Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (32 page)

“I can’t believe you had me carry you for two days when all this time you could walk,” Vachlan said, but he was impressed. He had gone back to pack up their tent and supplies, and he had caught up with Visola rather quickly. The two had been walking together for several hours, although Visola occasionally had to pause to rest. He had alternated between carrying her and letting her try to walk on her own for most of the day.

“You call this walking?” Visola asked with a frown. “I call it hobbling. Shambling, at best.”

“Still… I really was worried that I had crippled you.”

“Ramaris warrior genes,” she said cheerfully. “We heal fast. By the way—that whole ‘you’ll-never-walk-again’ bit? Very terrifying. I took mental notes. I’d give it an eight out of ten.”

“Eight? And you could do better?” he said with a scowl.

“Yes. Nine out of ten would be breaking both legs. Ten out of ten would be
not
giving the person immediate medical attention,
no
t putting the leg in a brace, and
not
always remembering to keep it elevated.”

“Are you calling me transparent?” he asked.

“No, dear. You’re completely mystifying.”

They smiled at each other, silently acknowledging that through all of their squabbles they were happy to be together and alone again. Even trudging through the wintry fields of snow and ice felt refreshing. Visola sometimes wondered to herself if they sounded like an ‘old married couple.’ The thought of being anything resembling normal amused her.

“Look at that,” Vachlan said, pointing to the horizon. “It looks like we’re close to a city.”

“About damned time. I would like to talk to some human beings who aren’t you.”

“You’ll quickly find them overrated.”

Visola smiled, but there was a sinking feeling in her chest. “Are we going to split up once we hit the town, Vachlan?”

“What? I told you that I wasn’t going to ever leave you again.”

“I just needed to hear you say it again,” she said softly. “If you repeated that once an hour or so, it would really bolster my mental health.”

“Silly Viso,” he said with a grin. “I’ll make a recording for you, and you can play it on a constant loop.”

“If only that would make it more accurate,” she murmured. She took another step, and her knee began collapsing.

Vachlan caught her before she could hit the snow. “I promise it’s true,” he told her, as he began carrying her again. “We just have to decide what we’re going to do about the men in Zimovia. They’re probably going to follow the directions on your note.”

“How many are there?”

“About ten thousand men on two dozen ships.”

“Do you think we can convince them to join Adlivun?”

“I don’t know. They’re employed by Emperor Zalcan, but maybe if we showed an impressive display of force and gave them an ultimatum…”

“Impressive display of force,” Visola repeated slowly. “Dammit. Fine, dammit.”

“I know their numbers are great…”

“No, that’s not the problem. As long as it’s a navy battle, defeating them isn’t going to be that difficult. I’m just concerned that Aazuria will make me clean up the mess afterwards. Diesel from ships, all the crap in the water…”

“Well, if we inform the American government in the near future, I’m sure we can get them to clean up the mess as well.”

“Oh. Really? Then we should totally involve them.”

“Where are you going, Calzone?” Brynne called out sleepily. “Come back to bed.”

“Why do you call me that?” he asked her sadly. “You’re always attacking my manhood.”

“I’m not,” she told him in a seductive voice. “I call you Calzone because you’re warm and tasty.”

“And you want some of my gooey, meaty goodness?”

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh, “so get your tail back here!”

“I’d love to satisfy you ten more times, dollface, but I have to see a man about a mushroom.”

“What the hell, Callder?” she asked angrily, grabbing a pillow and throwing at him. “I thought you stopped doing drugs!”

“I did stop!” he insisted, catching the pillow. “I mean an actual mushroom. Trevain asked me to go to the garden and talk with him man-to-man. I figured that since he’s always been there for me, I should start being a better brother sometime…”

“That’s sweet, Callder. I think you should be a better brother, I really do. But do you really want to listen to one of Trevain’s boring speeches about plants? I mean, seriously—he goes on and on, and how important can a mushroom be?” Brynne pouted, and threw the sheets off her naked body. “Who do you think needs you more right now? Your brother or me?”

Callder cleared his throat. “I guess he can wait.”

“Where is he?” Trevain asked, pacing back and forth testily.

“It’s fine, love,” Aazuria said with a tired smile. She was sitting beside her sister on a rock in the garden, and leaning on Elandria’s shoulder. “What did you want to tell us?”

“He should be here,” Trevain said, crossing his arms across his chest. “He told me he would be here. This is a family matter, and he’s…”

“Trevain, sweetie,” Alcyone said softly. “Callder is a free spirit. He loves you, but he needs his freedom to be wild. Just let him be. We’re all here.”

“What about Aunt Sio?” he asked.

“Aazuria is not well, and she needs to rest,”
Elandria signed.
“Do not worry so, brother. We have plenty of time to make this decision—time moves slowly here.”

Trevain nodded, giving the two women a small smile before turning to Alcyone. “Mom, you know how I was really into botany?”

“Actually, no, sweetie. I missed all of your adulthood, but I do remember your love for toy soldiers. Fill me in.”

Aazuria and Elandria both grinned at the mention of toy soldiers, and a small blush crept into Trevain’s cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Well, the last time I was in this garden I noticed this strange purple mushroom, and I looked it up when I got home. It’s really fascinating—it’s called the violet coral.”

“The violet coral?” Aazuria repeated softly.

“Yes—it has elements of both Corallyn’s name, and my grandmother’s name.”

“What are you getting at, son?” Alcyone asked.

“Well, fungi are very special. They grow without sunlight, which is why you can cultivate them down here, so far beneath the surface. Instead, they feed off decaying organic matter. They take something negative—death, and they transform it into something positive. They create life from destruction and turn it into something beautiful.”

