Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (13 page)

“Look at you!” Aazuria said, gently punching Trevain in his abdomen. “Giving orders already.”

“My grandma told me to,” Trevain said, smiling and taking her arm. “Let’s get back to the meeting room.”

They made their way to the room, and once they were there, Aazuria allowed Trevain to explain what was happening to the others, while she pulled the rifle off her back and pointed it at the room’s entryway. Before many minutes had passed, two guards were dragging a struggling woman into the room. Aazuria aimed her rifle at the woman’s chest, holding the gun firmly.

“On your knees, fiend!” Queen Amabie commanded. “Who sent you? You would be wise to talk now, and avoid the permanent scarring from horrible torture.”

The woman in the pink and black scuba suit recoiled in surprise, and would have stumbled backwards if two strong guards had not been holding her fast. They pushed her to the ground, and she found herself on her knees. She raised her hands in the air, as one usually does when at gunpoint.

“What the hell,” the woman muttered, but her voice was muffled by her scuba mask.

“Unmask her,” Aazuria said. She stared at the light sandy-brown tresses which peeked out from under the helmet curiously. The guards roughly reached down to do as they had been commanded, with much protest and cursing from the woman. When her face was revealed, Aazuria’s eyes widened. The taut contours of her arms which rigidly held the rifle began to soften as she exhaled.

“Fisherwoman,” Aazuria said in greeting, as she lowered the rifle.

“Sea-wench?” The woman on her knees peered closely at Aazuria. “So you really are a mermaid.”

“Of sorts.”

“Jesus, that’s a big gun.”

“Brynne Ambrose,” Trevain said in wonder. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“Captain Murphy!” Brynne said, a huge smile spreading over her face. She immediately launched herself at him, hugging him violently. “I knew you were alive. I knew it! You’re a jackass for making me worry about you. I have been searching for weeks.”

Trevain returned the hug, but noticed that Brynne’s sudden movement had caused every Ningyo warrior in the room to draw his sword and approach them quickly. “It’s okay,” he told them, holding up his hand to reassure them. “She’s my co-worker.” He immediately felt silly for using that modern-sounding description in front of a bunch of ancient undersea samurai. Luckily, most of them did not understand English. Queen Amabie immediately translated what he had said, and the skeptical men lowered their swords.

“Trevain, did you know this place was down here?” Brynne asked with amazement. “It’s like an ice hotel on steroids.”

Callder, who had been peacefully sleeping through most of the meeting, had woken up for the exciting part involving guns and knives. When the scuba mask had been removed to reveal Brynne’s face, he remained frozen for a moment. He did not quite know what he should say to her, and if he should approach her at all. When she threw herself at his brother, however, he found himself rising to his feet and approaching them.

“Get off my woman,” Callder complained, as he physically separated the two. “That’s enough.”

“Callder?” Brynne whispered. “But you’re dead.”

“Only legally,” Callder explained, with a cheeky wink. “Not sexually.”

Brynne reached out and slapped him in the face before she began to sob.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Callder said, lifting his hands in much the way Brynne had when there had been a gun pointed at her. “I know, we broke up years ago, that was very inappropriate, you’re going to sue me for workplace harassment, etcetera…”

Brynne reached out and grabbed Callder’s shirt and pulled him towards her for a ferocious French kiss that lasted several seconds and made everyone in the room very uncomfortable. Queen Amabie and Aazuria shared an amused look. Brynne abruptly released Callder and turned toward Trevain.

“You. Why would you let everyone think that you and Callder were both dead? Do you know how miserable I was? I’m an emotional overeater, and I swear I have gained about ten pounds because of you two! It went straight to my hips.”

“At least six pounds for me, right?” Callder asked. He was looking at her hips, which were swathed in the tight spandex-like material of the scuba suit. He could not see the extra pounds, although it might be because she normally wore baggy sweatpants which concealed her figure.

Brynne ignored him and continued reprimanding Trevain. “Did you know I’m a multi-millionaire? Why the hell did you leave everything to me? They read your will. Are you fucking insane?”

Trevain grinned. “Well, who else was I going to leave it to? I don’t have any pets.”

“I already have fricking reporters asking me for interviews,” Brynne informed him. “It’s disgusting. They’re saying I was involved with you. If we include the settlement for
The Fishin’ Magician
, I’ll become one of the richest women in America.”

