Chapter 16 Lokan
LOKAN
Lokan stared into his coffee cup, his mind still turning over the conversation with Losham from earlier that morning.
His brother had asked about the concubines.
He had tried to sound measured and indifferent, but he hadn't fooled Lokan.
He'd been in the same place only a few years ago, planning a crazy infiltration of the harem to find his mother.
He'd failed to secure the mother-daughter pair of telepaths he'd needed for that mission, had been caught by the clan, but he'd gained so much more than he'd intended.
He'd met Carol, his truelove mate, and she had delivered what he'd failed to do with all of his scheming.
"Are you looking for answers in your coffee?" Carol slid into a chair across from him. "Because if you are, you need to pour out the liquid first and look at the shapes formed by the coffee grounds."
He lifted his head and looked at his beautiful mate. After all the time they'd been together, she still took his breath away, with her blond curls, cherubic face, and a Marilyn Monroe figure. But beneath the sex kitten appearance was one of the strongest people he'd ever had the honor of knowing.
"The grounds don't hold the answers to my questions, but the harem ladies do."
She frowned. "Care to explain?"
"Losham asked about the concubines, trying to sound just mildly interested, but what he really wanted to find out was whether I knew who his mother was. I told him that I didn't know, but I could probably find out."
Carol arched a brow. "He could have done that when the ladies were staying with Navuh at his mansion. In fact, they could have found all their sons who were still around. Why didn't they?"
"Good question." It hadn't occurred to Lokan that the ladies and the sons could have found a way to reunite after the harem was evacuated and they were no longer sequestered.
"My father probably forbade any contact between the ladies and his generals.
But now that they are free, they might want to find out who their sons are.
Kian has those portraits of us hanging in the office building in the gallery, the ones that Dalhu drew. We could take them there."
Carol's eyes widened. "You think they might recognize their sons?"
"Maybe. I think they will like it. For some, it has been long centuries, even millennia in Losham's case, and the babies they remember are now grown males with hard faces.
But who knows? Maybe they will find something to identify them by.
" He snorted. "The problem is that most are not the kind of sons they would be proud of.
Other than Losham, they are ruthless killers. "
"Losham is not?"
"He is, but not as bad as the others. Anyway, I would like to find out who his mother is before I talk to him again. Maybe even snap a picture of her."
Carol smiled knowingly. "You want to use her as leverage."
"You know me well, my love."
"I can call Tula and organize a little get-together for the ladies.
We can meet at Tula's place, chat for a little bit, and then take them to the gallery.
That way, we will not spring this on them all at once.
They will gradually be exposed to the idea that they can finally find out about their sons. "
"That's an excellent idea. Do you think Tula can organize it at a moment's notice?"
"Why not?" Carol pulled out her phone from her pocket. "And if she can't, I can. You need answers before the next call to Losham, right?"
He nodded. "Don't tell Tula or the others what we are negotiating for."
"You mean Khiann?"
"Yeah. Losham himself doesn't know, and we want to keep it that way."
"Naturally." Carol placed the call.
Lokan listened as she explained the situation to Tula, keeping the details vague but conveying the urgency. Tula agreed immediately and said that she would have everyone at her place in half an hour.
"I like how decisive and assertive Tula is," Carol said as she ended the call. "Anyone else would have been wringing their hands and saying that she needed at least a day to prepare."
"I doubt she can pull it off so fast." Lokan pulled out his own phone. "I should let Kian know what we're planning. He might want to be there when the ladies tour the gallery."
"Good idea." Carol stood and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm going to get ready."
"You're ready as you are." He caught her hand before she could move away and pulled her down for a kiss. "You are gorgeous."
She laughed. "Thank you, darling, but I have an image to uphold. Don't worry, I will be ready on time."
"I know you will."
Twenty minutes later, she appeared in the living room with her face and hair done and wearing a pair of brown slacks with a pink fitted sweater and a pair of high heels.
"Are you sure about those?" He glanced down at her shoes. "We are walking to Tula's house."
