. A foster child who grew up to marry a demigod, or as Kalugal likes to brag, a three-quarters god, and whose mother-in-law is a goddess who has never cooked because she has always had servants. It's just wow!"
Darius yawned then, his serious expression softening as tiredness began to claim him. Without thinking, Areana began to sing an old lullaby that she used to sing to Lokan and then to Kalugal when they were babies.
The words were in the ancient tongue of the gods, speaking of starlight and love that transcended time and distance.
She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to sing. Navuh had warned her repeatedly about her goddess voice and the way it marked her out as more than just a regular immortal when she laughed or sang.
But she didn't need to hide what she was here, and with her grandson's eyes growing heavy and her sons in the front seat, she could be herself.
A goddess, the daughter of Ahn, and not just Navuh's mate.
Darius's eyes drifted closed, his breathing evening out into the gentle rhythm of sleep. Areana continued singing softly, unwilling to break the spell, even as tears stung the back of her eyes.
"Your voice is so beautiful," Jacki whispered, trying not to wake Darius. "It's otherworldly. Like music made manifest."
"That's my goddess voice," Areana said quietly, still watching her grandson sleep. "Something about our vocal cords adds a special quality to our singing and laughter. It's distinctive. Recognizable."