“I told him we should get a new boat and name it the
Master Bai…
”

“Shut up, Callder, the grown-ups are talking.
Sole heir
, Trevain? What the hell?”

“Just relax, Brynne. I made that will years ago,” Trevain explained. “Can you imagine if I’d left Callder any money? He’d blow it all in a week and he’d end up begging on the streets.”

“No way!” Callder protested. “Why do you think so low of me? It would take me at least
a month
to spend all of
your
money, and then I would probably become a gigolo.”

Brynne and Trevain shared a look before Trevain cleared his throat and said, “I rest my case.”

The Japanese men burst out laughing, with a few seconds of delay when Queen Amabie had finished translating the last word that Callder had spoken.

Aazuria approached the three land-dwellers with a smile. “Perhaps you three should head back home to Alaska. Trevain, it seems you need to go and take care of your affairs on land. I guess you have to explain to them that you are still alive and reclaim your assets.”

“Yeah, I should make a quick trip,” Trevain said. A visual came to his mind of the mail piling up in his mailbox. It was a silly, mundane thing to think of when he was now in the middle of a war. His new life was in danger of collapse but he could not erase all the minutiae in his mind, the nagging little reminders of things which used to be really important.

“I would like to stay here, and remain dead,” Callder said. “I was never very good at life on land… and my mom is down here. I feel like this is where I need to be right now.”

“Can I stay too, Aazuria?” Brynne asked. She reached out to grab Callder’s hand to explain herself, although this was not necessary.

“Of course,” Aazuria responded, “but you may encounter difficulties since you cannot breathe underwater. Many rooms are dry, like this one, but there are also many dark, submerged areas.”

“No problem. I’ve got night vision goggles and a scuba suit,” she said with a wink. She hesitated. “Just… are there toilets? Or do you guys just go… anywhere?”

Aazuria’s eyes widened and her voice rose. “What kind of uncivilized barbarians do you think we are? Of course there are toilets! Good Sedna!”

“Okay, relax! It’s not like I’ve been in an underwater ice-palace before. Keep your shirt on, girlfriend. Do you have internet access too?”

“No.”

“I can’t live for long without the internet. Maybe I’ll find a way to get you hooked up.” She turned back to Callder. “You wanna show me around, big boy?”

Callder smiled and began pulling Brynne to the door. He called out over his shoulder. “Can you imagine that all I had to do to get the girl was die? Who knew?”

Aazuria shook her head. She lifted her hands to speak to everyone in the room.
“I am deeply sorry for the interruption. Shall we return to our proceedings?”

She felt like there was a piping-hot firebrand stuck inside her ear. She reached up to try and remove it and found, to her annoyance, that there was no iron poker to grasp. This was perplexing. Visola strained with the palpable effort of opening her eyes and focusing her vision. The first thing which registered in her mind was perfectly spaced vertical rails. She blinked rapidly, somewhat incredulous.

“Seriously?” she murmured to herself. “Prison?”

Her head was throbbing. There was a ringing in her ears like the sound of an oncoming train. She tried to push herself off the ground and stand, but she was too wobbly to stay upright. She groaned.
Aazuria obviously isn’t used to knocking her friends unconscious,
Visola thought to herself.
She used too much force. Someone with a softer cranium would have been irreversibly brain damaged right about now. Amateur.

Visola noticed that there was only one guard watching her; a dark-skinned young woman. She frowned. This was somewhat insulting. Did Aazuria and Queen Amabie really think that one regular girl and a few metal bars would be enough to restrain her? Unless the chick was some kind of deity (and Visola noticed a small pimple on her adolescent cheek, so that was unlikely) and the bars were laced with high voltage, then she was fairly certain she could outwit this girl and win her freedom. All that she needed was to get the girl within an arm’s length to grab her.

However, she might need to regain her balance and coordination first. Did she have time to wait for recovery? She looked at her wrist, where of course, there was no watch. Just a simple gold bracelet she had worn forever. She stared at the bracelet for a second, remembering when it had been given to her by King Kyrosed Vellamo along with her job. She had worn it more proudly than an engineer wore his ring.

Pushing the memory away, she began to assess her captor. The young woman seemed tough and focused.  Visola wondered what her reflexes were like. Feeling around on the ground near to her, Visola found a small rock. She tossed the rock at the far wall, on the other side of the woman, to see if the woman would fully turn toward the sound. The young woman did not move from where she stood, but a muscle in her jaw twitched. She seemed to be ready and aware of everything around her, although she looked frozen solid.

