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The child crossed over to her and climbed into her lap, burying her face against her mother's shoulder.

Yasmin stroked her daughter's hair with a concerned expression. "She's been like this since we met the Clan Mother," she said to Kyra. "Withdrawn, quiet. Not like herself at all."

"Children process things differently, I guess." Kyra watched the little girl. "I can't claim authority on the subject. I don't remember Jasmine's childhood."

She yearned to take the little girl and clutch her to her own breast, but Cyra needed her mother, and she wouldn't appreciate a needy aunt taking her away from that soft bosom.

"Is something bothering you, sweetie?" Kyra asked.

The girl burrowed even deeper into Yasmin's shirt, hiding her face with the stuffed bunny.

"She sometimes gets like this. It happened even before…" Yasmin swallowed. "I think she has bad dreams but refuses to talk about them."

Kyra's gut twisted. Javad had been a good father and husband, and his kids loved him, so suspecting him of having done anything inappropriate was out of the question. But little Cyra's uncles hadn't been paradigms of male morality, and Kyra had heard her share of child abuse stories that involved relatives and were perpetrated against children as young as Cyra and even younger.

She moved closer, kneeling to put herself at eye level with the child. "Hello, Cyra. Do you remember me? I'm your Aunt Kyra."

The girl nodded, peeking out from her mother's shoulder with wide, dark eyes.

"Do you know that I'm a mighty warrior?"

The girl shook her head.

"Well, I am, and I will not let anyone hurt you. I promise. Do you believe me?"

Cyra looked at her from under her long, dark lashes, with eyes that were oddly penetrating for someone so young. Then she nodded.

"So, if there is anything that's bothering you, if anyone has done something bad to you or even made you uncomfortable, you can tell me, and I will make sure that it never happens again."

Unsurprisingly, Yasmin looked troubled by what Kyra was implying, but she didn't say anything.

Cyra glanced at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. "It's alright,habibti. You can tell Aunt Kyra anything."

"I have a spooky dream." Cyra's voice was barely above a whisper. "I see a beautiful doll, but it's not a girl, it's a man doll. I've never seen a man doll before."

"There are man dolls in America," Kyra said, keeping her tone light though her interest sharpened. "I can get you a few to choose from."

"There are?" Cyra lifted her head. "It was a very beautiful man, with glowing skin like the pretty lady." She paused, her small brow furrowing. "He was sleeping. He was so alone and lost."

A chill ran down Kyra's spine. WassleepingCyra's way to say dead?

"He was sleeping, but not sleeping," the girl said as if she'd read Kyra's mind. "He's so alone."

Yasmin looked alarmed, pulling Cyra closer. "It's just a strange dream, sweetness. Don't be frightened."

"I'm not afraid," Cyra said. "I'm sad for the beautiful man. We need to find him so the pretty lady can play with him. She misses him so much."

Kyra felt the warm weight of the pendant against her skin. This wasn't just a child's dream. Somehow, this four-year-old girl must have tapped into Annani's consciousness and seen Khiann through the goddess's loving eyes.

Given Jasmine's descriptions of a body in stasis after such a long time, Khiann was a little more than a skeleton now, not the beautiful man doll that Cyra had seen.

The other adults in the room had gone quiet, watching the exchange with varying degrees of concern and confusion.

"Thank you for telling me, Cyra," Kyra said, touching the child's hand gently. "That was very brave of you."

Cyra studied her face. "Can you find him, Aunt Kyra?"

"I'm going to try," Kyra promised. "Would it be okay if I asked you more about your dream another time? Maybe you could even draw a picture of what you saw?"