"What kind?"
The guy on the other side chuckled. "It will be a surprise."
"Of course," he said. "If that will be all for this morning, may I now speak to my brother?"
"I'm here," Lokan said. "And I have good news."
"What kind of news?"
"I found out who your mother is."
The world seemed to stop.
Losham was aware, distantly, of the birds still chirping, of the jasmine still perfuming the air, of Rami hovering near the terrace door. But all of it had faded to background noise.
His mother.
"I'm sending you a picture," Lokan continued. "Her name is Rolenna."
The phone buzzed in Losham's hand. A notification. An image waiting to be viewed.
He couldn't make himself look at it. Not yet. Not with Lokan still on the line, and not with the compeller and the leader still listening.
"How did you find out?" His voice came out steady, which was a small miracle.
"That's actually an interesting story. Several years ago, the clan captured one of our commanders, and he turned out to be a talented artist. That's something that the Brotherhood frowns on, so he never practiced his art while still part of it, but he's thriving in the clan. He drew portraits of the Brotherhood's leadership, and we took the former concubines to see them. Rolenna recognized you because of your resemblance to her." Lokan paused. "Also, she was the first to give Navuh a son, so that matched as well."
Something about the way Lokan had said that didn't sound right, but Losham didn't want to examine it too closely. He knew his mother's name. And in a few moments, he would see her face.
"Could I talk to her?" The words slipped out without thinking.
"She asked the same thing, and I will tell you what I told her. Right now, it's not possible, but it might be in the future. It all depends on how closely we work together for the greater good."
Aha. So Lokan was using Rolenna as leverage.
Was she even truly his mother?
Lokan might have made this up to hold her over Losham.
"I need to go," he said abruptly. "We'll speak again tonight."
He didn't wait for a response before ending the call.
For a long moment, he sat with the phone clutched in his hand. Rami had made himself scarce, sensing that Losham needed privacy. The newspapers lay forgotten on the table, their headlines suddenly irrelevant.
After a long moment, Losham opened the image.
She was standing in what looked like a gallery, soft light illuminating her features. The portrait beside her, his portrait, he realized with a jolt, showed the face he saw in the mirror every day. The rendition was surprisingly accurate, even though the artist had used charcoal to draw it. He was really talented, and the fact that the clan allowed him to pursue his calling was surprising.
How come they hadn't put him in stasis? Wasn't that what they did with most captured members of the Brotherhood?
Not Sharim, though. Sharim must have fought to the very end like any self-respecting member of the Brotherhood.
Losham was proud of his son despite the nasty rumors that had surrounded him. Sharim had been brilliant and an excellent strategist like his father.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to Rolenna.
She had the same high cheekbones he did. The same slight tilt to her eyes. The same dark hair, though hers was wavy and artfully styled.
