Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (23 page)

The priestess lifted her hand in command. “Breathe now.”

Trevain and Aazuria each gripped their respective urn, and lowered their faces to the liquid. They breathed in the Sacred Water, both feeling a tingle in their throats. They knew that this sensation was from some additive in the water, possibly an herb, but it still gave the centuries-old effect of making them both feel like they had inhaled something magic which scoured and scraped at the insides of their bodies. When thirty heartbeats had passed, they exhaled into the urn. They both felt like they were, in fact, blowing a little bit of their souls out into the water.

They lifted their heads from the water, and looked at each other with solemn smiles. 

“Now repeat after me,” Sibyl told them. “Please accept my offering of all that I can offer. Please accept all my love and all my strength as your own.”

Trevain and Aazuria repeated these words, never taking their eyes away from each other. “Please accept my offering of all that I can offer. Please accept all my love and all my strength as your own.”

It might have been a rushed and basic ceremony, but it was just what they had needed. A quiet, spiritual moment which somehow had the power to subdue the deafening pandemonium. Sibyl was asking them to repeat another phrase. “All of my worldly goods are yours, and all of my otherworldly goods are yours as well. I give you myself in the Sacred Breath.”

Trevain and Aazuria smiled as they earnestly spoke the words. “All of my worldly goods are yours, and all of my otherworldly goods are yours as well. I give you myself in the Sacred Breath.”

Brynne felt herself getting a little teary-eyed, and she reached up to wipe the droplets away from her lashes. She glanced over at Callder, and saw that he was smiling at her. She could not help returning his smile. It was too sweet of a moment to pretend to be made of stone and fury as she usually did.

The priestess looked to Alcyone and Elandria. “Do those with the blood of the betrothed sanction this union?” When Alcyone agreed and Elandria responded affirmatively in sign language, the priestess gave another order. “You may both exchange the urns—carefully now.”

When Alcyone moved to take the urn from before her son, her hands were surprisingly steady. She looked at him with vast motherly pride as she switched the position of the urn to before Aazuria. She bowed deeply to the princess before returning to her seat. As she did this, Elandria was lifting the urn from in front of Aazuria. Elandria’s quietness gave her the ability to be unusually expressive with her eyes, and Aazuria could clearly see the intensity of her feeling.

It was an unusually quiet and small wedding—Aazuria did not have her parents alive to attend the ceremony, her sister Corallyn, or even her friends and lifelong guardians, the Ramaris sisters. Even Queen Amabie could not attend because she was training with the army and filling the hole in leadership left by Visola. Somehow, all of this did not matter in the moment that Aazuria locked eyes with Elandria—in her sister’s face was all of the familial loyalty and love she could have ever needed. It was evident that the younger woman worshipped her sister, and wished her enough happiness for ten kingdoms, and ten lifetimes.

When Elandria swapped the urn with the one Alcyone was carrying, she also gave Trevain a smile of support and trust. She had not the slightest doubt that this man would love her sister as much as she did, and bring only good things into their lives. She could not have wished for a better brother-in-law, and she easily communicated this to him with her eyes.

“Excellent,” said Sibyl. “Now, the betrothed must grasp the urn holding their companion’s Sacred Breath. Look at each other and speak the following words with sincerity: I accept and absorb your
inua
into me. I accept the best and worst of all that you are. Your soul will join with mine, and mine will join with yours. We are changed, but unchanging, like the eternal sea.”

Trevain and Aazuria reached forward to grasp the exchanged urns, and they repeated the words. “I accept and absorb your
inua
into me. I accept the best and worst of all that you are. Your soul will join with mine, and mine will join with yours. We are changed, but unchanging, like the eternal sea.”

“Breathe now, and be married.”

The princess and the captain lowered their heads and followed the instructions, allowing their lungs to be inundated with the Sacred Breath of their loved one. The burning sensation was felt once more, as if there was actually a fusion of souls occurring within them. They held the water in their lungs for the required expanse of time before expelling it. They removed their faces from the water, feeling somehow refreshed and transformed. The priestess smiled as she lifted her hands.

“Above us are the stars, and below us are the stones; as time doth pass, remember... like a stone should your love be firm, and like a star should your love be constant. Princess Aazuria Vellamo of Adlivun, and Captain Trevain Murphy of Alaska, I declare you married before the gathered witnesses of men and nature. Be true to each another.”

A somber silence followed her declaration. Trevain felt like he was still waiting to be given permission to kiss the bride, but that did not seem to be a part of this ceremony. He really wanted to reach out and touch Aazuria, but he did not want to disturb the dense, divine ambience in the room. Aazuria’s chin was lowered slightly, and there was an enchanting blush tinting her pale cheeks. Alcyone was wiping away tears of happiness for her son, and Elandria’s hands were clasped together joyfully. Even the initially-cynical priestess seemed immersed in enjoyment of the moment.

Callder had taken Brynne’s hand during the ceremony, and now he looked at her with an unsmiling determination that was rarely found on his face.

