Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4)

by Nadia Scrieva

  She wondered to herself what mission Marshal Landou had sent his soldier on, and why he was not explicitly stating it. Was he concealing information from her? She was startled out of her thoughts when Vachlan’s hand on her lower back urged her forward. She frowned and continued into the bowels of the plane.

  “Sweet Sedna. This is swanky,” she said as she examined the stately interior of the vessel. There were dozens of men in military uniforms who turned their heads to look at her when she entered. She studied their faces, sizing them up by their expressions and their build. She did not see any visible scars on their bodies, and many of them seemed to be advanced in age. They did not resemble the rough undersea warriors to whom she was accustomed. For one thing, instead of having long, unkempt hair, most of the men were completely shorn, and neatly styled. Their physiques were also unimpressive—she imagined she could take them all.

  “Hey, fellas,” she said in greeting, lifting her fingers in a friendly wave. “Are you the boys who do the fightin’ or the ones who order around the fightin’ types?”

  “A bit of both,” answered one of the men in a deep voice. He observed the various weapons strapped to Visola’s body with a raised eyebrow. “What do you do?”

  “A bit of both,” Visola responded with an audacious smirk. Vachlan had moved to her side, and she turned to him, glancing up at his ponytail with appreciation. It was her personal opinion that a true warrior should have a bit of hair on his head.

  “I’ve given your coordinates to the pilot,” Marshal Landou said as he entered behind them. “We actually have our own private cabin just through those doors. You had both better get strapped in.”

  “Great.” Visola headed in the direction he had indicated, and was appalled to see a room that was even more extravagant. It did not seem like a good sign to her that the conveyance was so opulent while the men were so scrawny. “I guess the military has come a long way since the Spartans,” she observed.

  “A little luxury never hurt anyone,” Landou said with a smile as he took a seat. “Get buckled in and we can all have a nice stiff drink.”

  When they had removed their weapons and strapped themselves in, Visola stared out the window impatiently. She felt like it was taking forever for the vehicle to begin moving, and the delay did not help her apprehension about flying. She thought again about how much she would have preferred to swim. Then she thought about Queen Amabie. Yes, speed was essential. She closed her eyes. What kind of mayhem were they heading into? What kind of bedlam were they leaving behind?

  “I have a bad feeling,” she whispered to Vachlan.

  “Don’t worry. It’s statistically the safest…”

  “Not about this. About Alcie. I feel like I’m abandoning,” Visola admitted. The plane began to coast down the runway, and her scowl deepened. “I wish there were more of me.”

  “Technically there are two…” when Vachlan saw that Visola was not in the mood for humor, he reached out and clasped her hand. “She’s made from bits of me and you, love. Toughness is her birthright. She’ll be fine. Besides, weren’t Callder and his vixen wife looking after her?”

  Visola nodded, turning away from the departing ground and forcing something of a smile. “Yes, I’m sure it will be fine.”

  She gripped his hand and closed her eyes while the tremulous feeling of ascension prickled her stomach. Planes had been invented a while ago, she reminded herself. Flying was a normal, natural thing for modern people. She was all about getting with the times. They were handy in battle too, as Trevain had demonstrated in the last fight. Planes beat boats just as nicely as rocks beat scissors. She should look into procuring a few more for Adlivun.

  “Scotch, whiskey, or brandy?” Marshal Landou offered once they were steadily soaring through the air. “The lady looks like she could use a pick-me-up. Maybe a cocktail of sorts?”

  “Cocktail my foot,” Visola said, obviously insulted. “This is hardly the time to indulge ourselves. My daughter’s dying in Alaska, my dearest friend has been defeated and mortally wounded in Hokkaido, and my queen is lost somewhere on this Sedna-forsaken planet…”

  Marshal Landou nodded, closing the cabinet he had opened. “I understand that these are hard times for you. I was only trying to help…”

  “I appreciate your attempt at levity,” Vachlan told their host almost kindly. “Do you mind if I have a private moment of discussion with my wife?”

  “Of course,” the bald man said, rising to his feet. “Excuse me for my rudeness. General Ramaris, I’ll be in the public area if you need me.” He exited the cabin.

  “Thanks, Vachlan,” Visola said with a sigh. “That man gives me a headache. Combined with the nausea that the plane is giving me, it’s doubly ultra-unpleasant.”

  “I didn’t realize you were nauseous,” Vachlan said, unbuckling his seatbelt and flipping up the armrest between them. He slid closer to Visola and rubbed her stomach gently.

  She gave him a funny look. “Of course I am. Have you ever known me to turn down a drink?”

  “Poor Viso. I figured since you don’t get seasick, you wouldn’t get airsick…”

  “And I could really go for some brandy right now! But my insides are all knotted up and I’d probably vomit it back out on you…”

  “I’d still consider it sexy,” he reminded her.

  She laughed a little, and noticing that the armrest was gone, she unbuckled herself and climbed into Vachlan’s lap. “Mmm, that’s better,” she murmured as she adjusted her position for comfort. “Maybe these airborne crafts are not so abominable after all.”

