Tides of Tranquility

by Nadia Scrieva

  “Yes, King Kyrosed,” the old woman responded quietly.

  “My good woman!” he declared, reaching across the table to grasp Amabie’s wrist. He placed a kiss on the back of her hand, close to her knuckles. “It is an honor to be in the presence of your imperial highness.”

  Empress Amabie turned to look at Aazuria nervously before turning back to Kyrosed. She knew that the hostage situation required much delicacy, so she smiled at the resurrected king tactfully. “It has been so long, King Kyrosed. I have missed our long conversations, my friend.”

  “Really?” he asked. “I saw the map you gave my daughter hanging on her wall. Quite a fine piece of work you commissioned there. It doesn’t seem like you have noticed my absence very much.”

  Aazuria felt a chill run through her shoulders. He was in my bedroom, she realized. Her dream was not merely a nightmare. She turned to Varia with a confused expression, and the girl sent her a questioning look.

  “Your majesty,” Empress Amabie said gently. “I am eager to converse with you and catch up on these last few years. You were always one of my most treasured and admired allies. My entire nation venerated you for your governmental genius. I only have one request of you, before we begin.”

  “Oh?” King Kyrosed asked.

  “Please,” Empress Amabie requested, placing her hand on King Kyrosed’s fingers. Her dark eyes implored his blue ones. “Allow the children to leave the table before further discussion between us.”

  “The children,” Kyrosed repeated thoughtfully as he gazed around the table. “Why should I do that? You all allowed Corallyn to die. Perhaps I should show you what it feels like to lose your children.”

  “Dude,” Visola said with a groan. “You literally have a bomb strapped to Elandria. Literally. There are twenty minutes remaining on the timer. Please don’t insult our intelligence by expecting us to believe you shed a single tear over Corallyn.”

  “A desperate man must use desperate means. You people and your cruelty and carelessness—that’s what made me so desperate that I would stoop to the level of harming my own child. I had no other choice. You see, on a normal chessboard, you can turn pawns into queens.” Kyrosed turned to his manservant and made a gesture. “On my chessboard, I turn queens into pawns.”

  The servant drew his hand back and struck Elandria across the face. The duct tape across her mouth muffled her cries, but her eyes betrayed her fear and pain.

  “So you see, my friends,” Kyrosed explained as his meal was deposited before him. “I hold all the bargaining chips in our little game. You are not in a position to make any requests!”

  “Father,” Aazuria said as she moved along the length of the table. She placed her hands on Varia’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “This is my daughter. Her name is Varia. She was named after the violet coral, in honor of Corallyn. We have all lost so much, but we have gained a great deal as well. Is this really the kind of first impression you want to make on your grandchild?”

  Kyrosed gazed at Varia for a moment, and it seemed as though the hardness of his eyes was slightly softened.

  “Hello,” Varia said vacantly as she stared into the man’s face. The young girl knew that it was time to become an actress again. While she felt no affection whatsoever for this man—even less than she had felt for Prince Zalcan—she knew that she could not allow her angry, bitter thoughts to infect her expression. She took a deep breath, and forced herself to look like a lovable, innocent girl. Raising her slender body from her chair, she dipped into a deep, perfect curtsey.

  Varia forced all the sweetness she could muster into her voice. “It’s so good to finally meet you, grandpapa.”

  “The pleasure is mine, child,” Kyrosed responded in wonder. It was the first moment that genuine emotion displayed across his face. “You look so much like your mother.”

  “She has asked about you often,” Aazuria said softly. “I told her what a great man you were. She has always wished she had gotten a chance to meet you.”

  “It’s a dream come true, grandpapa,” Varia attested, with an enchantingly feminine and childlike tone.

  “You could be with us,” Aazuria told him, tilting her head to the side in a compassionate way. “Father, I love you so much. You don’t need to do this; don’t let it be this way. Remove the bomb from Elandria—stop the timer, and let us sit down to dinner together like a family. Please.”

