Chapter 31 Areana
AREANA
The moment Areana's feet touched the tarmac, her eyes locked on her sons.
She knew what they looked like, had talked with both several times during the submarine trip and then the long flight. But it wasn't the same as seeing them in person or holding them in her arms.
Kalugal's dark hair caught the afternoon sunlight, highlighting some of the dark brown strands, his blue eyes, her eyes, fixed on her with an intensity that she didn't know how to interpret.
Next to him, Lokan was a little taller, a little broader, his features sharper, but he couldn't compete with his younger brother's aura of superiority that was innate rather than assumed.
They were both hers. Her boys, who she'd held for such a brief, precious time before Navuh had taken them away.
"Mother," Kalugal said, and the word broke something inside her.
She was running before she could think, her legs carrying her across the space between them, and then she was in Kalugal's arms, and he was holding her tight, and she was crying.
"I'm here," he murmured into her hair. "We're here. You're safe."
"I've never been in any real danger," she whispered into his neck. "But I wasn't really living."
Lokan joined the embrace, wrapping his arms around both of them, and Areana found herself sandwiched between her sons, crying while they held her up.
"I've missed you so much," she managed between sobs. "So much. And I didn't even have the benefit of knowing what you looked like until I saw you on Anandur's phone." She turned to look at Lokan. "Thank you for trying to save me. For sending Carol and the communicator."
He chuckled. "That's not how it happened. I wanted to find you, but I went about it in a very bad way and ended up in the clan's dungeon. I was lucky that Carol saw something worth loving in me and decided to help me find you."
She knew that, of course, but the details didn't matter. What mattered was that Lokan had somehow managed to remember her despite being taken away from her as a little boy, and he had tried to find her.
The Fates had done the rest.
She pulled back enough to look at their faces. To really see them. "You are so handsome, my boys."
"We have good genes," Kalugal said with a crooked smile. "We inherited our good looks from you."
"And the modesty too?" Jacki walked up to them with Darius in her arms.
She embraced Areana lightly with one arm. "Welcome to America, the land of the free."
The land of the free. This carried so much meaning for her on so many levels.
Freedom was something she had lost hope of ever experiencing again.
"May I hold him?" Areana asked.
"Of course.“ Jacki positioned Darius on her hip and directed his attention to Areana.
"Darius, this is your grandmother," Jacki said gently. "Can you say hello to Nana?" She cast Areana a sidelong glance. "Is it okay if he calls you Nana?"
"You can call me whatever you want, sweetie."
The little boy studied her with such a serious expression for someone so young that Areana felt her heart crack open all over again.
He was perfect. Beautiful. And she'd missed his first year of life.
"You are so precious," she whispered, taking him carefully from Jacki's arms. He came willingly enough, curious about this new person, and Areana pulled him close, breathing in his baby scent and delighting in the substantial weight of the child in her arms.
Memories came unbidden. Kalugal as a baby, giggling as she tickled his belly. Lokan was determined and serious even then. The weight of them in her arms, the softness of their hair, the trust in their eyes when they looked at her.
Navuh had let her keep them longer than he'd allowed the other ladies to keep their sons. A mercy and a cruelty wrapped together. She'd gotten more time with each of them before they'd been taken to the Dormant enclosure, but that had made the separation even more heartbreaking.
"He's beautiful," she said, her voice thick. "Perfect."
"He is," Jacki agreed. "Though I might be biased."
Carol stepped forward, looking very different from the way she had when she'd infiltrated the harem. She radiated confidence.
"It's so good to see you again, Areana, and under better circumstances."
"Carol." Areana shifted Darius to one arm so she could embrace Lokan's mate. "You look like life has been good to you. That means that my son is taking good care of you."
"He spoils me." Carol patted Lokan's cheek. "But that's okay. I spoil him right back. We have fun together."
Lokan snorted. "If you can call trekking through Mongolia in a smelly van and running away from enhanced soldiers fun, then yes, we have had lots of fun together."
Areana swallowed hard. "I tried to talk your father out of it, but he wouldn't listen."
Lokan frowned. "What did you try to talk him out of? Sending enhanced soldiers after Carol and me?"