  “That’s not an airborne craft you’re sitting on,” he informed her, slipping his arms around her to pull her closer.

  “And it’s not so abominable,” she repeated with a sly smile. She tilted her head up to offer her lips to him, and Vachlan met them compliantly. They relaxed against each other, moving their lips in unison in an unthinking, ancient waltz.

  Vachlan was startled by how alive and responsive Visola’s body suddenly was, especially considering she had been completely shut down to him just a few hours ago. No, she was not just responding—she was initiating and seeking. Women would always be a mystery to him, but Visola was sphinx. He felt involuntarily pulled through her labyrinth of tangled tunnels and pain; and he could feel her desire boiling beneath it all. Perhaps she just wanted to forget for a moment. Perhaps she was just using him.

  But he was desperate too. At this point he would treasure any small affection she showed him. He would clutch fast to it as a starving dog might dart after and lap up the crumbs which tumbled from her napkin as she wiped her lips after a meal. Every morsel had the lingering aftertaste of fabled forgiveness. Of course, Visola never showed affection in small measures.

  It might be more accurate to say that after starving him for weeks, she occasionally tossed him entire succulently roasted pigs, chickens, and cows, all at once. Or, his favorite, smoked manatee meat garnished with sautéed chanterelle mushrooms... whatever she gave him, it was always a feast. She always gave everything she could possibly give.

  “Hey, Viso,” he said, pulling his lips from hers. “Have you heard of the mile high club?”

  Chapter 8: Sickening Downward Spiral

  For the second time, Trevain found himself standing at the edge of the subterranean lagoon.

  This time, there was no music filling the cave and it seemed strangely empty without the sound. If he had not known better, he might have thought that the water was empty. It seemed almost ridiculous that there were dinosaur-sized creatures lurking just beneath the surface of such a quiet pond—and even more absurd that they should be as harmless and domestic as kittens. Even though he had traveled all this way, he was still hesitant.

  Trevain had felt a pressing need to go and visit his mother, but Vachlan’s words about convincing Elandria weighed heavily on him. Although he felt guilty, he would have to be satisfied in allowing his brother to look after Alcyone for the moment. Besides, Brynne wa
s there too; he trusted Brynne. Not having many strong ties to her own family, the woman had fully dedicated herself to the lives and world of her in-laws upon, and even before her marriage to Callder.

  Forcing himself to move forward against his own inclination, Trevain submerged himself in the warm lagoon. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw a group of the enormous animals sleeping together. One of the creatures was slightly separate from the herd, and within the curve of her body was a human girl curled up in a white dress. Trevain wondered whether Elandria felt security in the size of the beast which guarded her. It was an illusion of course—he rather doubted that the sea cow was capable of defending Elandria or even itself if the need arose. They were exceedingly gentle, and foolishly so.

  He hated to disturb her, but that was the whole point. He swam down to the mermaid princess slowly so that he would not startle her. He hovered in the water nearby, not wishing to jostle her awake unless necessary. The sea cow that she rested against noticed him before she did, and warned Elandria with the vibrations of its body. She opened her eyes, expecting a threat, and she moved closer to the beast uneasily

  Trevain frowned at this—neither Aazuria nor Visola would consider hiding or clinging to something large for protection when faced with a threat. Elandria was a very different girl. Perhaps she was closer to the common kind when it came to her physical strength and agility, of which she had none, but she was hardly common when considered as an overall person. Of course, that was the reason he was there.

  When Elandria’s frightened eyes connected with his, he lifted his hands and began to speak in sign language. “I’m sorry to intrude on your solitude like this, but I don’t have a choice. My grandparents have gone to Japan—there was an emergency. It’s bad, Elan. Visola won’t be able to play the deputy queen anymore. And I don’t know nearly enough…”

  Seeing that she was expressionless annoyed Trevain, and he tried again. “I need you to help me out here. This is not my world. I have been down here for less than a year, and everything has been dumped in my lap. I want to do things properly, but I need some guidance. I need you, Elandria.”

  Elandria grasped her braid in both hands before turning away from him.

  He tried not to get upset at what felt very much like being outright ignored. He swam closer to her, and into her line of sight, and he continued signing. “The Clan of Zalcan wiped out Shiretoko. As far as I understand, they were our final remaining allies. We’re next, and we’re cornered. I believe that it’s possible to claw our way out of this corner. Will you help me?”

  Elandria met his eyes timidly as she twisted her braid in her hands. She launched such a look of fear and utter helplessness at him that it sent more searing pain through his gut than when his grandmother had fired a large caliber bullet through his arm. His initial reaction, for the split second of impact, was empathy. In the second half of the second, there was only rage. He tried his best to keep it in check.

  “I know that there is an intelligent, outspoken leader buried within you. You are the daughter of a powerful king. He abused you and you developed defenses, which is understandable. But it’s time to turn those defenses into offenses. It’s time to take your hurt and pain and use it—channel it into strength to protect the people you love.”

