Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (35 page)

He nodded and saluted her again. “I give you my word, Zuri—as a friend.”

“I can’t believe you did this to us, Vachlan,” said the blonde warrior with a frown. They had invited him aboard the
Tizheruk
to discuss the terms of his surrender.

“Believe it. I need you to give the orders to your men, and inform them of the change in plans.”

“There are ten ships behind me,” said the blonde warrior angrily. “You know how strong we are. There are another ten ships at the other end of the strait. You’re outnumbered. Why should we surrender to you?”

“My wife will demonstrate,” Vachlan answered. He gestured to Visola, who was awaiting his signal on a nearby ship. Visola smiled at the men, giving them a small wave. She signaled another ship close to her before she flipped a switch on the massive weapon she was standing rather close to—her ‘Katie’ rocket launcher. She had already aimed, and now she began firing a barrage of multiple rockets. Another one of Adlivun’s boats followed her lead. Two of the enemy ships were thoroughly bombarded, and the men on them were engulfed in flame as the destroyed boats began sinking within seconds. Visola grinned triumphantly and blew a kiss at the men.

Vachlan watched her handiwork with satisfaction. “Eight ships,” he said. “There are now eight ships behind you, but we can easily correct that.”

The warrior observed the weapon with surprise, and cleared his throat nervously. “Well, then I guess we’ll be joining you, my friend.”

“Welcome to Adlivun’s army. We’ll offer your men better pay, and better benefits than Emperor Zalcan did. Also, the whole nation is basically comprised of women, so the men will enjoy mingling.”

“Mingling, huh? Well, I trust you, Vachlan, sir.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like the place.”

“Aazuria, we have to attack,” Trevain said. “They’re coming at us, and it’s us or them.”

“No—we should hold our fire,” the queen responded. “We can convince them to join us without harming them.”

“Vachlan said that we needed to show an ‘impressive display of force’ or they wouldn’t consider joining us.”

“They don’t have a leader. They don’t have any guidance at the moment. Surely something can be arranged.”

“Sea-wench, you need to get it together,” Brynne said angrily. “We came here, on the Capt—er, Admiral’s nice shiny new ship, with all this firepower, and it would be foolish not to deploy…”

“Ladies, you’ll have to excuse me,” Trevain said, with a smile. “I have a plan which is perfect common ground between Brynne’s thirst for blood and Aazuria’s call for peace.”

Trevain began walking down the length of the ship, and Aazuria looked after him with worry.

Brynne placed her hand on Aazuria’s shoulder. “Hey, relax! Why don’t you trust him?”

“I trust him,” Aazuria responded, “but I’m just worried for his safety. This is all new to him.”

“The true test of a man is his ability to adapt. There’s no one like Trevain Murphy—he has all of the knowledge and abilities that a modern man possibly could have, and yet a sort of old-fashioned chivalry. He’s a lion on land, he’s a fish in the water, and…” Brynne glanced behind Aazuria with a small smile on her face. “I think you’ll find he’s even rather comfortable in the air. Like a hawk. Don’t worry about him so much! He will be fine—just let him take care of you.”

Aazuria nodded. “Thanks, Fisherwoman.”

Brynne grinned at her. “I wouldn’t work for anyone else in Alaska. Trevain was the only captain who had a healthy respect for women, and there was no doubt in his mind that I could do anything a man could do. He’s the perfect package. You got lucky, girlfriend.”

“So why didn’t
you
marry him?” Aazuria asked. “Why didn’t you pursue him?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Brynne said with a shrug. “I just see him as this perfect big brother. I need my men to be more flawed and human so that I constantly feel superior and comfortable with them.  Callder’s my man—I feel like there’s room for improvement and growth, you know? Trevain is just too good for me. Sometimes I wonder if he’s even real.”

Aazuria smiled at this. She often wondered the same thing. The conversation of the women was interrupted by a loud noise, as the engines of the small plane on the ship roared to life.

“Now the fun begins!” Brynne yelled.

Aazuria watched in awe as Trevain piloted the small plane down the runway of the ship, and began coasting in the air around the boat. “He can fly that thing?” she asked softly, in an awed voice.

“Up here in the frozen north, it’s kind of a necessary skill!” Brynne shouted. “The only difference is that he has to figure out how to fire the bombs, but we went over the controls together last night and it should be fine!”

“Good Sedna,” Aazuria whispered. Her heart felt like it had jumped into her throat as she watched Trevain navigate the plane directly towards the enemy ships. He fired a line of bombs directly beside one of the ships, just allowing the firepower to graze the side of the ship and cause it to violently sway in the waves.

“See?” Brynne said, hitting Aazuria in the arm. “He’s scaring the crap out of them, and demonstrating how easily he
could
destroy them, without actually harming them.”

“An impressive display of force,” Aazuria murmured, quoting Vachlan. She stared at the bombing plane, marveling at how easy this seemed. “The world truly has changed since I was a girl.”

“Do you really think so?” Brynne asked. “Or have the toys just gotten bigger?”

Aazuria considered this before turning to glance at her new friend. “You are far too insightful to be a fisherwoman.”

