Page 16 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Leon

I hadn’t been ready for the sawlamoor’s effects.

Whatever I’ve heard people say, whatever Phaia had told me, it couldn’t have prepared me for that .

Every caress and brush of skin against skin, the hot, heady tightening of muscle around me and the taste of her on my tongue—all of it doubled in intensity and stretched out in time until I wondered if we’d get lost in each other forever.

It was magnificent. Intoxicating. And it shouldn’t have happened.

When I realized what the spell was doing to us, I should’ve drawn back, given the mooring some time to fade before we… encouraged it. Phaia has warned me about that. But Ana needed me, begged me to help her forget all the darkness that I can see has been left in her heart by the Temple.

And gods, I needed her . Only now with her by my side can I see how close the time apart drove me to insanity. It took losing myself in her again for that edge of madness to finally soften and fade away.

So I ignored the warnings in my mind and made love to her, and I didn’t fight the bliss and contentment that engulfed me as she fell asleep in my arms afterward.

I shift and pull her closer now, soaking in the way it feels to hold every inch of her soft, jasmine-scented body against mine.

There are no words for how precious she is to me.

Knowing that, any lengths I went to in order to save her—no matter how drastic—were totally justified .

I could tell her. Explain to her the real origins of the sawlamoor, that it’s more than just some location spell.

But the less she knows about it, the less of a hold the spell will have on her, and we’ll be able to avoid the biggest side effects.

There are more extreme elements of the mooring that can be awoken.

Ones that would bind Ana to me in inescapable, lifelong ways that she didn’t know she was choosing when she accepted the mooring in her dream.

Her ignorance should protect her, however.

The spell thrives on the commitment people make to it, and if she’s not fully conscious of the spell’s nature, there are limits to how far it will progress.

I know the echoes we felt when we touched each other, the sound of our heartbeats ringing in each other’s ears, are only the beginning of what the spell can do.

It’s a tantalizing prospect, but we’re not going to find out about the rest, because as long as she doesn’t know the implications of it, she’s free.

Free to make her own choices, without anything being forced on her.

Invoking the sawlamoor was my choice, not hers, and I won’t pressure her into accepting everything that comes with it.

As badly as I might want something as strong and tangible as the mooring tying me to Ana, as much as I’m intrigued about what other connections might come with it, what I want doesn’t matter as much as her right to independence.

She stirs, stretching against me, and I press a kiss to her neck. It earns me a sigh of contentment as she opens her eyes, and I wonder what I’ve done to be rewarded like this. To be able to pull that peaceful sound from her and have her blink up at me with eyes full of joy.

“I realized something right before we went to Bastion,” I say, not bothering to second guess myself. This needs to be said.

She looks at me, listening, and she’s so beautiful I have to interrupt what I’m saying just to kiss her again. She laughs against my lips.

“Come on then, what is this big revelation?” she asks.

Finally, I release the words I’ve been holding back for too long.

“Ana, I love you. I’m in love with you.” I lay my hand over hers, holding her gaze.

“I’ve been yours since the day we met, when you stood up to me in a little tavern in the backend of nowhere.

I didn’t know it then, but you’d hooked me, and I never had a chance of getting free.

And every day since, you’ve just laid another claim to my heart, until it’s completely, unquestionably yours. ”

I wait, wondering how she’ll react.

Her eyes are bright as she pulls herself against me, hugging me so tight that we roll until I’m on my back with her straddling me. She leans down and kisses me.

When she breaks apart from me, staring into my eyes, she says, “I love you too, Leon. So much it frightens me sometimes.”

Warmth spreads in my chest like a dawning sun, and I meet her smile with one of my own.

“I know the feeling,” I say and pull her down against me so that our bodies are entwined and all I can smell and see and feel is her.

And then there’s no more talking, because the touch of skin against skin sets the sawlamoor singing again.

We disappear into the comfort of each other’s bodies, with her words repeating in my head like a prayer. I love you too.

MORGANA

Eventually, I rise from our bed. I know we can’t stay in it forever, and for now, at least, I feel able to face the outside world.