He looked at Aazuria and gave her a sad smile. “So, if it’s a girl, I would like to name her Clavaria, after the genus name of this mushroom. In honor of Corallyn and my grandma.”

Aazuria felt a wave of grief wash over her as she looked at him. Even though her thoughts hardly left her murdered sister and captured friend, she still felt additional pain at hearing them mentioned out loud.  She felt Elandria placing a hand on her completely flat stomach, and she turned to look at her sister. Elandria smiled, with a light in her eyes.

“It feels like it will be a girl!”
she signed when she removed her hand.
“That does tend to be the trend in our family. Clavaria is a lovely name—do you not think so, Zuri?”

Aazuria nodded slowly. “We could call her Vari,” she whispered. She turned to Trevain, and launched herself off the rock to embrace her husband. “You are the kindest, most thoughtful man I have ever known.”

Trevain held her against him, caressing her back with warmth and empathy in his touch. “I’m just lucky that the men you have known have all been murdering rapists.”

Aazuria stifled a small chuckle against his chest. “Too soon,” she scolded him.

“For shame. For shame!” Alcyone said, rising to her feet. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise. She glared at her son, wiping tears away from her face. “How can you propose to name your unborn child after her as if she is already dead? She is not! She can do anything! You may not have any faith in your mother, young man, but I have faith in mine!”

“Mom, I did not say that I believed she was…”

Alcyone was already storming out of the garden. She ran into Naclana on her way out, and she pushed past him angrily.

“Forgive me,” Naclana began apologizing, but Alcyone had already left. He swallowed as he looked after her retreating form. “Well, it’s probably better that she didn’t hear this.”

“Hear what, Naclana?” Aazuria asked.

“Queen Aazuria,” Naclana said, saluting across his chest. “I have news for you, but I don’t want to upset you.”

“Naclana, I am not in the mood for your dallying.”

“Please, when I tell you—dear cousin, please be calm.”

Aazuria shared a worried look with Trevain, who gripped her arm tightly. Trevain turned to Naclana, and narrowed his eyes. “Tell it straight, man.”

“Yes, King Trevain,” Naclana said, bowing. “The general has returned… with her demon husband. They are waiting in the great hall.”

Before Trevain could react to this, Aazuria’s hand had darted to his waist and stolen his sword from its scabbard. She had crossed the room and ducked under Naclana’s arm.

“Aazuria!” Trevain shouted. He turned to Elandria. “Damn! Has she always been so fast?”

Elandria nodded as she began to chase after her sister. Trevain followed close on her heels.

When Aazuria entered the room, her eyes were immediately drawn to Visola’s wild red hair, which had recently been a lustrous mass of audacious curls. Now, her hair was limp. It hung against her head flat, frizzy and defeated. Aazuria’s eyes darted to the warrior’s sunken cheekbones and gaunt face. She saw the bruises on Visola’s neck before her eyes traveled further to the withered, wasted limbs. Every visible part of her friend’s body was covered in fresh scars. She saw the bandaged hands. Visola had been starved and tortured.

Perhaps in these modern times, even under the surface of the sea, kings, queens, and the aristocracy had close to zero significance. Perhaps the words and decrees which left Aazuria’s mouth would have minimal consequences. No one in the throne room felt this way as they awaited Aazuria’s judgment with bated breath. Sionna was standing aside, with her arms crossed. The newly-crowned queen gripped her husband’s sword tightly in her fist as Trevain and Elandria entered the room behind her.

Aazuria shifted her eyes to the man standing beside her friend. Her face was expressionless.

“Approach me, Vachlan,” she whispered.

The man began walking toward her. Although his stride was dignified, there was hesitation on his face. Visola began speaking, pleading words which Aazuria could not hear over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

When Vachlan was close enough to strike, Aazuria gazed at him with death in her eyes.

“Kneel,” she commanded him. Her chest was rising and falling perceptibly.

Vachlan knew that this would be a very unwise thing to do, but he owed it to Aazuria. He owed it to Visola, and to Adlivun—the nation he had once called home.  He lowered his head and dropped to one knee before the queen, saluting her across his chest. His eyes were level with the sword she held, and he could see the veins bulging through her translucent pale skin from how tightly she clutched it.

“It would be futile to order you punished,” she said slowly. “No one can even attempt to hurt you as much as you have hurt her.”

“I know,” he answered quietly.

“But it is my duty to try.”

She struck out with her sword, slicing the air until the blade collided with his face, knocking Vachlan off his knees and onto the floor. Aazuria could vaguely hear Visola screaming for her to stop, but she was already standing over Vachlan and forcing the tip of her sword between his teeth. Her previous strike had resulted in a huge bleeding gash along the side of his handsome face, but it had not been enough to kill him. She was poised to finish the job.

Vachlan moved his tongue against the steel, tasting the freshly-sharpened metal edge garnished with the metallic taste of his own blood.
It is rare that the wine so perfectly accompanies the main dish
, he thought as he swallowed the coppery fluid accumulating in his mouth.
Kind of like a German Pinot Noir.
He looked into the azure eyes of Adlivun’s queen and realized that this was no longer the innocent, charitable philanthropist he had known hundreds of years ago. She was hard. He wondered what percentage of the tempered rage behind her eyes he was responsible for generating.

“One reason.” Aazuria was demanding. “Give me one convincing reason that I should not thrust my blade directly through your skull.”

Visola was at her side, trying to pry the sword away from Aazuria’s fingers and begging her for mercy. Aazuria effortlessly shoved her weakened friend aside with one hand before returning both to the hilt of her sword. She gritted her teeth together tightly as her blood pumped through her body at a disconcertingly rapid rate.