Page 121 of Dark Destiny: The Turning Of The Loom

"I mean it. Dance with your sons and enjoy yourself." He heard his own voice, level and generous, and was satisfied with himself. "Go back before they miss you."

"I love you," she said.

"I know. I love you too."

She ended the call.

Had she told him the truth? Had she danced only with her sons?

He doubted that.

He had just told her to enjoy herself, which was like giving her permission to do whatever she wanted.

Why had he done that?

He stood with the phone, the bass thumping through the walls, and imagined her dancing and smiling at males who were not her sons, and everything that he had been holding in for the past four months broke loose and he snapped.

The glass was the first casualty.

He threw it at the wall, and it broke, water staining the paint and shards flying everywhere.

The lamp was next, the ugly one on the table by the couch, which did not break because it was made of metal, but the shade got smashed. The books. The cushions. A chair he lifted over his head, with arms that had not been able to lift a cup in June, and brought it down on the edge of the table until one leg came off and then another. The table. The second lamp. The framed sketch of Annani's daughter, which he put his fist through, then tore off the wall and threw at the door.

That had been the most satisfying thing to destroy. He had wanted to tear that sketch into pieces from the moment he'd learned whose depiction it was and who had made it. Everything he detested was represented by that picture.

Annani's beautiful daughter, half-naked.

The traitor defector who'd fallen in love with her and drawn her with such a loving hand.

When there was nothing left to throw, Navuh stood in the middle of the room with glass under his feet and the bass still thumping through the concrete.

No one had heard his rage.

He looked at the camera in the corner and gave it the finger.

Then he returned to the bedroom, lay down on the bed with his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

44

TAMIRA

"This dessert is too pretty to eat." Tamira looked at the tower of spun sugar one of Gerard's servers had set in front of her.

"It is called a croquembouche," the man said with a perfect French accent and an attitude to match. "It is a traditional French dessert made from a cone-shaped tower of cream-filled pâte à choux pastry, filled with vanilla or chocolate cream, caramel, and wrapped in fine threads of spun sugar."

"It looks delicious," Tamira said, smiling at him.

"Bon appétit." The man returned a fake smile and set a similar concoction in front of Eluheed.

Other servers delivered croquembouche to the others at the table.

The banquet was mostly over, and the tables had been cleared of everything but coffee and sweets. The music had shifted from the slow strings that played during the meal back to the lively beat that pulled people back onto the dance floor.

"Annani's tiara was worthy of a queen," Rolenna said. "And since she sure did not get it from Khiann, I wonder who gave it to her."

"Why do you think it was a gift?" Sarah asked. "She might have commissioned it for herself."

"Maybe." Rolenna took a bite of the dessert, and her eyes rolled back in her head. "This is amazing. What I want to know is how we can get into Gerard's restaurant. I hear that you need to have a membership to be allowed through the door, but this cannot be the last time I enjoy this level of culinary mastery."