“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.
“You are the man who killed my little sister,” Aazuria said softly, staring beyond his disfigured face and examining his even more disfigured soul.
“That would be me—Prince Zalcan Hamnil in the flesh.”
Aazuria dove at him, grabbing his wrist to keep the mace away from her, and shoving her elbow into his damaged face. The man screamed, for his skin had not completely healed yet. He lashed out, striking Aazuria in the abdomen.
Gasping, Aazuria stumbled back, fearful for her daughter. The moment of fearful hesitation cost her greatly, because Zalcan used that instant to tackle her to the ground.
He laughed at the expression on her face. “You’re coming with me, pretty lady.”
“I will never come willingly,” Aazuria said, spitting into his face and struggling.
“I expected that,” he told her with a grin. He quickly reached into his robe, and retrieved a white rag. “That’s why I’ve got this crazy little thing called chloroform.”
Chapter 30: Better than Othello
Visola relaxed, completely nude in the healing springs, submerged in the warm water up to her shoulders. A few unusually large meals, a few stiff drinks, and a few invigorating training sessions had lifted her spirits and improved her physical condition greatly. Sionna said that she was eventually going to recover full mobility in her knee. The sisters did not tell Vachlan this, of course—they led him to believe that he had caused irreparable damage which would cause Visola chronic pain. They both kept very serious expressions on their faces as they scolded him for what he had done, but Visola imagined that he could see the smiles in their eyes.
She heard a noise in the room and she opened her eyes. Seeing the same man from her thoughts, she smiled. “Hey, husband. Caused any trouble lately?”
“I just got back from Namaka’s trial,” Vachlan said. “They let her off the hook—which is good, because she didn’t do anything wrong. She hardly told me anything.”
“She’s completely off the hook?” Visola asked with a frown. “Oh—Zuri wasn’t at the trial. She’s still having her Week of Airosen. Very important business, you know; that whole concept of thinking for a whole week before getting married.”
“So I’ve heard,” Vachlan said with a smirk. “It’s too bad that Queen Aazuria is already married, and already expecting a child. That Airosen thing is just procedural, isn’t it?”
“Procedural! No, it’s still really important. Although, I do admit that perhaps the standard week isn’t long enough for everyone.” Visola smiled as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the smooth rock. “I could have done with a few years of Airosen. Maybe a lifetime of Airosen.”
“Oh? A little regretful, are you?”
“A little bit,” she said sweetly, “but I do think I could change my mind if you came over here and gave me a shoulder rub.”
He moved across the room and seated himself very close behind her, slipping his legs into the water on either side of her. He reached down and obediently began to knead her shoulders.
“Mmm, that’s good,” Visola murmured. “As your general, I sentence you to the penance of giving me unlimited massages for the rest of my life.”
“I thought penance was supposed to be punishment,” he said as he squeezed her upper arms.
“Isn’t it?” she asked, letting her head roll back to rest in his lap. She stared up at him with a smile. “It’s taxing, physical labor.”
“Touching you could never be taxing.”
“Mmm,” she responded, closing her eyes in enjoyment. She slipped one of her arms around his leg. He moved his fingers to just below her collarbones where he began kneading her pectoral muscles. His fingers twitched, yearning to continue lower to graze her breasts which remained just under the surface of the water. He restrained himself from doing this, but the thoughts were causing him to be aroused. Visola was resting her head in his lap, s
o she could easily tell. A wicked smile came to her lips, as she repositioned her head, nuzzling his lap in the process.
“Visola,” he groaned in protest.
“Hmm?” she murmured innocently.
“You’re in an unusually touchy-feely mood. You must be drunk,” he concluded.
“Of course I’m drunk. Do you think I’d be allowing you to touch me otherwise?”
He abruptly stopped massaging her and moved away from the hot spring. He stood up and crossed his arms as he stared down at her angrily. “I’m sorry, Viso! I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. Do you even want me to be here in Adlivun? Do you even want me to…”
“Husbunny,” she said teasingly, as she turned around and reached for his ankle. “Come back here.”