  Varia moved forward and fixed the bearded man with her truest smile. She sought deep within her for all the morsels of curiosity and filial loyalty she could gather, and poured it forth through her eyes. Her vibrant irises shone with tears almost on cue, communicating volumes of love and warmth in their mysterious splendor. She pushed her emotion through every pore until she was sure that she must be glowing in a mesmerizing way. She could feel an almost angelic-like halo around her tearful young expression; she could almost see her grandfather’s heartstrings, and she plucked the perfect tune of sympathy and compassion on the gold-threaded strings. She felt something click inside of her, and she was sure that she had captured him.

  “Grandpapa,” she whispered brokenly. “Won’t you please let Aunt Elandria go free?”

  Kyrosed was speechless at this attack. The purity and virtue in Varia’s face had rendered him instantly spellbound and repentant for his sinful ways. He seemed to be seriously considering her words.

  Trevain frowned. He made eye contact with Glais, who seemed impressed and bothered by Varia’s little show, but hardly surprised at her ability to instantly transform herself into a captivating, fairy-like creature. Trevain suddenly understood that this was what Varia had done for several years in her childhood. She was rough and abrasive with him, but that was frankness and sincerity. That was who she truly was; she felt like she could be herself around him. He was suddenly grateful for her every snide comment and harsh insult. It was dreadful that it had taken an event like this for him to understand, but he truly did for the first time. Varia did love him—and her honesty was the greatest telltale sign of this. She was relaxed and comfortable around him, and thus allowed herself to be rude and candid.

  And if this was Varia when she was on edge, then he never wanted to make her uncomfortable. He prayed that she would never look at him in the manipulative, phony way she was currently using on King Kyrosed. It was as though his daughter had assumed an entirely new fictitious identity; she was now the perfect child. He hated it. Trevain made a mental note to hug Varia fervently, for as long as she would let him, if they got out of this alive.

  He turned to look at his own grandfather, and saw that Vachlan’s face had suddenly grown quite calm. He wondered if the man was considering the situation or Varia’s skill as an actress. He saw that Vachlan had taken his wife’s hand, and that he was grasping Visola’s palm so tightly that the woman’s fingertips were becoming beet red. For some reason, Trevain felt like his grandparents were having an entire conversation through the pressure of that simple touch. He felt like they were comparing notes and exchanging theories on their individual battle plans through their fingertips.

  Somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, he felt safe. It might have been an illusion, but it was impossible not to feel safe when Vachlan and Visola were standing together and planning a course of action. He only wished he could contribute. He noticed that his grandmother’s chest was heaving in anger as she glared at the resuscitated king. Many of the other adults in the room had similar expressions. Dylan Rosenberg seemed confused, and was discreetly scribbling comments in his notebook as it rested in his lap. Brynne looked to Trevain in bewilderment and fear. Of all the people present, Brynne was the one who would expect him to act and be her hero. He was her captain, after all. But he did not feel very much like a leader in this moment.

  Through all of the disorder, a single pair of eyes remained fixed on him. Elandria stared at him desperately, as though she knew there were only a few precious minutes left in her life. It seemed that she had decided to spend her final minutes stari
ng at him longingly, and this broke his heart. Somehow, above the harsh impression of the duct tape against her skin, her eyes were smiling sadly at him. He could see the love in her face, and he felt tears prick the back of his eyes.

  He felt helpless. He was not sure which of the two of them was more helpless.

  “Fine,” King Kyrosed finally spoke. “The children can leave the room.”

  Aazuria sighed in relief as she wrapped her arms tightly around Varia. She squeezed the girl tightly before pressing several kisses against her forehead and face. “I love you, darling,” she said softly. “Be safe.”

  Varia nodded as she returned the violent embrace. She hated to think that this could be the last time she hugged her mother; she would not allow herself to think that. Moving over to Ivory and Ronan, she took the hands of the younger children and spoke a few quiet words to calm them down and usher them away from the table. She looked to Kaito and her cousin Kolora who appeared glued to their chairs.