Of course, Leon knew exactly what I needed.

He held me until all the shadows had been chased away, and when he told me he loved me, it felt like I could take on an army of clerics.

I’d suspected, knowing how much I was in love with him. But I hadn’t been brave enough to speak my own feelings out loud. So many people have warned me that Leon can’t give me what I want. That he’s not built for a loving relationship, or that his other ties will pull him away from me.

But they also don’t know Leon like I do. There are sides to him I feel certain he’s only shown to me. Sides that no one else has been allowed to see.

I wash, and when I return from the bathroom, Leon watches me from the bed as I dress .

“What are you going to do now?” he asks. I focus on fastening my dress, knowing if I look at the tousled, dark-haired god in my bed, I’m going to want to do absolutely nothing but climb back in with him.

“Unfortunately, there are other people I love and care about, and I need to check on them,” I say.

“ Other people?” he asks in mock outrage.

“Yes,” I smile. “Although I’m not in love with any of them, so no need to get jealous.”

In one swift bound, he’s out of bed and spinning me into his arms to kiss me thoroughly.

“Good. Now, where are my pants? I’ll go find out how Phaia’s doing.”

I leave Leon to find his clothes and see to his soldiers, although I run into one of them in the corridor. Alastor’s platinum blond hair shines in the lamplight as he bends his head toward Harman’s, the two men muttering in low tones.

“Harman,” I say happily, walking up to them.

My brother looks up sharply and takes an abrupt step back from Alastor. But his face breaks into a delighted smile when his eyes meet mine.

“Morgana.” Harman pulls me into a bear hug. “How are you? How are you feeling? I’m sorry I couldn’t come to Qimorna. The Hand voted and?—”

“Give the woman a chance to breathe, Harman,” Alastor chides.

My brother throws him a rueful look and lets go of me.

“I feel battered, and tired, but alive,” I say honestly. “Better for being back here with everyone.”

“I’m so sorry about Bastion,” Harman says, putting a hand to my shoulder.

My heart aches at the pain and guilt in his eyes.

“I’ve lost people before to the Temple, time and time again.

But it…it was different this time. You’re my sister, and I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve seen the trap coming.”

“Please, Harman. Don’t blame yourself,” I say sternly. “I knew the danger, and it was my choice to go. And after all, I’m still alive. Not everyone was as lucky.”

“That’s true,” Harman drops his hand from my shoulder.

“Your people, the ones who were in safehouse with me?” I ask.

He just shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t see what happened to them, but I suspected that magic powerful enough to transport me that far would’ve set off a serious blast when it released.

I was inside the spell, so I was protected, but it seemed likely to me the others…

weren’t. Even if I didn’t see the aftermath myself, I can’t imagine it was pleasant. “Did any of them survive?”

Harman’s too weighed down to speak for a moment. Alastor’s gaze is fixed to his face, and I can’t read the fae’s expression. Then the blond catches me looking, and he glances quickly away.

“Speaking of the Temple’s victims,” I say grimly. “Do you know where Lafia is?”

“She was resting, but I think Mal showed her downstairs so she could get some late lunch,” Alastor says.

“An interesting girl,” Harman says. “I haven’t managed to speak to her properly yet, but with her knowledge of the Temple’s inner workings, she could be a great asset.”

“I guess that’s up to Lafia,” I say. I respect Harman and all he gives for the cause, but it can make him single-minded at times. “The poor girl’s only just escaped Qimorna with her life. She’ll probably need some time to decide what she wants to do next.”

Harman gives me a reluctant nod, and I head down toward the dining room Heda keeps for the rebels.

Inside, I immediately spot Lafia eating at the end of a table.

The far end. There’s about a dozen other men and women in the dining room, but none of them are sitting anywhere near her.

She sits alone and isolated, shoulders hunched over as some of the others throw her wary looks .

I recognize one of them as Cettar. He made it clear when we first arrived in Tread that he didn’t trust the fae, so I’m not surprised he’s suspicious of an ex-cleric too.

