Tides of Tranquility

by Nadia Scrieva

  “Goodnight, Trevain,” she said quietly.

  He cleared his throat. “Are you coming—or, ah, going—to bed?”

  She looked down at her hands. “It’s too late at night for me to think of how to respond to such a complex question.”

  Trevain leaned against the bookshelves with a sigh. “Why don’t you come upstairs?”

  “I’ll just stay here.”

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then why don’t you get some rest, Elan?”

  “I—I don’t…” She hesitated. “Trevain—I can’t… I can’t go upstairs.”

  “Why not?”

  “Where would I go?” she asked. “I highly doubt my bedroom is my bedroom anymore.”

  Trevain ran a hand through his hair as he tried to sort out the sleeping arrangements in his mind. Up until recently, he probably could have invited Elandria back to her old room. His room. All of her clothes were still in the closets, and all of her jewels were still in their drawers. But thanks to Dr. Rosenberg, Aazuria had started spending the night with him now and then. He had no idea what the correct protocol was for this situation.

  “Oh, god,” he said in frustration.

  “I know,” she said with a smile. “Just go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “That’s not right. A queen doesn’t sleep on a sofa in the library.”

  “It’s not like you expected me to show up the way I did. I didn’t give you any time to make arrangements.”

  “Elan, this is a gigantic palace. You know, because you were the one who had it built. We’re prepared to house visiting foreign dignitaries at any moment. I think we should have a bedroom that you’ll like. There are maybe over ten to choose from.”

  “I’m fine right here,” she told him, resting her head on the arm of the sofa. “I haven’t been this fine in years.” She closed her eyes, listening for his footsteps walking away. Instead they drew closer.

  “Why do you have to be so stubborn, Elan?”

  She did not respond.

  “Aazuria and I have separate rooms,” he told her. “Maybe you would feel more comfortable staying with your sister tonight. A hot shower or bath might do you some good.”

  “I just want to pass out,” she told him.

  “Fair enough,” he said. He knew that he should leave, but it felt unsatisfying for this to be the only words exchanged with his wife after almost five years of separation. “Do you want me to go away, or may I sit down?” he asked. She was silent, but he understood her silence. She did not mind his presence, or even preferred it, but was too proud to admit this vocally. He moved to sit on the far side of the couch.

  Elandria felt the dip in the sofa near her feet from his weight. She wondered if pretending to be asleep would save her from the conversations she feared. She felt her heartbeat speeding up in her chest, and she tried not to show her anxiety.

  “I wrote you letters,” he said quietly.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He pulled her feet into his lap, gently rubbing her ankles through the blankets. “You never wrote back.”

  “I wasn’t allowed to,” she told him.

  “Would you have written back if you were allowed?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. His expression seemed melancholy. She did not know how to respond.

  “Elan,” he said in a low voice. “Are we going to talk about… stuff?”

  “Of course,” she said softly, “but not now.” She tried to ignore how soothing the sensation was as he continued to massage her feet through the blankets. It had been so long since she had last seen him, but he seemed to be acting like not even a day had passed. She did not feel like a day had passed. When she could no longer block out the pleasant tingles running through her legs, she looked at him sharply.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him hoarsely.

  “I—” He looked down at his hands in surprise. “I’m sorry. It’s just habit. Do you want me to stop?”

  She did not respond. She did not pull her feet away, like she knew she should.

  “I always used to rub your feet after a long day,” he said softly. “Remember? I think being held hostage by your dead father qualifies as stressful. So just relax.” He slid the blankets off her feet so he could put more pressure against her soles, rubbing circles with his thumbs. He squeezed her toes gently in his hands.

  The contact of his skin was simply too much, and Elandria jumped, ripping her feet away from him. She curled up tighter in her corner of the sofa, sending him a rueful look.

  “Oh, Trevain. I can’t bear it if you touch me. You had better go upstairs.”

  “Yes. And you should come with me.”

  “That can’t possibly end well,” she told him tenderly. “You are so young. Young men almost exclusively act first, and end up considering and reconsidering their actions later. Perhaps the intentions of your mind are innocent, but the intentions of your heart and body are not.” She kicked him gently in the leg, sending him an understanding smile. “Go away.”

  Trevain sighed. “Stop treating me like a horny teenager trying to feel you up in the back of his father’s car! I’m really only concerned about your comfort right now. Besides, we’re married. I should be allowed to sit beside you, at least!” He looked at her with a serious expression. “Elandria, I haven’t seen you in years. Do you remember me? Do you even still care? I really missed you.”

  “I know. I missed you too,” she said softly. She could not bring herself to tell him exactly how much; she could not say that she cared so much that it hurt. She cleared her throat and nudged him again with her toes. “Speaking of teenagers, I think you should go and talk to Glais about the liberties he took in engraving permanent artwork on your daughter’s body.”

  Trevain smiled. “I would definitely like to chew him out, but we both know that Varia probably forced him.”

  “Nonetheless,” Elandria said, “he needs to learn to stand his ground. What else is she going to force him into doing?”

