Page 41 of Dark Chains: First Link
"They are wonderful." The brightness in her face intensified. "Kalugal insisted on ordering for the table because he's been to Spago before, of course, and he knew exactly what to get. He has such presence. The staff treated him like royalty."
From what Areana had told him, Kalugal had built a financial empire after deserting from the Brotherhood. Turned out that his son was a powerful compeller, not as powerful as Navuh, but strong enough to use his talent to ascend in the business world.
"What about Lokan?" he asked.
"I think it's difficult for him, being around Kalugal sometimes. Kalugal is the younger brother, and yet he's achieved so much. He measures himself against his brother, and that comparison doesn't favor him, even though he shouldn't do that. Lokan has just gotten free. He hasn't had time to build his own businesses yet or even figure out what he is interested in."
That hurt. What she'd meant to say was that Lokan had gotten free from under his father's yoke.
"Kalugal is also an archaeologist," Areana continued. "It's a hobby, but since he has the resources, he organizes and funds archaeological expeditions. He's excavated sites in the Middle East, South America, and Southeast Asia. He has accumulated so many artifacts that they are displayed on a rotating schedule in the clan's pavilion."
Once again, Navuh's chest tightened, but this time it was not in anger, only in envy.
His son had found something he was passionate about, and he was sharing it with Annani's damn clan.
"Archaeology is an unusual hobby for a businessman," he said. "What does he hope to find?"
"He says he's looking for traces of the gods and any artifacts they might have left behind."
That made more sense than just collecting old things that had been left behind by generations of humans.
"He could have come to me with his questions," Navuh said, and the bitterness leaked through despite his efforts to contain it.
Areana looked at him with the steady, knowing gaze that had always been her most formidable tool. She didn't argue. She didn't point out that Kalugal had had good reasons for running away. She just looked at him, and the silence said everything her mouth didn't.
"They're both doing well," she said after a moment. "And Darius is growing so fast. He's such a wise little boy. His father wasn't like that as a baby, and neither was Lokan. Jacki is not theintrospective type either, so I really don't know who he has inherited his temperament from."
"Perhaps he got it from me."
She arched a brow. "Were you a pensive boy?"
"That was what my mother used to say."
He rarely spoke about his human mother, not because he was ashamed of her but because he still mourned her thousands of years after her death. If she had died of old age, he probably wouldn't have been hurting for so long, but he could never forget or forgive the fact that she'd died from an illness his father could have cured with a tiny infusion of his godly blood. He just hadn't cared enough about the woman who had given him his only son, or about the young boy who was losing his mother, to do anything to save her, even something that would have cost him nothing.
"They'll come around," she said quietly. "Give them time."
"I don't want them to come around," he spat. "They chose their side."
16
AREZOO
Angelica's salon usually occupied just a corner of the living room in the home she shared with Edgar. It had a styling station, a manicure table, and a cabinet full of equipment that Angelica had purchased for her new establishment.
This morning, that wasn't enough, though, and she'd added another styling station using impromptu furniture. She'd also set up an additional folding table for nail work and commandeered every available chair in her house, including a garden stool. A portable clothing rack stood in the corner near the door, filled with garment bags and shoe boxes, the collective wardrobe for the evening's cocktail party.
Each garment bag and box was labeled with its owner's name.
The air smelled like hair product and nail polish and the rosewater cookies that Arezoo's mother had brought. The noise level rivaled that of a Taiwanese parliament meeting, just minus the physical violence.
In the mirror, Arezoo watched Angelica section her hair with clips, and behind the stylist, her chaotic family.
Her mother was sitting at the manicure table, where Angelica's cousin Frankie was painting her new fake nails a deep burgundy that complemented her dress. Soraya was sitting very straight, her lips pursed, her expression suggesting that she wasn't sure whether she liked how her nails looked. But Arezoo knew her mother well enough to know that wasn't what was going through her mind. Soraya was overwhelmed with feelings, but she considered it a weakness and hated revealing her emotions. Instead of smiling with happiness or shedding a few joyful tears, she just radiated intensity, but the fact that she had agreed to get fake nails for the occasion said it all.
For her mother, it was the equivalent of dancing on tables.
Rana was waiting for her turn with Frankie and occupying herself by sorting through the tray of treats she'd brought, rearranging the pastries and small sandwiches into a more aesthetically pleasing configuration.