“I’m serious,” he said, crouching down to stare at her. “I know I screwed up, but I need to know… will you ever forgive me for doubting your character? Will you ever forgive me for hurting you?”
“It’s all cool,” she said with a relaxed smile. “Othello killed Desdemona even though she didn’t really cheat on him. The difference is that Othello was a nice guy to begin with. You were always a creep. And you didn’t actually kill me dead, so maybe that means you’re better than Othello.”
“God, I fucking hate Shakespeare,” Vachlan said bitterly.
“I know, sweetie. I know.” Visola folded her arms on the rock, and rested her chin on them. She sighed. “Truth is, I can forgive you for just about everything. So what if you were feeling a little pissed off because of some misinformation and you went on a massive killing spree to let off some steam? Who’s to say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing?”
He watched as she lifted her fingers to move dripping wet red locks away from her face, and he raised an eyebrow suspiciously. It was never that easy with Visola. She looked up at him, and her green eyes were hard and awful.
“But getting me pregnant and leaving me alone with my daughter?” She shook her head, and spoke quietly. “Not that. I’ll never forgive that.”
He nodded, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “I understand, Viso.” He rose to his feet, and began moving out of the room.
“Wait!” she called out with a frown. When he turned back to look at her, she sharply asked, “Where are you going?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Visola said, rolling her eyes. “Come back here! You broke my body, so it’s your job to fix it. Shoulders—shoulders!”
He smiled. “You’re not really drunk, are you?”
“Do you remember how high my tolerance is? It would take more gold than there is in this kingdom to get me drunk!” she boasted. When he returned to his seat, and began massaging her back again, she rested her head on his knee. When she spoke again, the cheerful tone had gone from her voice, and she was serious. “Vachlan, there is a way I might be able to forgive you.”
“You’re going to make me do a silly dance, aren’t you?”
“No!” she said with a laugh. She turned around and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into the water with her. Putting her arms around his neck, Visola stared into his eyes solemnly. “I’m being serious for once. Do you want to hear my super-serious decision?”
“Yes, please,” he said softly. The look in her eyes was so deep and intense that it completely distracted him from the fact that her naked body was pressed against him. Well, almost completely.
“Okay. Here it is. Vachlan, if you stay with me, and if you spend more time being here with me than you have spent away, then I will forgive you—absolutely and unquestionably.”
He smiled. She drove a hard bargain, but it was fair. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I will,” he promised. “Just watch me. Two hundred years of devoted husbanding coming right up.”
“Sure,” she said, snorting. “It will never happen.”
“Bet you twenty bucks.”
She smiled, and hit him. “You’re on.” Then she bit her lip thoughtfully. “Wait, American dollars, right? I wonder what will happen to the American economy in two hundred years. We’d better bet in gold.”
“I love you, Visola.”
Her eyes widened. She laughed and hugged him around the neck, burying her face against his neck to hide her blush of pleasure. It seemed that everything was sorting itself out. She could hardly believe how lucky she was, to have her husband back and to have all of their misconceptions cleared up.
“You’re the greatest weapon I’ve ever had,” she whispered. Vachlan knew that this was the highest declaration of love she was capable of uttering. Of course, utterance aside, there were other ways in which Visola could much more eloquently express her love.
He began running his hands up and down her lower back. “Since the grandchildren are all getting married, should we renew our vows too? It’s too bad we missed celebrating our two-hundredth wedding anniversary. We could have had a nice picnic.”
“Meh,” Visola muttered. She felt a small jolt of joy at being relaxed enough to experiment with new language again. There was something so communicative about that simple sound: meh. It was an emotion and an attitude all in one. In her opinion, it was much superior to the plebian duh. It was positively philosophical. It was the compression of “come what may” and “I’m above all of this” and “bring it on” into a single syllable.