"I know." She threaded her arm through his. "Since when do I have a problem walking in high heels?"
That was true.
"If you get tired, I can carry you the rest of the way," he teased.
"Not going to happen, darling."
When they arrived at Tula and Esag's house, the place was filled with the scent of fresh fruit and the soft murmur of female voices.
The blonde sat in an armchair by the window, a physics book abandoned on the side table beside her, and her blue eyes tracked Lokan as he entered. That was Sarah, if he remembered correctly, and she was a smart lady, but her coloring wasn't the same as Losham's.
The one named Raviki had claimed the corner of the sofa, and her dark coloring matched Losham's, but her face didn't. She might, however, be Kolhood's mother. Her posture was straight, and her expression was fierce, but there was also hope and excitement in her eyes.
Two other ladies sat together on the other end of the sofa, their bodies angled toward each other, but he didn't remember their names.
He remembered Tamira, and he wondered if Elias had come with her.
Rolenna hovered near the refreshment table, and he was betting on her being Losham's mother. The coloring was right, the face was close enough, but it was the calculating look in her eyes that was almost identical to Losham's.
"Please, make yourself comfortable," Tula said as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray of sliced fruit which she put on the coffee table. "Everyone is here, and they are all anxious to hear what you have to say."
"Thank you for organizing this so quickly," Lokan said.
He remained standing, aware that all eyes in the room were fixed on him.
"There is no point in long preambles, and I'll get straight to the reason for this gathering.
I don't know if you are aware of the fact that I was a member of the Brotherhood until only a couple of months ago, and I know all of your sons. Those who are still alive, that is."
A ripple of distress washed over the ladies as they realized that not all of their sons might have survived.
Even immortals got killed in battle, not often, but it happened, especially since Navuh didn't really value their lives.
The term 'cannon fodder' had never been more apt than in the Brotherhood.
"I won't go into the details of why and how, but I spoke with my brother Losham this morning, and he asked what happened to you all. I understood right away that he was inquiring about his mother, and I promised him that I would find out which one of you it is."
"How would we know?" Raviki's tone was challenging. "We don't know what names our sons were given after they were taken away from us."
Lokan took a breath. "I know the names of all twelve of Navuh's surviving sons who are still in the Brotherhood.
I also know their approximate ages, so perhaps that will help you identify who belongs to whom.
In addition, Dalhu, Amanda's mate, has drawn portraits of most of them, and they are displayed in a gallery in the office building.
Perhaps you might recognize something familiar in their faces. "
The silence that followed was profound.
"I want to see them," Rolenna said. "I want to see all of them. Even if I can't identify my sons, I want to see what all our sons look like."
So, Losham had a real brother.
Lokan wondered who it was. Probably one of the junior warriors, but none of them had exhibited Losham's brilliance, so perhaps he had gotten that from his human father rather than his immortal mother.
"So do I," the blond said quietly.
One by one, the others nodded their agreement.
"We can go now, if you like," Carol said.
Lokan pulled out his phone. "I'll let Kian know that we're on our way. He may want to meet us there."
The walk to the office building took about twenty minutes, following the winding paths that connected different parts of the village, and Carol didn't complain about her feet aching even once, probably so he wouldn't offer to carry her in front of the others.
Instead, she reminded him of the names of all the ladies and what little she knew about each of them.
The women walked in a loose cluster, their voices low as they speculated about what they might find.
The office building loomed ahead, its glass and steel facade gleaming in the morning light.
Kian was waiting just inside the entrance. "Ladies," he said as they filed through the doors. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank you, Regent," Beulah said formally. The other women echoed the sentiment, though Lokan could see the impatience beneath their polite words.
Kian led them through the lobby and down a corridor to the gallery, which Lokan had visited only once before.
"Take your time," Kian said as he opened the door.
The women filed in, and Lokan followed, watching their faces as they took in the room for the first time.
Navuh's portrait dominated the room, propped against an easel. He looked so commanding, so arrogant, and Lokan wondered if he still looked like that lying in a hospital bed.