  Trevain grew somewhat pale as he thought about this. “Good point. I should do that now.” He had already risen to his feet when he frowned. “Hey, are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “Yes,” she laughed, returning her head to the sofa. “Goodnight, Trevain.”

  “Goodnight, Elan.” He hesitated for a moment, unsatisfied with the mediocre farewell, but he obediently left the room.

  Chapter 18: Worth of Days

  Trevain knocked sharply on Glais’ door. He waited for a few seconds before knocking again.

  “Glais, it’s Trevain!” he called out. “I need to speak with you.”

  There were some shuffling noises in the room before the door opened. The boy looked at the king bashfully. He seemed to have been dreading this lecture for quite some time. “Yes, sir.”

  Trevain chewed on his lip as he stared at the young man. “I’m not here to yell at you. I just want you to know that I was very surprised by Varia’s tattoo, and so was her mother. We aren’t angry. It is her decision, and her body after all—but I would appreciate if you showed me enough respect to mention her intentions to us before you go ahead and do whatever she wants. She’s just a child, Glais. She should discuss her actions with her parents before making drastic decisions.”

  “I’m sorry, King Trevain. I will encourage her to talk to you about things first in the future. I’ll let you know what she’s planning to do if it seems at all dangerous or unwise.”

  “Thanks, Glais. I appreciate that.” Trevain sighed. “Look, there’s one more thing. It’s obvious that my daughter fancies you a great deal. But I would appreciate if you would be a gentleman around her. She might seem very mature for her age, but she’s still a fourteen-year-old girl.”

  “I know, sir. I would never do anything to hurt her.”

  Trevain chuckled darkly. He moved forward, putting his face very close to the teenager’s. “I need to be frank with
you to avoid ambiguity or misunderstandings.” He grasped the front of the boy’s shirt. “Don’t touch her, Glais. I’m not joking. This isn’t a recommendation. Do not touch my daughter. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She is young,” Trevain said. “I know you two are close, but if you’re interested in her romantically—you wait until she’s an adult. Do you hear me? You must continue to be only her friend. Be only her brother. You do not cross the line, or there will be hell to pay. I personally guarantee there will be hell to pay. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Trevain said, relaxing. He patted Glais on the shoulder. “Because I would really hate to have to put more bullets in you than I just put in King Kyrosed. And I won’t hesitate to do that if you harm or disrespect my little girl. Goodnight, Glais.”

  “Goodnight, sir,” Glais said, gulping. The young man closed his door firmly and locked the bolt. He shuddered before moving to his closet and opening the doors. “He’s gone now, Varia. You can come out.”

  With a giddy laugh, she exited the messy collection of clothing, removing a sock from her hair. In one hand was the bottle of vermouth that Visola had given them. “So that explains it!” she announced. “My father has been threatening you. That’s why you’re being so cold to me.”

  “I’m not being cold,” Glais protested. “I’m just being the way I’ve always been. Not cold, and not hot—just lukewarm. Maybe you should climb through the window and go back to your room in case your dad checks on you.”

  “Okay,” Varia said, moving to the window. It took her twice as long as usual as she awkwardly navigated a path.

  “Actually, never mind,” Glais muttered, running to the window and locking it shut. “You can’t even walk in a straight line.”

  “The whole room is spinning,” Varia told him. “Is this why the adults love alcohol so much? It’s so funny. I can’t feel my fingertips or my lips. My skin is all tingly, like fireflies are dancing all over me. And I’m soft and warm. I like this.”

  “I don’t feel anything,” Glais complained. “I guess I didn’t drink as much as you. Or maybe I’m just tougher than you are.”

  “Not likely,” Varia said with a giggle. She shoved the bottle toward Glais. “Here, have some more. I’m going to lie down.”

  “Vari,” Glais said with warning as he watched her dive onto his bed and snuggle under his sheets. “Don’t you think you should head back to your room?”

  “Why?” she asked sleepily. “I want to stay here.”

  “But your dad said…”

  “That I’m his precious little girl and you shouldn’t touch me. Whatever,” she mumbled. She patted the bed beside her. “Come here.”

  “Varia, what if they notice you’re not in your room? You’re going to get me killed.”

  “Do you want me here or not?” she asked with a yawn. “I’ll leave if you want me to go. But I’m not going to leave because of my dad.”

  Glais sighed, drinking from the bottle of vermouth before placing it on his nightstand. He slipped into the bed beside Varia and placed his head on the pillow. “Of course I want you here.”

  “Good,” she said, nestling against his side. “I had a nightmare where you were so mean. You didn’t like me. But that’s not real life, right?”

  “No,” he told her, “you know that.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Varia admitted. “All I know is that I want to be around you 24/7, and even more than that, if there were more hours in a day. I guess if the earth turned a little slower, we would have longer days. Longer nights too. It feels like it’s turning more slowly now, don’t you think?”

  “You’re so drunk, Varia,” Glais said with a smile, “but yes, it does feel that way.”

  Trevain paced briskly in the upstairs corridor. He had knocked lightly on his daughter’s door, but there had been no answer. Varia was probably asleep. He had knocked softly on Aazuria’s door, but she had not answered either. He continued to pace the hallway in frustration until he saw the chubby guard, Rolf, standing in a corner and playing with his phone. He stood for a moment, observing the man with growing anger. After a while, Rolf noticed that he was being watched. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and stood at attention, quickly saluting the king.