The afterlife smelled like posies. It was a strange scent. A nose twitched, trying to inhale and make out exactly where the scent was coming from, but it felt that something was blocking it from fully exercising its olfactory abilities. A hand reached up to aid the nose and collided with an unpleasant plastic tube. The tube was impaling the innocent nose, and restricting it from doing what it longed to do. The hand discovered, with great disgust at the tactile quality of the synthetic material, that there were more offending tubes traveling into the mouth. The eyes could take no more of this, and they forced themselves to open. The head lifted off the pillow, so that the eyes could squint as they looked around. To their chagrin, they saw the interior of a hospital room.

Visola was surrounded by hundreds of bouquets of violets of every imaginable color. They seemed to be extremely fresh, and their fragrant scent had been able to reach her through the plastic tubes, and even all the way to her dreams. The sight was charming and pleasing until the recent events came rushing back to her mind. It occurred to her that the flowers were a gesture of ridicule. She reached down to her stomach and felt with her fingertips through the blue-patterned white fabric of her gown. The deep cut had been stitched up and was healing well.

Shit. I’m alive,
she thought to herself with disappointment. She let out a soft groan and lowered herself back to the pillow. It was impossible to be in a hospital and not think about Sionna. Everything around her, and every machine and instrument attached to her reminded her of her sister’s clever words rushing out in enthusiastic explanation. Why had Vachlan refused to return Sionna? It seemed to her that although he was many things, ruthless among them, he would at least be honest.

Was Sionna even still alive? When she had been making her way down into Zimovia, Visola had been almost sure of her sister’s safety. Perhaps she had needed to convince herself in order to move forward through those tunnels and seek her. Now, it all seemed like it had been pointless. Visola stared at the white square tiles of the hospital ceiling. Her twin sister. She had heard stories about twins having some kind of intense connection that led them to instinctively feeling when their sibling was in danger or dying. She tried her best, but she could not find any hint of this knowledge within her. Visola’s intuition was faulty; the magic was broken. Sionna could be dead.

She began trying to slowly and carefully remove the tubes from her nose and mouth. She grimaced when an ample amount of blood came along with them. Once this gruesome task was completed, she breathed deeply of the air on her own. The scent of the violets filled her nostrils with a rush. It was too pleasant and fragrant to be meant negatively. What if Aazuria had led the attack on Zimovia and rescued her, and it was Aazuria and Trevain who waited outside the hospital? Heartened by this thought, Visola stretched out and tried to reach one of the bouquets nearest to the bed. There was a note inserted among the flowers.

Violets for my violent one.
Missing you terribly, dear wife. Get better soon!

Love, Vachlan

“No,” Visola whispered. She clenched her hand into a fist and pounded it weakly into her mattress. “No, no, no, no!” The mattress winced under the weight of every word.

The profusion of fragrant, lovely flowers was intended purely as insult. She should have recognized the scent of sarcasm. Visola considered, and began, throwing the flowers across the room, but she paused mid-swing. She did not wish to create a ruckus and draw attention. She needed to slip away unseen before she was forced to be reunited with Vachlan. She looked around the room for materials to use in her escape, and she was angered when she noticed that each bouquet of flowers had a different note attached to it, filled with more mocking wisecracks to abuse her upon her awakening. She growled in frustration. She needed to get away from that place.

There was a telephone in the room, and Visola softly cursed. Everyone was underwater and away from access to any phones. She figured that it was worth a shot to call Trevain’s landline, in case his butler might be monitoring the line. She struggled to sit up in bed, and dialed the numbers frantically. She heard it ringing, and bit her lip.

“Hello, you’ve reached Captain Trevain Murphy. I’m not in at the moment…”

She sighed, and waited for the tone. “Hi, grandson. It’s me Visola. I got into Zimovia, but Vachlan wouldn’t free my sister like he originally said he would. The bum. Anyway, I tried to kill myself and I just woke up in this hospital in…” Visola looked out the window of the hospital, realizing that she had no idea where she was. Gorgeous snow-covered mountains were visible just beyond a small city. She looked down at the phone, and saw the name of the hospital. “Ketchikan. I’m in a hospital in Ketchikan. I must have been air-lifted here. Please tell Queen Amabie that I’m disappointed with the efficacy of her hara-kiri technique. Regarding launching the attack…” Visola was startled when a nurse entered the room.

“Oh, my! You’re awake. I’ll run and get your husband.”

“No!” Visola shouted after the nurse, but it was too late. She groaned and quickly replaced the receiver. Visola threw her legs off the side of the bed, and began to stand up. The blood rushed to her head, but she battled her dizziness. She discovered that although she had freed herself from the respiratory tubes, there were still needles feeding into her arms and wires connected to her finger. She ripped everything out of her body. Once she did this, an annoying noise began sounding from the machines, and she knew that she would have to move quickly.