  “Go on, sweetie,” Brynne told her daughter with a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Kolora seemed as frozen as a deer in the headlights.

  “Come on,” Varia said quietly, but the girl remained statue-still. She glanced at Glais, signaling him to help with her face. He moved across the table to help Kolora to her feet. He kicked Kaito in the leg, but the young Japanese boy refused to move.

  “I’m staying with my mom!” Kaito said firmly.

  “No, you’re not,” Glais told him. “Come on, Kai.”

  Princess Yamako reached out and ruffled her son’s hair. “I’ll be fine, chickadee. Go with Glais and Varia.”

  Kaito stubbornly complied, but not without sending a suspicious glare at King Kyrosed. “I don’t know who you are, but you better leave my mom and grandma and Auntie Sio alone!” he shouted. It was evident that as the up-and-coming man of the Mizuchi house, he was already feeling the urge to protect his female family members.

  “How precious,” Kyrosed remarked as he watched the little boy march out of the room begrudgingly with the other children. He turned to the Japanese woman curiously. “So you had a son, Princess Yamako? I was always under the impression that you were a lesbian.”

  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, King Kyrosed,” Princess Yamako remarked dryly.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed, pointing across the table at Sionna. “You mean…” He broke out into laughter. “Imagine that!”

  Sionna had rolled her eyes and was about to retort when Kaito poked his head back into the doorway to yell out important instructions:

  “Remember guys, if you want to kill a zombie, you have to go for the brains!”

  “Kai!” Princess Yamako shouted. “Get away! Get far away from the castle!”

  “Smart woman,” Kyrosed remarked as he looked smugly at the other adults. “It seems like she understands just how powerful the bomb is.”

  “I understand that you’re a sick motherfucker,” Princess Yamako said bitterly.

  “Well! I suppose now that the innocent kiddies have been removed from the situation, we can be a little more unrestrained with our language? Yes, yes. There is so much to discuss,” Kyrosed said thoughtfully. “Do you see, Aazuria? I let your daughter and the other children leave the room. She is not in any danger; regardless of what you think of me, I am not a monster.”

  “I never said you were, Father.”

  “Sit,” he commanded, gesturing at the seats that had been vacated by the children. He signaled to the other adults as well. “All of you, sit. Let’s talk.”

  Naclana poured a fresh glass of wine for the king in a golden chalice.

  King Kyrosed looked at the cup in memory. He picked it up and stared at his reflection in the polished cup. “This is my old goblet,” he remarked.

  “We kept everything, your majesty,” Naclana said quietly. “All your possessions can be returned to you at once if you say the word.”

  “Excellent. I will be needing all my things,” the old king said. “Now I suppose I should try this meal before it gets cold?” The man picked up the steak knife and began to cut a slice off his meat. He stabbed it with his fork and lifted it to his mouth.

  Sionna held her breath.

  The morsel of meat paused an inch away from his tongue. The fork hovered, poised in the air, and the king began laughing. He slammed the fork back down on his plate before picking the plate up and tossing it across the room. He rose to his feet and slammed his hands down on the table. “Do any of you honestly believe I would eat the food you gave me? You forget who I am! You forget who used to employ you, Sionna!”

  “Dammit,” she whispered, sending Naclana a frustrated look. She knew that Aazuria’s cousin had understood her silent command to poison the king, but she had been quite certain that it would fail. It had been a long-shot; a miserable, last-ditch effort—but it had been worth the risk.

  “Nice try, little one,” King Kyrosed crooned. “Bishop and rook move into position to take king—but the king evades their grasp. Looks like it’s my move!” He scanned the table carefully, his eyes settling on Dylan Rosenberg. “I’m not sure I know this fellow. Is he merely a pawn, or does he have any greater significance on my chessboard? Should I just kill him now?”

  Dylan gulped. “I’m a doctor, your highness. I’m from out of town.”

  “I see,” Kyrosed murmured. “And no doctor would be sitting at a family supper unless he was of great skill. Sionna would have handpicked him for some purpose—or she possibly has some personal attachment to the man. She probably slept with him.”