Brynne winked, and returned to the controls of the ship to order the giant machine steered directly towards the ships of the enemy forces. They could see that there was chaos and commotion aboard the ships of the Clan of Zalcan. Without proper leadership, they could not stand against the onslaught of firepower from the sky. It was not long before white flags were being hastily raised.

Aazuria slowly pulled a hairbrush through her long silver hair. She stared thoughtfully at her reflection, basking in the luxury of this moment. For the first time in months, she was not sleeping in heavy armor with her hand on a rifle. Instead, she just wore her simple malachite-green silk dress, fastened over one shoulder. Her scar from the battle with Atargatis had almost fully healed, and it was hardly visible. She no longer felt weakened and ill by the beginning of her pregnancy—although her stomach had not begun showing yet, she was very conscious and excited about the changes she imagined she could feel in her body.

It was silly, but she was currently sequestered away in a location a few miles west of Adlivun for her Week of Airosen. She did not feel that it was truly necessary, but she had agreed to follow the ancient tradition for Alcyone’s sake. Trevain and Aazuria had promised Alcyone that they would have a proper wedding ceremony once the war was over. With the seized enemy forces being assimilated into Adlivun’s army, and with the nation’s future looking brighter than it had before, it certainly felt like time for celebrating. Brynne had also finally agreed to marry Callder, and no one was happier than Alcyone was at the prospect of a double wedding. Both of her sons would be meeting this milestone together, in her beloved home—she had come a long way from being trapped in a tiny room in a psychiatric facility.

Aazuria had never imagined that it would be possible to come out of a massive war having gained more than she had lost. She could not help feeling pride and warmth at the way everything had worked out. She could not go as far as to call it ‘happiness’ since the thought of Corallyn’s fate still brought darkness to the forefront of her mind. The damaged relations with the Japanese were another sore point, but Queen Amabie herself had always said that every victory was bittersweet. Aazuria could only wish her friends safety and prosperity, and send these pleasant thoughts in the direction of Shiretoko.

All of Adlivun was pleased with the addition of thousands of seasoned sea-warriors who were already terrified and extremely respectful of Vachlan. The warriors themselves had been skeptical and nervous at first, but they had quickly grown to see the merits of employment and life in Adlivun compared with their life under Zalcan. Sionna hoped that with time, the men would come to view Adlivun with something resembling loyalty and nationalism. Visola had been spending time in the infirmary, and she was healing well, and would soon be taking her job back from her sister. Sionna was having far too much fun playing the general.

There was still much work to do, but now there was also the optimistic sense which could only be earned by accomplishing a great task; the sense that all other tasks could be accomplished, however daunting. Aazuria placed her hairbrush down on the vanity carved from ice. She smiled at her reflection, and stood up slowly. She looked around the small room that she had been occupying alone for several days. It had never occurred to her that the Week of Airosen could be so dreary. She had taken several modern novels into the room with her, including recommendations from both Brynne and Trevain. She had about a dozen decades of literature to catch up on—but even reading could not shake the boredom of staying in one place for far too long, and being separated from her friends and family.

She moved to the carpet, and lowered herself to a seated position. She considered trying to meditate again. It was supposed to be the purpose of the Week of Airosen—quiet, peace, and reflection. Blocking out the noise of the outside world was supposed to facilitate meditation in order to reconnect with oneself. To learn what one truly wanted. The image of Trevain’s face came into Aazuria’s mind, and she felt a small smile settle easily on her lips. 

“I like the idea,” Trevain said. “It sounds like an interesting mental challenge. I’m sure there’s a reason our ancestors began the tradition.”

She gladly noted his use of the word ‘our,’ and his increasing acceptance and comfort with his sea-dwelling lineage. “I love that you are so willing to embrace our customs.”

“I already spent years making my decision,” Brynne said with a frown. “I don’t really see what one more week is going to accomplish.”

“Yeah—can me and Brynne skip this whole thing? I don’t want to give her a chance to change her mind,” Callder said nervously.

 
“No, you guys have to go along with it—when in Adlivun!” Trevain smiled. “If only people on land took the time to sit in peace and quiet for a week to carefully decide whether they really wanted to get married, I’m sure our divorce rates would fall.”

“People don’t have the time,” Brynne said. “A week is more precious on land than it is here, and hardly anyone can afford to stop their lives for a week.”

“But they can afford to go on their honeymoons after the wedding. Why can’t they just take the time to reflect a little before?” Trevain asked.

Aazuria had laughed. “Technically, we are already married, Trevain. Technically, I am already pregnant. It’s not like we took the time to carefully decide either! Whether on land or sea, life is short. A week is precious time that I would rather spend with you than away from you.”

Now she sighed, in agreement with herself. She longed to see her husband’s face, and to reach out and touch him. She longed to speak with him. Perhaps the point of the Week of Airosen was to make the betrothed couple understand loneliness, and truly feel the hollow space, the barren emptiness of utter isolation. Perhaps it was intended to make a person understand the constant yearning to be near to their loved one. If this was the point, then it was working.