Visola went to the window, looked down at the street below. It was only a three story drop. She was not sure if the fall would kill her or not, but whether she landed dead or alive it would be better than facing her husband. She forced the window to slide open. She was disappointed to see what a tiny opening there was, covered by a screen—but she believed it was just barely large enough for her body to fit through. She tried to remove the screen by looking for latches, but to her vexation, it was impossible. She heard footsteps in the hallway, and she began punching the screen until there was a hole. She desperately ripped at the hole. Visola grabbed the ledge above the window and tried to lower herself through the hole, feet first. She had a bit of difficulty getting her hips through, but once they slid through, she was confident that her shoulders would fit. In a few seconds, she had squeezed herself through the window, and she hung from the ledge. All she needed to do was let go.

She exhaled to relax herself, preparing for the impact. She expected that the head trauma would be much more serious than when her head had collided with Aazuria’s hand. It might be difficult to walk away from this one so easily. She took another deep breath, feeling her pulse racing. It was mostly suicide, she told herself. If she did happen to live, then that would be the unlucky outcome. She might still fall into Vachlan’s hands. She heard noise in the room above, and she knew she needed to let go. So, she did.

Visola’s hands opened, releasing the window she had been gripping so tightly that her fingers ached. She felt the sensation of falling, and waited for the impact. She shut her eyes so that she would not see the ground coming, or see the sky leaving. All that she saw was her daughter—not her daughter’s face at seventy, or her daughter at seven, but the soul that had remained underneath those faces throughout all of her ages, and would continue to remain. She smiled.

Where was the impact? The fall could not be
this
long. It was not a hospital in a major city, and the height of the building was rather unimpressive. Visola impatiently squinted one eye open. She saw that nothing was moving. She opened both eyes and looked up to see that a hand was around her wrist. Vachlan had caught her from falling. Why had she not felt his hand around her wrist? She must be on a considerably high dose of morphine. She frowned, and used her other hand to try to sink her fingernails into Vachlan’s hand to make him let go. Instead of producing this effect, he grabbed her other forearm, and began to reel her back into the window.

“No,” she whispered, beginning to struggle. She kicked the wall with her bare feet, trying to build enough momentum to push away from the wall.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“Somewhere without sarcastic flowers.” She twisted her arms, knowing exactly how to twist her arms to evade the grasp of a stronger opponent, but he was too strong. She pulled her torso up so that she could sink her teeth into his hand, and she bit down on him, ripping into his skin. He did not even flinch or cry out when she tore off a chunk of his flesh with her teeth. She immediately spit it out, letting it fall three stories below.

“Gross. You taste nauseating,” she told him as she struggled.

“I believe you used to have a different opinion,” he said. He made a forceful heave and managed to get her head and shoulders through the window.

 She could feel how weak she was. She could not fight him in her current state. It would have been tough even at full health. No conceivable number of protein bars would help. Vachlan reached down and grabbed her around the waist, and managed to pull the rest of her body through the window in one mighty haul. The two of them flew to the ground, and Visola found herself landing on top of him. She cursed. She was too dizzy to move and she thought she might pass out where she lay. That would be embarrassing.

Vachlan grabbed her and pushed her off him, knocking her to the ground. He moved on top of her to hold her down. “What the hell were you trying to do?” he asked her angrily.

If she had been feeling up to her usual standard of mental alertness, she might have made a joke about switching positions. Instead, she could only focus on getting free. “Hey, Vachlan,” she said in a lame, and tired attempt at being suggestive. “I’m totally naked under this hospital gown.”

She kicked her knee up into his groin, and followed by shoving both of her elbows into his eyes. She twisted her body and slipped out from under him. She tried to get to her feet, but her legs gave way under her. She cursed and grabbed the hospital bed to pull herself up before running for the door. Not surprisingly, Vachlan beat her to the door and shut it before she could exit.

“You put up a hell of a fight for someone almost-dead,” he said to her as he slammed her into the wall beside the door. When he pinned her firmly to the wall with his body, she sighed in defeat. It was a rare moment that she was not in the mood for the challenge of wrestling with someone who vastly outranked her weight class, but this was that moment.

“Why are you trying to kill yourself, Visola?” he asked.

“Why the hell do you care?” she responded, staring at his chin. Visola was six feet tall. Hardly anyone towered over her like Vachlan did. It was still disconcerting, even after all this time.

“I need you alive,” he said simply, as he studied the flecks of emerald in her eyes.

“I need my sister alive,” she shot back. “I guess we both aren’t getting what we want.”

Vachlan glared at her, and she tried her best to match the intensity of his gaze, but she had to blink to clear her sight once his two heads began separating into four. She tried to make a private internal joke about how her blurred vision was accurate since he was so two-faced, but her thoughts could hardly form coherently. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, she was shocked to find that her head had fallen forward to rest against his shoulder. She jerked her head backward, and it collided with the wall sharply. It felt like she had been asleep for half an hour, but in reality it could not have been more than a moment because there was surprise on his face too. She blinked rapidly to keep her eyes open, and she cleared her throat to brush off her mortification.

It was not acceptable in her personal policy to cuddle with the enemy. Not anymore. Her eyelids felt heavy, and her head began to roll forward again. She fought to straighten it. “I’m going to pass out,” she told him with a yawn, “but I promise you this—when I wake up, I will succeed in killing myself. I can be very dogged.”