Tides of Tranquility

by Nadia Scrieva

  “A good girl?!” Visola shouted. “How dare you! Look, pal, you do not get to ruin my sparkling reputation today. I will end your—”

  “Bleep,” Vachlan said appropriately.

  “—ing pathetic life!”

  “Oh, you’re right!” Empress Amabie remarked. “I saw the twitch. How have I never noticed that before?”

  “I’m writing this down,” Dylan said, slipping his glasses onto his nose and scribbling in his notebook.

  Horrified, Visola slapped her hand against the right side of her face to cover the telltale signal. “I do not twitch when I curse!”

  “Sure you do, love,” Vachlan said as he continued eating. “You might call it a ‘precursor.’”

  A few of the adults laughed at this, and Visola growled. “That is not funny. He is not funny.”

  When the amusement died down, Trevain cleared his throat. “So, Aazuria—is Namaka going to be the queen of the Mami Wata?”

  Aazuria nodded. “Technically, a sultana—when the Clan was forced out of Africa and the Mami Wata reclaimed their home, Olokun resumed his traditional title of Sultan.”

  “Still loyal to the crown of Oceanus, of course?” Visola demanded. She had never trusted the native Australian woman.

  “Yes,” Aazuria said. “We’ve been invited to their wedding. It’s going to be a huge event—although they’re arguing quite a bit about the date. They seem to argue about a lot of things. Almost nonstop.”

  “Oh, it’s that kind of relationship,” Naclana mused, indicating Visola and Vachlan with a subtle nod of his head. “I bet I know how they solve their arguments.”

  “I’m always available to offer them some counseling if necessary,” Dylan suggested. “Maybe a pre-marital analysis to make sure they’re ready for this step.”

  “Fiddlesticks!” Visola said in disappointment, snapping her fingers. “I knew there was something important that I forgot to do.”

  “It’s never too late to reconsider and analyze your choices,” Dr. Rosenberg said warmly.

  “No, it is far too late for her,” Vachlan said with a smile. “She’s stuck with me.”

  “But I can still complain about that, right?” Visola asked hopefully.

  Dylan nodded enthusiastically. “My couch is always open to you, Visola, and I will lend an ear to all of your issues. I have been excited to meet you for so long!”

  Vachlan cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry, pal—she is not going anywhere near your couch or your ear, if you know what I mean.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Visola whispered loudly, giving the doctor a kittenish wink.

  Dylan nodded with a smile, ignoring the death glare that Vachlan sent him. He turned his attention to Glais, who had been quietly chatting with Varia for the entire dinner. He could not help but notice that Varia was the quietest of all the children, barely speaking or engaging with the group. He could not seem to notice that the young princess was passionately, perhaps unhealthily clingy to Glais. He was curious about this, and worried about the implications this had on her future.

  “So Glais,” Dr. Rosenberg said lightly. “If you don’t mind me asking—where are your parents?”

  Glais and Varia looked toward the doctor sharply, and the whole table quieted down. Dr. Rosenberg immediately felt very guilty, and understood the answer to this question. Glais was an orphan. “I see,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m very sorry. I recently lost my wife and children as well. I didn’t realize the situation earlier—I thought you were just Varia’s friend. But I suppose King Trevain and Queen Aazuria have adopted you?”

  “Not exactly,” Glais said, hesitantly. He began to push around the food on his plate. “Actually, Visola and Vachlan adopted me—if you’re asking about the official paperwork. But that was before the war, and they became very busy after that with liberating and unifying Oceanus.”

  The doctor could hear what the young boy was really saying. Visola and Vachlan had been so obsessed with their new babies after winning the war that they had mostly forgotten about Glais. He saw Visola and Vachlan share a guilty look, and his heart ached for the boy.

  “Ivory and Ronan kept us all really busy too,” Glais said, defending his adoptive parents from the unspoken accusation. “I helped with babysitting as much as I could. I don’t really need your pity or psychoanalysis, Dr. Rosenberg. I’m very happy here.”

  “I was just curious, son. So you don’t really have a definitive family unit?”