Her throat constricted. "I didn't know he did that. He never told me. I learned about it from Annani. What I tried to talk him out of was the whole insane program. He refused to terminate it even after the rebellion that destroyed half the island and nearly cost us our lives."
"You did what you could." Carol put her hand on Areana's arm. "It's over now. Take a deep breath and repeat in your mind. It's over."
Areana shook her head. "I don't know if it is. I don't know who's taken over the island and whether the program is continuing."
Carol regarded her with so much compassion in her eyes that it nearly made Areana cry again. "It's no longer your concern. Let Kian, Turner and Onegus figure it out."
Areana nodded, just to end this line of conversation, but she was never going to stop caring about the people of the island.
The harem was full of good people who had been taken from their homes either by force or by promises of good pay and were trapped in there forever.
She'd made their lives as tolerable as possible, but now that she wasn't there, who was going to take care of them?
"Here he is," Kalugal said in a voice that could freeze water.
Areana followed his gaze to where Guardians were loading Navuh's gurney onto an ambulance, with Julian and a woman who seemed to be a nurse giving instructions.
Her mate. The father of her sons. The love of her life and the source of so much complicated pain, who had always been larger than life, looked so insubstantial under the thin sheet on the gurney.
Julian walked over, looking beyond exhausted. "We're ready to transport Navuh to the keep. Do you want to ride in the ambulance with us, or do you want to go with your sons in their car?"
Areana looked at Kalugal, trying to read his expression. Would he judge her if she chose Navuh? Would Navuh understand if she chose Kalugal and Lokan?
"We have an SUV," Kalugal said. "It seats seven. We will all be comfortable."
He'd misunderstood her look. She wasn't worried about the seating arrangement. She was worried about what he thought of her, what they both thought of her, and her choices.
"Navuh is sedated and stable," Julian said. "He won't know if you're there or not during the transport. Hildegard and I will take excellent care of him. You should go with your sons. I'm sure they want you to go with them."
The decision shouldn't have been difficult. Her sons were here, wanting her company. Navuh was unconscious, unaware.
But guilt still twisted in her chest as she nodded. "I'll go with my sons."
"Good." Julian nodded. "We'll see you at the keep."
As they walked over to the SUV, Kalugal opened the passenger door, gesturing for her to take the front seat.
Jacki was securing Darius in his car seat in the middle row, and Areana decided that she wanted to spend the ride sitting next to her grandson.
"Could I sit in the back?" she asked. "Next to Darius?"
"Of course, Mother," Kalugal said. "Of course you can."
The seating arrangements sorted themselves out quickly. Kalugal took the driver's seat with Lokan beside him in the front. Carol settled in the third row, and Areana sat on one side of her grandson's car seat while Jacki sat on the other.
Hesitantly, she reached for Darius's small hand, and he let her take it, his solemn eyes studying her face with that same serious curiosity.
As Kalugal started the engine and pulled away from the airstrip behind the ambulance, Areana struggled with the silence. The turmoil in her head was like a buzz in her ears, thoughts spinning too fast to catch.
She needed to fill the quiet with something.
Anything.
"Jacki." She turned to the blonde woman beside her, "Kalugal told me how you two met, but only the highlights. I'd love to hear it from you. If you don't mind sharing."
Jacki smiled warmly. "It's quite a story, actually. But I should start way before I met Kalugal, so you will understand the context of how we met and why. It all started when I was recruited into a government paranormal program because of my precognition ability..."
As Jacki talked about covert operations and stalking Kalugal wearing a disguise, Areana listened. Or tried to listen. The words washed over her, but what she really heard was the cadence of Jacki's voice—warm, full of life and love when she spoke about Kalugal.
This was the woman her son had chosen. Who had chosen him despite meeting him under extremely unusual circumstances, and who had given him a son.
She was grateful that Kalugal had found his truelove mate.
Her attention kept drifting to Darius and his dark blue eyes.
They were such an unusual shade, like the ocean at twilight, and he watched her with an intensity that seemed far too mature for someone so young.
He didn't fuss or cry or demand attention.
He just observed, as if trying to understand who this new person was and why she kept touching his hand.