When I pass by him, he mutters to his friends about letting traitors into their midst. I throw him a withering look but decide not to engage.

Lafia looks up as I approach, her face lightening with relief.

“Morgana,” she says, rising.

“There’s something I didn’t get to do before, in Qimorna,” I say, holding out my arms. Lafia steps forward into them, letting me pull her into an embrace.

She looks more grateful than I expect when I release her.

“There,” I continue. “It seems weird to have known you all those weeks without so much as a hug. How are you doing?”

“Alright,” she says, glancing around at the others. Given her background, this must all seem very strange to her.

“That dryad-looking man gave me some medicine for my bruises,” she says. “But honestly, it’s been so long since I had anything but the floor to sleep on, I was tossing and turning all last night. I kept feeling like I was sinking through the mattress.”

“You’ll get used to it again,” I say.

A cough comes from behind us, and I glance back to see Cettar eyeing us both.

“Being the Temple’s prisoner changed you more than I thought, if you’re embracing the enemy,” he says to me.

I look around me. “Sorry, I don’t see any enemies here. Only a girl who stood up the Temple all on her own, without the support of any friends or a rebel group behind her. How well do you think you’d hold up in one of Qimorna’s cells?”

I stare Cettar down until he looks away. With a satisfied nod, I turn back to Lafia.

“That was awesome,” she murmurs to me, her eyes wide.

I shrug. Maybe my reaction strikes her as unusual after being brought up in the Temple, where the default is blind obedience. My willingness to stand up for myself—and her—must seem shocking.

“Listen, Lafia,” I say, sitting down with her. “The Hand of Ralus will learn to trust you eventually, and their leader is a good man. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay here if you don’t want to.”

Her mouth turns down at the corners. “Where else can I go? I haven’t seen my family since I was six, and I’m supposed to be dead to them.”

“There are places out of the Temple’s reach, even in Trova.

And there’s Filusia too. I can find you a safe place there.

Officially, Filusia is only barred from accepting solari refugees.

” I want to be as honest as I can with her.

“The Hand are fighting a good fight, but their lives aren’t easy.

As you probably know, the Temple is always trying to stamp them out. ”

She lays her arms in her lap, holding her elbows.

“My life has never been easy,” she points out. “The longer I was in those cells, and the more I talked to you, the more I realized just how much the Temple has taken from me.” She looks around at the rebels, watching the way they’re laughing and talking with each other in the cozy light of the inn.

“I know it will still be hard here, but at least I’ll have chosen it, and I’ll be working to fix something I know is wrong.

” She straightens, shaking her head. “The Temple of Ethira is built on lies. Maybe the ideas behind it were good once, but the whole institution’s been poisoned.

It has to be stopped. The only way to set things right and truly serve the gods is to take it all apart and to start again. ”

I remember what Lafia told me about growing up in Bastion.

How every moment, morning until dusk, was about praying and reciting rules and being reminded to follow orders.

She talked about how the children were brutally punished if they stepped a toe out of line or showed the slightest doubt or hesitation in their obedience.

They were made to stand for hours in freezing cold rooms or to hold their hands to fires as punishments, all in the name of making them better, more righteous clerics.

I think of the room in Bastion where they mutilate the acolytes. Sterilizing them so they can never have children, when they’re still just children themselves. My hand goes to my stomach as I recall the same blades slicing into my flesh over and over again.

Why has it taken me so long to see what a seventeen-year-old girl has worked out all on her own? I knew the Temple was evil, of course. But I didn’t see what could be done about it. I even argued with my brother about my role in all this. I know now that I can’t shrink from this any longer.

There’s only one way. One choice. Lafia is right. The Temple must fall if freedom and good is ever going to flourish in Trova.

I stand so abruptly it makes Lafia jump.

“I have to go find Harman,” I say. “We need a meeting.” I look down at the young cleric. “You should be there too.”

“A meeting about what?” Lafia asks.

“About how we’re going to kill Caledon.”