  “Sure I do. Varia is all the family I need.”

  The doctor nodded. He understood now. He glanced at King Trevain with concern, wondering if it was too early to voice his concerns about the nature of their relationship. He had seen a glimpse of Varia’s tattoo, and he noticed that it was the same tattoo that Glais had on his neck. The children seemed to exist in a world of their own; and while most children did, he wondered if this attachment would grow unhealthy at some point.

  “Dr. Rosenberg,” Aazuria said kindly, “I believe you fail to understand that we’re all family here. Everyone at this table—including you, if you wish that. We’re all hardworking, talented, and accomplished in our own special ways. We may not seem like much right now—not very intimidating as we lounge about at home, making silly jokes and laughing about foolish matters—but it still stands that we won an impossible war together. Everyone at this table is part of the team that achieved victory and overthrew the Clan. We’ve all lost someone here, and we all value each other all the more for that reason.” Aazuria glanced around the table, making eye contact with all of her friends and family and smiling at them in genuine recognition of their merit.

  “We’re the heart of the empire,” she said softly.

  Everyone felt the weight of her words washing around them like a gentle ocean tide; warm and comforting, but carrying a firm reminder of the power of the waves. Visola locked eyes with her best friend, sending a message of gratitude and allegiance to her across the table. The unwavering loyalty that they had always shared had only been amplified by time and taxing obstacles. While war and motherhood would have tested or torn the bonds of most friendships, theirs had been strengthened.

  The sound of a single person clapping was heard in the room.

  Everyone glanced around the table in confusion, searching for the source of this solitary, sarcastic sound. Only then did people begin to notice that a man stood in the doorway. An older man, with a long white beard.

  “What a moving speech, daughter.”

  Aazuria’s lips parted, but no sound traveled forth.

  “I am proud to know that you inherited my leadership skills,” the old man jeered.

  All the adults at the table were frozen, but a few of the children innocently looked to their parents for understanding. The expressions on their parents’ faces caused echoes of fear in the children, mixing panic with their puzzlement.

  Aazuria felt her stomach sink. She forced herself to react, bolting up from her chair and putting her hands on her waist. Of course, there was no weapon there. Her eyes darted to Vachlan desperately, but he and Visola were already rising to their feet.

  “Don’t move!” Vachlan shouted as he pointed a gun at King Kyrosed’s head.

  “I don’t have to move,” King Kyrosed said with a smile. “I’ve brought you all a little present.”

  “I swear to Sedna,” Visola hissed, knocking over her chair as she hastily moved toward the man. “If you haven’t ruined our lives enough!”

  “Visola, sweetheart,” Kyrosed spoke quietly. “Stand your ground. If you move any closer to me, everyone in this room will instantly perish.” He turned his head to the side, looking at something which was just beyond the doorway. “Elandria, dear—show them your pretty accessories.”

  A muffled sound was heard as another man shoved Elandria into the doorway. She fell forward into the room, with her arms bound to her sides and duct tape over her mouth.

  There was a bomb strapped to her chest.

  C
hapter 14: Games We Used to Play

  It had been years since Trevain had seen Elandria, and his heart leapt into his throat. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of tears, and she looked at him with love and desperation. He still understood the subtleties in her every expression. For a moment, it felt like everyone in the room had disappeared, and she was silently asking him for help. Trevain had already begun moving toward her when he felt Aazuria’s hand clamp firmly around his wrist. He turned to his first wife, and she shook her head in warning. “No sudden movements,” her face seemed to say; he understood her expressions as well. “Leave this to me. Don’t be a hero.”

  “There’s a lot of security in this new city, this Romanova,” said King Kyrosed. “But you know what makes it easy to bypass security? Threatening to blow up Queen Elandria.” He chuckled to himself as he cast a glance at his subdued daughter. “Something to consider before shooting me; I’m the only one who knows the code which can disarm the bomb. If you try to fiddle with the technology, it will automatically go off. It’s quite sensitive.”

  “What do you want?” Aazuria asked softly.