Visola tried to stand once more, and began slowly pacing in her cell, while holding the bars for support. She saw that the guard’s eyes were following her, even though the rest of her body did not move a millimeter. Damn, but this little girl was disciplined! Visola was impressed. Of course, Aazuria had assigned one of the best warriors to watch her. Could anything less be expected of the princess? Yet Visola knew that good reflexes and training did not mean that a person was intelligent and capable of sound decision-making. She leaned against the bars, with a large yawn.

“How long was I out?” Visola asked, thinking that once she started up a nice chit-chat, the girl would be pliable.

The guard did not respond. Visola wanted to curse. This was not going to be easy.

“It must have been a long time,” Visola said. “Did I miss any developments?”

The guard still did not respond. Impressive. Visola slid back down onto the prison floor, sitting on her thighs with her calves folded out to either side. It was a desperate yet somewhat cute posture. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. There must be some excellent strategy she could use to get out of this situation. She just needed to figure it out. There must be some kind of original and complex manipulation which would be effective.

“I need to pee.”

“There’s a cup in there.”

“I don’t see any toilet paper.”

“Just shake and drip-dry.”

Visola pouted. “Gosh, you’re mean.” She began to draw geometric patterns in the dirt of the cell floor. “When I get out of here, I am going to demote you. Maybe you’ll be kitchen staff, or a sanitation worker.”

“I do appreciate the culinary arts,” the girl said with a shrug.

Visola squinted, trying to recognize her captor. The girl was not a descendant of one of the ancient, Nordic warrior families of Adlivun like Holma and Geira. Her skin was much more tanned than the average Alaskan mermaid, and there was an unusual accent in the girl’s voice. Most of Adlivun’s people had strange accents since King Kyrosed had changed their national language to English from Russian.  Before the brief Russian phase, they had spoken the Aleut language and mingled among the Aleutian people in Alaska. Hundreds of years before that, before they had migrated to the Bering Sea from Europe, they had spoken Old Norse. This confusing mix of languages caused a mix of interesting accents depending on age. The youngest might have no accent at all and only know English, while the oldest struggled with a thick mingling of residual taints from forgotten languages.

Then there were the migrations. Adlivun had taken in great numbers from other undersea settlements in their respective times of political unrest. There were those from Japan, from the Bermuda Triangle, small Mayan settlements, and of course, from Australia.  Visola assumed that her prison guard had been displaced from one of these places; probably the Caribbean.

“Where are you from?” Visola asked her guard. “The Bimini Wall?”

The guard’s eyes drifted towards Visola, but she did not respond.

“My husband, Vachlan, destroyed the Bimini Empire. Now he’s trying to do the same thing here—and I’m in prison because I wanted to stop him. Do you think that’s fair?”

“You’re in prison for your own protection,” the young girl responded. “Orders of the princess.”

“Oh, Sedna,” Visola muttered, rising to her feet. “Get me a messenger. Get me Naclana! I’ve got a few choice words for Zuri. Tacky! Tell her that this is tacky! Sticking her best friend in jail? How long is she going to wait before she becomes Kyrosed Vellamo? Like father, like daughter! Tell her all that for me, okay?”

“You can tell me yourself,” Aazuria said, as she entered the room.

Visola immediately felt a little apologetic. She saw that her friend’s pale blue eyes were bloodshot and that there were large bags under them. Aazuria’s long albino-white hair, the rare trait of highborn sea-dwellers of old, was usually perfectly styled and garnished with pearls. Now, it was pulled up into a disorganized bun, with loose tendrils sticking out of it messily. Visola was not sure how long she had been out for, and how much had transpired in that time, but she knew that Aazuria was unwell. She could tell at a glance that her friend had not been sleeping, and she wanted to reach out and give her a hug and apologize for her mean words.

“You look like a crack whore,” Visola said instead.

“Thanks.”

“You tacky bitch. How could you do this to me?”

“I cannot let Vachlan have you,” Aazuria said quietly.

“It’s too late. You have to let me go. He has my sister. Sionna is worth ten of me.”

“That is not true.”

