Areana cast him the most annoying, condescending look.
"Annani is many things, but a fool is not one of them. She's an optimist."
"Same thing."
"No, it's not. She has lived in this world for five thousand years and saw all the ugliness but also all the beauty. Empires rose and fell, but she kept going."
"You told me you only talked about fashion and grandchildren with your sister. It seems like you and Annani talked about many things."
She had the decency to avert her gaze. "I didn't want to upset you. You need all your energy for healing, and lately it seems that everything I say upsets you. You're constantly irritated, which I understand. You are stuck down here, with those contraptions exercising your muscles, a long road to recovery, and nothing to look forward to. I wish I could do more for you, but for now, I'm just grateful that they are taking care of you and helping you recover. I'll worry about the rest when you are back on your feet."
And just like that, she'd reduced his fire to barely smoldering embers. She still loved him, she still wanted the best for him, she just didn't know what to do in this new world she found herself in.
Still, she'd lied to him, and it wasn't the first time.
He set the empty cup down on the rolling table. The CPM machine completed another cycle on his left leg, and the small mechanical whir of it filled the silence between them.
"You lied. Again."
She let out a long breath. "You lied to me about everything throughout our lives, including the story that locked me in the harem and forced me to give up my sons. So don't talk to me about lying."
"That was not a story," he said. "That was the only way I could ensure their safety."
"You told me that the only way to keep them alive was to give them up to be raised in the enclosure and not show them any favoritism so no one would have a reason to be jealous of them and kill them."
"It was true. I was protecting them."
"You were protecting yourself. You were protecting the fiction that you had many sons, and they were all exchangeable and expendable so not one of them would dare to amass power. You were protecting the lie that kept you in power. You were not protecting our sons."
"It was for their safety," he repeated. "You are just upset and not thinking rationally. You know what happened to the one boy I showed affection toward. He was murdered. I grieved for him even though he wasn't my blood."
Areana shook her head. "I don't know anymore."
"Yes, you do." He reached for her hand. "I would never have caused you suffering if there was another way. But our sons wouldn't have been safe even if they remained with you in theharem and never left. Besides, what kind of life would it have been for them? Would you have wanted them to live that way?"
She looked into his eyes. "No."
"That's what I thought."
15
SULLHA
Sullha got out of bed and pulled on her work clothes in the dim gray of pre-dawn, moving carefully so as not to wake Tomek, who had spread himself across most of the mattress in his usual sleeping diagonal. His hand was tucked under his chin, and his mouth was slightly open, and the small even rhythm of his breath filled the room with the sound she loved falling asleep to.
Only last night she'd been so worried and stressed that even that sweetest of lullabies hadn't done the trick.
She had a deadline, and she was out of time.
They had three days to gather all the mothers and the women she chose to bring along on her own list, have Yaaf help vet all of them, and make the final decisions about who was coming and who was staying.
She'd thought she would have more time, but things were moving faster than expected, and she couldn't keep approaching one woman at a time.
She was going to have to do it all at once, summoning them all for a meeting in the playground, using the teaching cover story as the excuse, and giving it an emergency spin. Those she managed to bully into coming would get a chance, and those who decided they didn't want to participate would not.
The math was simple but cruel.
If some of the women decided not to come, she would forever carry the guilt of failing to coerce them, but there was a limit to what she could do.