  “I’m a simple man, with a simple demand,” her father answered. “Let’s play a game. Colonel Ramaris, I see that you’re still alive. Do you remember the games we used to play, Colonel?”

  “General,” Visola corrected, “or Minister.”

  “My little white knight,” the man said fondly. “The wench who married the black knight and screwed up my whole carefully arranged chessboard.”

  “Is that why you planted those ideas in my head?” Vachlan spat, moving forward with his gun outstretched. “Is that why you lied, turning me against my wife; for the sake of your games?”

  Trevain followed Vachlan and grabbed the gun, forcing him to lower it. “Elandria first,” Trevain said quietly. “Let’s give him whatever he wants to make sure that she’s safe.”

  “The tall-man is right—you will give me everything I want.” Kyrosed looked at Trevain thoughtfully. “Is this the white king who took my throne while it was still warm with the memory of my ass?”

  “It was actually cold with the memory of your soul,” Trevain responded.

  Kyrosed chuckled. “Let me explain the situation, my friends, countrymen, and traitorous kinfolk. Elandria’s bomb can only be disarmed in one way—by using a numerical key that I hold in my mind. It can, however, be detonated in several ways! By tampering with the mechanism, by releasing the trigger, or by running out of time. I currently have thirty minutes programmed into the timer. My loyal servant standing beside Elandria—the item he holds in his hand is the trigger for the bomb that I lovingly attached to my precious child. If you kill him, he will release the trigger and blow us all to smithereens. If you kill me, he will release the trigger, and Elandria will be detonated. If you kill Elandria, I will laugh. You probably wouldn’t consider that last option, but I considered it, and find it quite amusing.”

  Trevain’s hands began to shake as they rested on Vachlan’s. He clenched his jaw, trying to restrain himself from succumbing to the boiling rage that made him want to rip the gun away from his grandfather and put a bullet in Kyrosed’s head himself.

  “Now you all probably think I’m a monster,” said the old king. “A long time ago, I was not the kind of man who would laugh at the prospect of his own daughter’s death. Do you want to know what changed me?” With a sick smile, he reached down to lift the hem of his shirt. “I woke up with a hole in my chest. I remembered that my own daughter had killed me—although I had to confirm the memory with the first person I met, because it seemed too ludicrous to be true. My own beloved daughter, to whom I gave everything; whom I taught everything. She wouldn’t be the woman she is today without my guidance—and this is how she repaid me! By murdering me in cold blood! By looking me directly in the face as she let me bleed to death! Did I really deserve that? Was I such a horrible father, Aazuria?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “Not to me, you weren’t.”

  “And what else mattered?” he asked, stepping forward. “None of my other children mattered—no one else on earth mattered to me except for you, and this is what you did to me!”

  “I have suffered for my mistake every single day,” Aazuria whispered.

  King Kyrosed nodded self-righteously. “I knew you would regret it. I knew you would come to see the error of your ways. I knew that once you experienced the pressures of leading a nation, you would come to understand why I often seemed harsh or cruel—that is simply the way a king must be. I knew you would soon see that your world was empty without me.” The white-haired king opened his arms affectionately. “Will you not embrace me, Aazuria?”

  Aazuria’s face remained expressionless. She turned to glance at her daughter, trying to conceal her shock and fear. She glanced furtively to the man who was holding the detonation device, trying to silently make some kind of plan. Varia seemed very alert as she gripped the table, looking around for a way out of the situation. She gave her mother a look of helplessness.

  Inhaling deeply, Aazuria turned back to her enemy. “Yes, of course, Father.” She carefully began moving around the table, but Trevain placed his body in front of hers, blocking her path.

  “No,” he said simply, reaching out to grasp her elbow. “Look at what he did to Elan. If you think I’m letting you near that man, you don’t know me very well.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” she whispered.

  “White queen, two spaces forward,” King Kyrosed hissed, planting his boot in his daughter’s back to make her stumble toward the table.