“I’m the one with the concussion. Is there something wrong with
your
brain?” Visola asked, walking forward until her nose poked through the bars and her forehead was pressed up against them. “Sio is a weirdo whose idea of a naughty weekend is creeping into a library and photocopying modern medical journals. She helps people. In all of the waters of the world, who knows more about mermaid anatomy than she does? Adlivun can’t afford to lose her.”

“I know that Sionna is brilliant,” Aazuria said, “but I will not sacrifice you.”

“I want to sacrifice myself,” Visola insisted.

“You may give up on that idea now, my friend,” Aazuria told her. “I am launching an attack on Zimovia tonight.”

“Hey, Zuri,” Visola said with a smirk.

“Yes?”

“Check your blind-spot.”

Visola reached out and grabbed Aazuria’s wounded shoulder and pulled her against the bars. Aazuria cried out at the pain of Visola’s tight grip, and did not notice that her friend was stealing her knife from the sheath at her hip. In an instant, Visola had spun Aazuria around so that her back was against the bars.  She held her shoulder firmly with one hand, and pressed Aazuria’s own knife against her milky-white throat.

Visola winked at the guard, who had been unable to stop this. “Give me the keys and the Princess doesn’t get her neck sliced open.”

“Do not give her the keys,” Aazuria told the guard. “She is bluffing. She would never hurt me.”

“I don’t know about that, sweetie,” Visola said pressing the knife deeper into Aazuria’s throat. She released her tight grip on her friend’s wounded shoulder, and slipped her arm instead around Aazuria’s waist. She tightened her grip, around the smaller woman’s abdomen, forcing the air out of Aazuria’s lungs and pinning her against the prison bars. “You knocked me over the head and put me in prison, didn’t you? I think that changes our relationship a little bit.”

Although Visola was much taller and more heavily muscled than Aazuria, the princess did not show any fear. “You know that I did so for your own safety. I expect that you respect my surprising use of force and you understand my actions,” Aazuria said, completely unfazed by the knife against her throat.

“That may be true,” Visola said in a low tone, close to Aazuria’s ear, “but I’m also mightily pissed off. Very much in the mood for slitting throats… maybe with some candlelight and soft music in the background. Hey, guard lady, can you hum a romantic tune as I sever Aazuria’s jugular?”

Aazuria sighed, wiggling with discomfort. “This is not convincing, Visola.”

“Then you grossly overestimate my sanity. Due to the fact that I am a maniacal psychopath, my momentary anger at you is effortlessly overpowering centuries of adoration.” Visola gestured to the guard with her chin. “Hey, you over there. Haven’t you heard stories about the bloodthirsty and irrational General Visola Ramaris?”

The young guard nodded, with a visible amount of anxiety on her face.

“Well, little Oatmeal Cookie, how would you like to witness a spectacular assassination?” Visola gave her an enchanting smile. “I know how to slit a throat so that it makes a little mini-fountain for a few seconds. My daddy taught me when I was a little girl. You see, I’ve killed so many people. Hundreds of people—I’ve lost count really. As with anything one does frequently, you develop a taste for it, a knack for it, and ultimately a style. Style is the most important thing… do you doubt my stylishness?”

 “No,” the guard said, shaking her head and swallowing fearfully. “No, I think you’re really stylish.”

“Dear Sedna,” Aazuria groaned. “She is playing you, Lieutenant. Do not listen to her. She means me no harm.”

“Is that so? Check this out, Apple Strudel.” Visola winked at the young guard before digging her knife into Aazuria’s neck.

“Just ignore her antics,” Aazuria was telling the guard. “She is not actually going to... ow!”

Visola cut into her friend’s neck until blood began to drip in two rivulets down the pale throat of the princess. Aazuria found herself suddenly standing very still and breathing very evenly as she felt the pain and pressure at her neck. She felt a quiver of uncertainty run through her as she felt the warm wetness of her own blood dripping down her neck. Her lips slightly parted in surprise at the volume of the fast-moving streams which were already trickling down over her breasts. “Viso,” she whispered.

In a clear and even voice, with unwavering eye contact, Visola declared her intentions to the guard. “I’m going to slice deeper and deeper with this knife until I cut right through Princess Aazuria Vellamo’s throat unless you open my cell right now.”

Aazuria felt a small tremor of fear in her gut. The tone in Visola’s voice was deadly; she had never heard her friend speak like this. “Visola,” she whispered hoarsely against the blade pressing on her larynx. “This is high treason.”