"I'm sorry I missed his first birthday," Areana said, interrupting whatever Jacki had been saying about a charity she was running. "I wish I could have been there."
"You couldn't have been," Jacki said gently. "You were trapped. But you're here now, and that's what matters."
"We could throw Darius another party," Kalugal offered from the front seat. "Make it a welcome celebration for you and another birthday celebration for Darius. He would love having another birthday cake."
Darius's face brightened. "Cake!"
It was the first word Areana heard him say, and it was perfectly clear. "Do you like cake?" she asked, even though it was obvious.
He nodded. "Nana, cake!"
She laughed. "Nana will get you a cake even if she needs to bake it herself, and even though she has never baked anything in her life."
"Really?" Jacki asked. "You've never baked or cooked?"
Areana shook her head. "I'm a goddess." It felt so liberating to say that after having to pretend she was just another immortal for so long. "I've always had servants."
Jacki chuckled. "Of course, you have. What was I thinking?"
"Did I say something wrong?" Areana asked.
Perhaps it wasn't polite to brag about being a goddess among immortals.
"Not at all." Jacki reached over Darius to clasp her hand.
"It's just that I feel like such a Cinderella.
A foster child who grew up to marry a demigod, or as Kalugal likes to brag, a three-quarters god, and whose mother-in-law is a goddess who has never cooked because she has always had servants. It's just wow!"
Darius yawned then, his serious expression softening as tiredness began to claim him. Without thinking, Areana began to sing an old lullaby that she used to sing to Lokan and then to Kalugal when they were babies.
The words were in the ancient tongue of the gods, speaking of starlight and love that transcended time and distance.
She'd almost forgotten what it felt like to sing. Navuh had warned her repeatedly about her goddess voice and the way it marked her out as more than just a regular immortal when she laughed or sang.
But she didn't need to hide what she was here, and with her grandson's eyes growing heavy and her sons in the front seat, she could be herself.
A goddess, the daughter of Ahn, and not just Navuh's mate.
Darius's eyes drifted closed, his breathing evening out into the gentle rhythm of sleep. Areana continued singing softly, unwilling to break the spell, even as tears stung the back of her eyes.
"Your voice is so beautiful," Jacki whispered, trying not to wake Darius. "It's otherworldly. Like music made manifest."
"That's my goddess voice," Areana said quietly, still watching her grandson sleep. "Something about our vocal cords adds a special quality to our singing and laughter. It's distinctive. Recognizable."
She paused, her throat tightening. "Navuh was afraid I would forget myself.
That I'd laugh or sing without thinking, and his soldiers would realize that I wasn't just another immortal like the other harem ladies.
That's why he kept us so secluded. Why no immortals except him were allowed in the harem. "
The words hung in the air, and Areana waited. Waited for her sons to dispute it, to challenge the explanation, to tell her that Navuh had been lying, that the seclusion had been about control rather than protection.
But they said nothing.
The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the engine and Darius's soft breathing.
Did they agree with their father's reasoning? Did they think the seclusion had been necessary? Or did they believe Navuh had lied to her, had used false logic to justify keeping her caged?
Areana wanted to ask them to tell her what they thought, what they believed about the choices their father had made, but she couldn't bring herself to speak.
Couldn't face the possibility that they might say what she'd only recently begun to suspect—that Navuh could have protected her without imprisoning her, that he'd chosen to keep her locked away not out of necessity but out of possessiveness, and that his love, however genuine, had been suffocating rather than sheltering.
"You have a beautiful voice, Mother," Kalugal said. "I'm glad Darius got to hear it."
It wasn't an answer to the question she hadn't asked. But it was something. An acknowledgment without judgment. A bridge rather than a confrontation.
Areana looked down at her sleeping grandson, at his perfect features so peaceful in slumber, and wondered what kind of world he would grow up in.
"Thank you for bringing him to meet me," she said quietly.
Lokan turned to look at her and smiled. "We knew how much you wanted to hold him in your arms. It was never debated whether Darius should be here to welcome you."
Her sons loved her. Despite the complicated tangle of loyalty and pain and impossible circumstances, they loved her.
It didn't erase the guilt, but it was something.
A foundation to build on.
A place to start.