  “Rolf, were you on duty when Kyrosed came into the dining room?” Trevain asked.

  “Yes, sir. I was.”

  “So what is your job here?” Trevain demanded. “Are you here just to make money while standing around and gossiping on Twitter?”

  “No, sir!” Rolf said at once. “I’m here to protect the queen.”

  Trevain smiled, nodding slowly. “Nice job you did there.”

  “Sir, please. I would do this job even without pay. What King Kyrosed did…”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Trevain said harshly. “March yourself down to the prison. Tell them I ordered you to be locked up for 24 hours.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rolf said, saluting the king.

  “Without your phone,” Trevain told him.

  Rolf cringed. “Yes, sir.”

  Trevain heard a noise which seemed to come from Aazuria’s room, and he moved over to her door and knocked again.

  “Zuri, open up. I know you’re not sleeping.”

  The door did swing open, to reveal a tired Aazuria wearing a robe. She regarded her husband with a sigh. “What’s the problem?”

  “The problem?” he repeated. “There are lots of problems. May I come in?”

  “Trevain, I’m not feeling very well right now. After all that’s happened, I think I just need some time to be alone.”

  He faltered as he tried to respond. “Are you sure, Zuri? I want you to know that I’m here for you. If you need anything…”

  “I know,” she said softly, “but I feel really sick. I’m a mess. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Don’t shut me out, Zuri. I don’t care if you’re a mess. I want to be there on your good days and your bad days…”

  “This has been the worst of days,” Aazuria said. “I’m this close to drinking mouthwash.” She moved forward and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Trevain.”

  “Zuri—” he began, but the door was closed in his face. He made a sound of exasperation and continued walking down the hallway. He entered his own bedroom and closed the door behind him. He rested his back against the wall thoughtfully. Noticing his dresser, he moved over to the piece of furniture and opened up a few of the drawers on the right side. They were still filled with Elandria’s dresses. He picked out a particular pretty nightgown that he had purchased for her on Valentine’s Day, maybe six or seven years ago.

  Don’t get me anything provocative, Elandria had warned him. I’m a modest girl and I like simple, practical things.

  I knew that already, he had assured her. I wasn’t going to buy leather and chains, or whips and paddles.

  He could still remember her laughter. She had loved his present, wearing it so often that the color was faded from dozens, perhaps hundreds of washings. Trevain brought the dress to his face, burying himself in the pleasant memories. The first few years without Aazuria had been difficult, but once he had given up and given himself over to being Elandria’s husband, life had become good again. Elandria’s love had made life wonderful, and those few years together had been some of the best years of his life. How could he forsake the life they had built? Now that Elandria was back, now that she was home, how could he leave her alone, downstairs, sleeping on a sofa in the library? His head ached with the stress of trying to determine the right thing to do.

  Just when things had been getting better, fate had thrown him a gigantic curveball. Only a day ago, he had been convinced that his relationship with Aazuria was getting better. He was sure that she was starting to feel comfortable around him again, and that they could be a real family, together with Varia. Now, a day later, both of his wives were under the same roof. Both had suffered an
other great ordeal, and both seemed unhappy. To top it all off, he now had the blood of their father on his hands.

  That part, he did not feel too upset about.

  I’ve hardly had any time with Aazuria, he reasoned to himself. We fight so much, but after the fights, it always feels like we grow closer. We do have a daughter together, and I know that any distance between me and Aazuria makes Varia love me a little less. But every time I try to reach her, she keeps backing away. Elandria has always been so open and loving to me. She has never held anything back. I want to do right by both of them; I owe them that much. But what am I supposed to do? I need to speak with them, and sort this out. But what do I want? What is the ideal outcome of this situation? Either way, whatever I choose, someone gets hurt. How can I hurt either of these women any more than I already have?

  Trevain studied the nightgown in his hands, and looked around the room, looking for a sign of Aazuria. Was there nothing she owned in this room? She had spent the night with him only yesterday, but she had now instantly retreated in her ghostlike way. Was she only desirable because she was elusive? He fondly remembered how blissful it had been to have her with him. He had truly believed that he would never feel sorrow or loneliness again. Each day spent with Aazuria is a lifetime of happiness condensed into a few short hours. Each day spent with Aazuria is so stormy and passionate that it is equivalent to all the months and years I spent with Elandria. But I am getting too tired to fight for her to share her days with me; I am getting too old to wait for her to take pity and throw me a bone. Life is short, and things can go miserably wrong at any moment. Isn’t that what we should learn from tonight’s events? We could have all been killed.

  We should not waste our precious days on uncertainty.

  Clutching the nightgown against his chest, Trevain moved to his bed and ripped a blanket off the mattress. Bunching up both pieces of fabric for easier transport, he left his room. He hastily walked down the hallway and down the stairs, and entered the library. Moving over to where Elandria was sleeping, he crouched down beside her and touched her shoulder. Her eyes opened almost instantly, and she looked at him with curiosity.