His mother had implored him to visit his father, but he refused. Why would he visit the male who had sent assassins after him and Carol? Why should he pretend to care what happened to a father who only saw him as a traitor?
"I wish I could turn this portrait around," he murmured. "I don't want to look at it."
The other portraits lined the walls, his included, each one rendered in Dalhu's distinctive style.
The faces that stared out from the frames were hard and angular, marked by the brutal lives they'd led.
These were warriors, commanders, males shaped by violence and cruelty into instruments of their adoptive father's will.
Once, a long time ago, these men had been innocent babies, cradled in their mothers' arms, but nothing of that innocence had survived the training camp. The last shreds of decency had been beaten out of them there.
No one spoke. The women drifted apart, each drawn to different portraits, searching for something, anything familiar in those harsh features.
Lokan watched as Sarah stopped before the portrait of Kolhood, studying the general's cold eyes and square jaw. She shook her head slightly and moved on.
Raviki circled the room once, twice, her expression growing more frustrated with each pass. "They all look the same," she muttered. "Hard and angry and nothing like what I remember of my babies."
"What do you remember?" Carol asked gently.
"Soft cheeks. Wide eyes. A tiny hand that grabbed my finger and wouldn't let go." Raviki's voice cracked. "Not this. Not these strangers."
Tamira stood apart from the others, her gaze distant. She knew that her son wasn't in one of these portraits. He'd escaped with Kalugal and was somewhere in the world. She was here for her sisters, not herself.
Liliat and Beulah moved through the gallery together, pausing at each portrait, whispering to each other in voices too low for Lokan to hear. Neither seemed to find what they were looking for.
And then Rolenna stopped.
She was standing before the portrait of Losham. In the drawing, his features were sharp and his eyes calculating, and he just looked smart and knowledgeable, perhaps a little conceited, but not harsh and cruel like the others.
"This one," Rolenna breathed. "This is my son."
The other women gathered around her.
"I mean, he might be mine." Rolenna's hand rose, hovering just above the glass as if she wanted to touch the face but didn't dare. "There's something...I can't explain it. Maybe the shape of his eyes. The set of his jaw. He looks a little like me. Or maybe I'm seeing what I want to see."
Lokan studied her profile, then the portrait, trying to see what she saw. There was a resemblance, maybe. The high cheekbones, the slight tilt to the eyes.
"I think you're right," Sarah said softly. "There is a resemblance."
"I don't see it," Raviki countered, but her voice was gentle rather than harsh. "Though that doesn't mean anything. I don't see resemblances in any of them."
Lokan stood next to Rolenna. "Losham is the oldest of the sons. He's over two thousand years old. Could he be yours? Were you the first to give Navuh a son to adopt?"
She nodded, too choked up to say anything.
"Then he must be yours." He pulled out his phone and raised it. "May I take your picture? I can send it to Losham. Let him see your face."
"Yes." Rolenna straightened, smoothing her hair with a trembling hand. "Yes, please."
Lokan snapped the photo, capturing her face in the soft light of the gallery right next to Losham's portrait.
"I'll send it to him the next time I talk to him," he promised.
"Is there a chance I can talk to him?" she asked hesitantly.
Lokan looked at Kian for approval that he doubted would come.
"Maybe," Kian said. "But not just yet. We're still in the negotiations stage, and things are too precarious. One wrong move could jeopardize everything we're working for."
"Negotiations about what?" Rolenna asked.
"It's confidential."
There was a flash of frustration in her eyes, and for a moment, Lokan thought she might argue, but then her expression smoothed out, and she nodded. "I understand. I'll wait until it is convenient."
Lokan's heart twisted. She was so used to accepting the unacceptable, so accustomed to being told she couldn't have what she wanted.
"It won't be forever," he said. "When the time is right, you'll have your chance."
She met his eyes, and in her gaze he saw something that surprised him.
Not resignation. Not defeat.
Hope.
"I've waited over two thousand years," she said. "I can wait a little longer."