“What does that mean?” he asked her.
She smiled at him. “It means that we don’t need to do that. How about this: if we make it to three or four hundred years of marriage, and you’re still around, maybe we can have pie.”
“I like pie,” he said, letting his hands slip down over her bottom.
Visola paused, glancing over her shoulder down at his hands. She glanced back up. “If we make it to our five hundredth anniversary, maybe we can have sex again.”
He pulled her against him abruptly, forcing her body against his so that she could feel his heat through his clothing. She was forced to tilt her head back to look up at him. “Do you really intend to punish me for that long, Visola?” he said in a mockingly mournful voice.
“I intend to punish you forever,” she said earnestly. She was really trying to keep the smile away from her lips. She was really trying to keep the tingles out of her spine.
“I don’t think you can resist me for as long as you think,” Vachlan said, as he reached down and grasped her thigh, pulling her good leg up around him. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her ear, taking her earlobe between his lips and gently nibbling on her skin.
She swallowed at this intimate position. She had missed him. She had missed him more than she could possibly explain, or ever admit. For every unit of happiness, there was an equal unit of fear which told her that the happiness would not last. This fear made the moment all the sweeter for its rarity. Part of her wanted to cry with happiness, but she was cool-Visola. She struggled with the greatest determination possible just to appear casual. She could not let him know that she was affected. She could not simply tell him that she also loved him, and that being in his arms again was her dream coming true. She was way too tough to stoop to the level of cliché.
“I resisted your torture,” she told him, stubbornly jutting out her chin. “What makes you think that I can’t resist your seduction?”
“I know you, darling,” he said softly, kissing the corner of her cheek and nose. He seemed to know that he would have been kissing away a tear if her pride had not been too great to allow it to fall. “I know that you intend to give me your body and pretend that it means nothing to you. You think you can keep your heart tucked away somewhere secret, out of my grasp. It won’t do. I will have all of you again.”
“Well,” she said, a bit choked up, “I guess we’ll see about that in a couple hundred years, won’t we?
“In five hundred years we will both be old and decrepit,” he said. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, letting his warm tongue dart into her mouth
. Visola felt some kind of winged insect fluttering around in her stomach as Vachlan pulled away to whisper, “I want to be with my wife in five minutes.”
Visola frowned. “Five minutes?” She was a bit disappointed. She had expected him to say that he wanted her desperately now. That was the type of thing he would have said when they were younger. There was nothing romantic about five minutes. “So what am I supposed to do in that time?” she asked with annoyance. “Are you giving me a head start to run away, screaming ‘rape’ through the infirmary halls?”
He reached down and pulled his shirt off, revealing his muscled chest. “Foreplay, of course.”
“Oh,” Visola said. She tried to keep the blush away from her cheeks, but the combination of his proximity, his confident words, and the mesmerizing sight of him was too overpowering. She groaned and looked at the ceiling for help, before muttering, “I’m going to regret this.”
He used the opportunity to rain kisses across her exposed neck. “I give you my word as an Englishman that you will not.”
“That’s worth something,” she said with a laugh. She hit him in the shoulder. “Vachlan, can you please stop wasting our five minutes and get to work?”
“You change your mind rather quickly, don’t you?” he asked, as he circled her waist with his hands and began to tug her underwater.
“Shut up and show me what you learned in the twentieth century.”
The story continues…
Boundless Sea
Book Three of the Sacred Breath Series
By Nadia Scrieva
We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects.
- Herman Melville
Chapter 1: Bizarre and Unkind
Small spaces—there were few things on land or sea that made Trevain more uncomfortable than small spaces. Unnatural neon blue light reflected annoyingly off the concave white plastic surface above him. Each second sluggishly crawled by, mimicking excruciating weeks of torment. He was nearing his breaking point. He had been suffering through months of these insulting, wasteful experiments, and he had received little in return. He needed results.
Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4) Page 60
