"And now there is?" Losham asked.
"Yes. We want to make sure that your position is secure, and we are going to guide you through what you have to do."
"I don't need advice from you. I've been Lord Navuh's strategist and advisor for nearly two millennia. I know what to do."
"I'm well aware of your strengths and weaknesses," Kian said. "You've never been part of the military operation, and the army needs a leader. That should be addressed as soon as possible."
"I can hold the position until I find someone suitable."
Kian had expected that response. "The army will not accept your authority. It needs a military commander to replace Kolhood, and you have to appoint someone the army will accept."
Another brief silence. "I will go over the possible candidates tomorrow morning."
"There is no need," Toven said. "We’ve chosen the best candidate for you. You will appoint Bertram." The command was infused with compulsion.
"Bertram," Losham said flatly. "Why him?"
"He's the obvious choice," Kian took over again. "And that's precisely what you need right now. The army needs stability, and the senior commanders will accept Bertram without question. Tomorrow you will call a meeting and address the senior leadership of the Brotherhood, explaining what happened. I hope you are a good actor."
"I am an excellent performer. Just ask my father."
Kian ignored the taunt. "I'm glad you are experienced. After you tell them the sad tale of the three disobedient brothers and their fate, announce Bertram's promotion."
“There is another issue that needs to be addressed,” Toven said. “If you lose your phone or it becomes inoperable, keep the same phone number.”
“Closing loopholes?” Losham chuckled. "And here I thought that the end of days must be near if the clan is helping me run the Brotherhood. You just want to ensure that your puppet is the one who pulls the Brotherhood’s strings."
Kian smiled. "What we want is to prevent the island from falling into chaos, and you are the only one reasonable enough to do it. That’s why we are helping you. Good luck, Losham."
"Thank you." The line went dead.
Lokan shook his head. "He said thank you. That's a first. I wonder why."
"Perhaps he appreciates our help," Kian said. "Or he might be just happy to be rid of his brothers. He didn't even ask about new instructions regarding the chests. Now that his brothers are no longer a problem, he must assume that we would want him to speed up the excavations, pull out the chests, and load them on the first ship leaving the island."
"Losham is overwhelmed." Lokan rubbed a hand over his jaw. "He's usually thinking ten steps ahead, and the fact that he's not thinking now says a lot about his state of mind."
5
DROVA
Drova lay on her back, staring blankly at the dark ceiling, her arms folded over her middle. The air conditioning was on full blast and yet she could still hear the distant murmur of the ocean. She sighed. There was far too much noise in the room for her to fall asleep.
The Kra-ell were supposed to enjoy the tropical island weather, but here she was, with the air conditioning turned on to its maximum cooling capacity because she'd been born in one of the coldest regions on Earth and wasn't used to the tropical heat.
Pavel's words about acclimating to their environment echoed in her head. He was such a hypocrite. She still remembered him and his friends talking about preserving their Kra-ell ways and not assimilating into the clan. But then he'd joined the Guardian Force and his tune had changed completely, and now he was all for becoming not just like the immortals but also like the humans.
He was also in Safe Harbor, part of the team that was going on the mission to the Doomers' island, and she had to train with him every day.
Talk about torture.
Drova threw off the thin blanket and got out of bed.
The alarm clock on her nightstand proclaimed that it was eleven minutes past eleven, the numbers glowing in green and looking smug about it, mocking her with their fake significance.
Her eighteenth birthday was in eleven days, but that had nothing to do with the numbers on the stupid clock.
She pulled on her uniform, which consisted of black cargo pants, a black tank top, and black combat boots. Not the new ones she'd worn to Arezoo's wedding, but her old ones that were scuffed, well worn, and molded to her feet like a second skin.
