She paused, her throat tightening. "Navuh was afraid I would forget myself. That I'd laugh or sing without thinking, and his soldiers would realize that I wasn't just another immortal like the other harem ladies. That's why he kept us so secluded. Why no immortals except him were allowed in the harem."
The words hung in the air, and Areana waited. Waited for her sons to dispute it, to challenge the explanation, to tell her that Navuh had been lying, that the seclusion had been about control rather than protection.
But they said nothing.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the engine and Darius's soft breathing.
Did they agree with their father's reasoning? Did they think the seclusion had been necessary? Or did they believe Navuh had lied to her, had used false logic to justify keeping her caged?
Areana wanted to ask them to tell her what they thought, what they believed about the choices their father had made, but she couldn't bring herself to speak. Couldn't face the possibility thatthey might say what she'd only recently begun to suspect—that Navuh could have protected her without imprisoning her, that he'd chosen to keep her locked away not out of necessity but out of possessiveness, and that his love, however genuine, had been suffocating rather than sheltering.
"You have a beautiful voice, Mother," Kalugal said. "I'm glad Darius got to hear it."
It wasn't an answer to the question she hadn't asked. But it was something. An acknowledgment without judgment. A bridge rather than a confrontation.
Areana looked down at her sleeping grandson, at his perfect features so peaceful in slumber, and wondered what kind of world he would grow up in.
"Thank you for bringing him to meet me," she said quietly.
Lokan turned to look at her and smiled. "We knew how much you wanted to hold him in your arms. It was never debated whether Darius should be here to welcome you."
Her sons loved her. Despite the complicated tangle of loyalty and pain and impossible circumstances, they loved her.
It didn't erase the guilt, but it was something.
A foundation to build on.
A place to start.
32
TULA
Tony closed the front door behind them with a soft click, and suddenly they were alone in a house that was supposed to be theirs.
Supposed to be.
The words echoed in Tula's mind as she stood in the entryway, looking around at the open space that had been decorated with care by Ingrid.
It was nice. The furniture was comfortable looking without being ostentatious. The walls were painted in soft, warm colors. Through the windows, she could see both a front yard with its neatly trimmed flowerbeds and glimpses of a backyard beyond.
"It's not bad," Tony said, his voice overly bright in the quiet space. "I mean, it's not as luxurious as the harem, but it's above ground."
Tula agreed. "With real windows that show real sky. And it's not scorching hot or humid." She walked over to one of the windows, looking out at the lush greenery outside.
Well, lush was a relative term.
It wasn't the vivid green of a tropical island, and it looked planted and manicured rather than wild, but it was beautiful and soothing, and as Tony had said, the living spaces were above ground.
"The weather is perfect," she murmured. "It was actually a little chilly on the way here."
They were making small talk instead of addressing the elephant in the room because they were both cowards.
Tony joined her at the window. "It's paradise, really. When you think about it."
They stood there for a long moment, neither quite knowing what to do or say. The awkwardness stretching between them was like a live wire, and Tula fought the urge to flee.
"I should check out the kitchen," Tony said. "See what Amanda stocked for us. Maybe I can make us something for dinner?"