  Elandria’s eyes widened as she approached the children. She looked up at Trevain and Aazuria anxiously. She began to breathe heavily through her nostrils, calling attention to her state of panic. Ronan began to cry, and his sister reached over to hug him protectively. Meanwhile, Glais and Kaito were sharing angry looks and fingering their steak knives. Varia shook her head at them to discourage them from making any foolish actions.

  “Isn’t it strange,” Kyrosed mused, “Elandria refused to help me kill all of you. I’m not sure why she would do this; the so-called king and queen of Adlivun have betrayed her and tossed her aside like used goods. But she was still too adoring of her sister to help me crush her. What a good girl! What a good, stupid girl. You should have just helped me, Elandria. Of course, you’re more useful to me like this. But you could have saved yourself the stress of being blown to bits.”

  “Father,” Aazuria said softly. “I will do anything you wish. I will give you anything you wish. But please—allow the children to leave the room.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere, daughter.” King Kyrosed licked his lips. “I’m going to make one offer, and only one offer. I’ll trade Elandria for Aazuria.”

  “Yes,” Aazuria said at once. “If you remove the bomb from her chest and guarantee her safety, I will come with you.”

  “Then it’s a deal,” Kyrosed announced with a smile. “Black king takes black queen. Check.”

  “May I say goodbye to my family?” Aazuria asked softly.

  “I am your family!” King Kyrosed roared.

  Aazuria nodded and bowed her head as she moved forward. She had crossed half of the room before she felt Trevain’s hands lock on her shoulders.

  “No,” he said simply. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “What are you doing?” Aazuria whispered to her husband. “Shut up. Please shut up.”

  “Oh?” The bearded man laughed. “Does the white king presume to interfere with our transaction?”

  “He does not,” Aazuria said firmly. “He respects my decision, Father—he gives me his blessing in…”

  Trevain shook his head. “No, Zuri. I am not letting him walk in here and bargain for your life. You were taken from me once before; wasn’t that enough?” He turned to her father. “Did you hear me, Kyrosed? You’re not taking her!”

  Aazuria inhaled sharply. She knew her father. When he was denied his wish, he generally took his
desire by force—and he took far more than he had originally asked for, just to spite the person who dared refuse him.

  “This fellow has some spunk,” King Kyrosed mused in mocking admiration.

  “Get the hell out of my castle,” Trevain ordered.

  “Trevain, be quiet!” Aazuria hissed at him.

  “Listen, son,” Vachlan said quietly. “Just stop talking. You don’t know this man—we do. Stop talking.”

  Trevain felt sudden chills run down his back at the expression on Vachlan’s face. He had never seen his grandfather genuinely afraid of anyone before. He had heard the stories of how cruel Aazuria’s father had been, but what was the big deal? He was only one man, and they were many. They should be able to outwit him…

  “You want me to get the hell out of your castle?” Kyrosed repeated in amusement.

  “No, Father. Please,” Aazuria said politely, lowering her body into a low curtsey. “We would all be honored if you would sit and join us for dinner.”

  “Oh, what’s this? Is someone finally showing me some hospitality?” Kyrosed asked with a smirk.

  Aazuria turned frantically to her cousin. “Naclana—please have the kitchen staff set an extra place for my father and his servant. Bring him some warm victuals at once.”

  “Yes, Queen Aazuria,” said the man, rising to his feet and bowing deeply. He made brief eye contact with his relative and sent a fleeting glance at Sionna before following this command.

  “Well, this is the girl I remember,” Kyrosed remarked; “the diplomatic ambassador who was brought up to charm a guest with sublime etiquette and warmth. I was wondering what had happened to her.”

  “My apologies, Father,” Aazuria said softly, looking to her sister with apprehension. “I was distressed upon seeing what you had done to Elandria and I forgot myself and my manners.”

  “That’s fine,” Kyrosed spoke as he seated himself at the table beside the empress. “I knew that strapping explosives to my daughter would have some dramatic shock value, but I didn’t think you would care that much. I’ll forgive your rudeness for the moment. Why, if it isn’t my old friend Queen Amabie! I hear that you’re an empress now, darling—is that so?”