  “What? How did you guess that when I didn’t!” Visola complained.

  “None of this is relevant to the fact that Elandria is wearing a bomb,” Sionna pointed out.

  “And she changes the subject,” Kyrosed observed. “I believe this man is worth slightly more than a pawn. What about that woman?” He pointed at Brynne.

  “Um. I’m an American fisherwoman,” Brynne explained.

  “Pawn,” Kyrosed determined. “You are at this table for what purpose? Are you one of the king’s wives?”

  “First of all, I resent being called a pawn,” Brynne said angrily, “and second of all, Trevain is my friend. I am married to his brother. Third, I invite you to hurt me—if you think you’re a jerk, you haven’t met my husband. He is completely insane, and he will make you suffer.”

  “I see. A noisy pawn,” Kyrosed commented. “If you’re married to the king’s brother, then that man has already been dealt with by my organization. He’s not a concern.”

  “Dealt with?” Brynne repeated fearfully. “Do you mean…”

  “He’s in the hands of Leviathan now. I doubt he still breathes.”

  “No,” Brynne whispered. “Not Callder. No.”

  “Leviathan?” Vachlan said in confusion. “But that can’t be…”

  Princess Yamako pulled her tracking device out of her phone and studied the screen. “He’s lying, Brynne. Callder is alive and well. Even if he’s in custody of some organization, they’re not harming him.”

  Visola released a growl from low in her throat. She pulled away from Vachlan and advanced on King Kyrosed.

  In a fit of fear, Trevain released Aazuria and dove toward the redhead. He physically restrained her to the best of his ability. “Grandma, no! He’ll kill Elandria!”

  “I’m done with being patient! I’m done with it!” she spat. “He does not get away with hurting my grandson—”

  Kyrosed frowned. “Wait—wait a second. Did he just call you Grandma? Oh, this is rich! This is better than I ever expected.” The white-haired man began to laugh. He slid his chair away from the table so he could lean back, propping his feet up beside his plate casually. “The white king is Alcyone’s child? How interesting. Visola, since we’re being straightforward and honest—I raped your daughter a few times. Threatened to kill you if she told anyone.”

  Visola’s body suddenly went limp in Trevain’s arms. He nearly dropped her and he had t
o guide her to the nearest chair to allow her to fall into it with an abrupt plop. “You swine,” she whispered. “You fucking cunt.”

  “But I suppose you suspected that, didn’t you?” Kyrosed mused. “That’s why you sent Alcyone away—to protect her from me. Guess you never knew that it was too late. I sometimes wonder if she even understood what I was doing to her—she was just a child when it happened.”

  “No,” Visola said, pressing her face into both of her hands. She moaned in horror. “No.”

  Sionna moved to her sister’s side immediately, wrapping her arms around the woman. “Shhh. It’s not your fault, baby. It’s not your fault.”

  Vachlan’s arms sagged to his sides where they hung limply. He knew what Sionna was implying; it was his fault. He did not disagree with her. He was in such a state of shock that he did not notice when his grandson took the gun out of his hand.

  Trevain pointed the gun at Kyrosed and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the man in his leg. “That’s for my mother, you abominable piece of shit.”

  “Hey!” The man beside Elandria held up the trigger for the bomb in warning. “If you fire a fatal shot I’ll detonate the explosives.”

  Trevain looked to Elandria nervously, in fear at having hurt her by his actions. He could see that she sanctioned his rage. She could see that he did not care what happened to her, as long as justice was done. But the bomb would take everyone in the room. Trevain could not think. The situation was too mindboggling. He found that his chest was heaving in rage—he could have unloaded every bullet in the gun, and it would not have satisfied him. “Don’t worry,” he told the servant, his hands shaking as he held the gun. “I don’t want to kill him. Not before my grandmother has her way with him.”

  “Do whatever you want, Trevain,” Visola said faintly. “I give up. I’m a horrible mother.”