Did understanding loneliness make a married couple appreciate each other more? If it did, surely just one week would not be enough loneliness to make the couple appreciate each other for the rest of their lives—were regular doses of hiatus necessary? Aazuria was sure that she would never have any kind of issue with appreciating Trevain, but she could not help wondering about the general population, and about all of the failed and ruined marriages. Would a simple week have been enough to change all of those lives for the better? Or was there some other crucial element in their personalities which had caused the failure?

Aazuria wondered about Visola—she had been separated from her husband for an impossibly long amount of time due to an unfortunate misunderstanding. Due to the lies and plotting of another person. The truth was that Visola and Vachlan had never had any real, serious arguments or disagreements between themselves—all of the damage had been inflicted upon them from the outside world. Since Vachlan had returned to Adlivun, Aazuria could see in the way that the two interacted that absolutely nothing had changed in the way the felt about each other. They still looked at each other with the same secret smiles, and the same warlike passion. Nevertheless, Visola was distrustful and cautious, and tried to limit the time she spent around her husband. She stayed away from him unless there was a professional situation that required their communication. Would they ever recover from this?

Smiling to herself, Aazuria admitted that she hoped they would. She knew they would recover once Visola overcame her own stubbornness. Everything was falling into a comfortable rhythm now that the larger threat of danger had passed. Of course, there was still some planning and anxiety about the future, but things were peaceful enough that the Ramaris sisters could squabble at length about the tiny, trivial details of Aazuria’s wedding. It had been an exquisite indulgence to listen to the twins quarreling about something insignificant again—nothing was more relaxing.

“Sleeves are classier,” Sionna said firmly.

“Zuri will look better without sleeves!” Visola had insisted.

“No, we need them,” Alcyone argued. “There must be sleeves made of lace!”

Visola scoffed. “Baby, you’re just not fashionable. Sleeveless is sexy.”

“Aazuria doesn’t need to be sexy! She’s a queen! She needs to be stately!”

“They’re my arms,” Aazuria pointed out. “Doesn’t anyone care what my arms think?”

“No!” Alcyone and Visola shouted in unison.

“Okay, everyone, please calm down!” Sionna yelled. “Now, as the matriarch of the Ramaris family, I will mediate this…”

“What? You’re the matriarch?” Visola said, deeply offended. “I’m the one with the children and grandchildren!”

“Yes, but I’m still older than you,” Sionna argued.

“By one minute!” Visola screamed.

“Yes, and that’s a minute more wisdom and understanding of the world that I possess…”

“We were conceived at precisely the same time! You’re Miss Biology—you’re the one who always tells me that we were once the exact same cell!”

“I think we might need a monarch to perform this mediation instead of a matriarch,” Aazuria said with amusement.

Aazuria missed her friends, but she knew that the isolation was necessary. She was sure that she would learn something by the end of this mini-vacation. So far, the greatest conclusion she had achieved was just a strong impression that everything was going to be okay. The war had been won, and the hard part was over. She felt like she could relax and laugh, and maybe even shed tears of release and relief.

“What a beautiful bride.”

This voice snapped Aazuria out of her thoughts. Someone was standing in the shadows of the doorway, and their face was concealed by a hood. The voice sent a shiver through her, and she quickly rose to her feet.

“Who are you?” Aazuria demanded firmly. She had not been expecting another human being for days. This was against tradition, and she felt a bit annoyed at having her solitude interrupted.

The person walked forward, emitting a small, self-satisfied giggle. The moment Aazuria heard the odd noise, she knew that she was in danger. She looked around the room quickly, searching for some sort of weapon. Her eyes went to her hairbrush, and to her books. She frowned as her fingers clenched in longing for a firearm or a blade.  

“You know, Queen Aazuria, hundreds of years ago, my father sent an emissary to your father. He requested your hand in marriage—to me. You were given an opportunity to tie your future to mine, and to form an alliance between our peoples.”

Aazuria frowned, as she stepped backwards, crouching down into a battle stance. “I prefer not to agree to marry men when I possess no empirical evidence of their existence.”

“Cheeky, aren’t you? I wasn’t told that you were so cheeky—I heard that you were quite the frigid bitch.” The man threw his hood off, revealing a face which was covered in a monstrous mass of pink scar tissue. “What do you think of my visage?”

Aazuria gasped at the sight, recalling the story of Visola’s escape. “Vachlan said that he…”

“That’s right,” the man said as he advanced on Aazuria. “Vachlan really screwed up this time.”

“Do not come any closer!” Aazuria ordered. “I will finish what he started, I swear it.”

Prince Zalcan giggled. “Are all you Adluvian woman so feisty? I think everything happens for the best. Vachlan wouldn’t let me have Visola, but I think you’re much prettier. How would you like to go on a little trip with me?”

“I am not going anywhere,” Aazuria hissed. “I don’t know how you found me, but…”

“Just shut your mouth!” Zalcan shouted, pulling a mace from his robes. He pointed the weapon directly at Aazuria’s face. “You will come with me willingly, or I will make your face resemble mine! We’ll make a pretty pair, won’t we?”

Aazuria thought of her unborn child. She knew she had to fight.
If Visola was in this position she would not be as scared as I am right now,
Aazuria thought to herself. She made a mental note.
If I live through this, I vow that I will learn to fight as well as Visola.