  Her eyes fell away from him. She turned back to the sea cow and began to lovingly stroke its head. The creature nuzzled her happily. Trevain’s eyes narrowed. He felt like he was on the cusp of an unpleasant outburst. He swam around Elandria, moving into her line of sight again. Because of her past, he knew that he needed to be careful not to scare her away forever. The last thing she needed was another abusive, domineering man to intimidate her into withdrawing further.

  “Elandria. I know your life has been difficult—but if you’re ever going to get over that trauma, now is the time. Now is not the time to go deeper into your shell. Now is when it counts, when it matters more than ever. Now is your chance to make a difference. For me. For Aazuria. For Corallyn. For all of Adlivun.”

  He had the impression that there was a brilliant pearl, the most precious pearl that nature had ever fashioned, hidden just beneath the thin yet impassable layer of her shell. He had the impression that therein lay the key to Adlivun’s preservation. But alas, Elandria’s psyche was in some far-flung fantasyland where he could not access all of her finely-tuned wisdom. She was useless. He would have to find another way.

  But there was no other way.

  Trevain had grown very accustomed to and fond of sleeping submerged in water. From the offset, he had been impressed with the ergonomics of the dome shaped bed carved from ice. What he could not adapt to was the constantly renewed bitterness of waking up in his magnificent new bed alone. Aazuria had always been beside him during the beginnings of his life in Adlivun. She had shown him what an unparalleled sense of home and belonging he could feel. He had been swept away by the combination of the water, which he undeniably felt some sort of ancestral connection to, and the people—physical, living ancestors he had never known. And even if there was none of that, it would have still felt like the closest thing to home he had ever experienced, because every night, his wife lay down beside him.

  As much as a man could try to subdue his natural yearnings in order to focus on achieving success in life, the demons always seemed to reemerge with full ferocity. They often reared their heads to remind him that he was alone, and that he had no children. They haunted him, jeering and pointing at the gaping holes in his existence. He had never really paid them any heed. Until he had met Aazuria, he had never really known what he had been missing. He had not understood until every morning, she smiled at him.

  It had not mattered when Adlivun had been in chaos, for when they retired for rest together, there was peace and clarity in this room. Everything else had been background noise to their blissful embraces. It had not been particularly passionate or wild, since neither of them were young souls who sought reckless abandon, but it had been sincere. It had been healthy; the simplest touch from Aazuria could inspire his insides to be infused with such untold strength. An adoring look received from her direction could catapult him into a fairytale-like trance. Every day, he had been thankful. But apparently, he had not been thankful enough. If he had been, surely she would not have been taken.

  Surely he somehow deserved this. Was this repayment for foolishly getting his crew killed by forcing them to fish? He had known of the perils under the waves, and he had knowingly jeopardized his men. This was surely some sort of divine retribution. And as far as retribution went, there could be none more effectual than stealing his wife. He had only just found her. To lose her before they could ever have a chance to grow old—older, together, and before their daughter could be born? It was malevolence personified. Surely some devil with a sense of humor, some victorious Lucifer or Mephistopheles, was tickled pink and cackling with triumphant glee.

  Every day, it was harder to go to sleep without Aazuria. He would lie awake for hours, imagining her face and voice. He would relive on repeat, every single day that they had spent together. He did not want to allow himself to forget a word, a look, a gesture. By the force of his mind and memory, he vowed to keep her alive. Every day, it was becoming more difficult to wake up and newly discover her absence. He could not acknowledge it as truth. If he had been dreaming of her, he often tried to force himself back into unconsciousness. It was turmoil. Everything was turmoil without her.

  As he lay awake, wallowing in his turmoil, a light caught his eye. He used his arms to propel his torso upright in the watery bed, and stared across his room towards the glowing globe held by an intruder. He reached for his weapon and cautiously swam out of bed towards the light. As he approached, he saw the face of the young Australian girl, Namaka. She had recently been acquitted of treason and had her rank in the army placed on probation, but this did not make him any less suspicious of her sudden uninvited presence in his bedroom.

  Namaka sighed, and removed her palms
from beneath the floating spherical flashlight in order to speak with her hands. The orb hovered in the dark water, leisurely descending.

  “King Trevain, I have been sent to you because they feared that if Naclana brought this message, you would take his life.”

  And the demons ripped further at the increasing emptiness within him. He knew. He already knew. He was suddenly grateful for Namaka’s professional heartlessness, for no one else could deliver the news with as much speed and candor. Trevain lifted his hands to respond. “What is it?”

  “Your mother died about an hour ago.”

  Trevain watched the globular lantern slowly sinking to the ground.

  Take three. No nonsense.

  His patience had flown far beyond the realm where her strength was lurking. He marched across the sand until he was thigh-deep in the lagoon and standing face-to-face with her. His green eyes flashed with electric ire. Elandria looked as though she wanted to run, but she was too frozen with fear.

  “I realize that I may seem like nothing to you,” Trevain said, his voice like ice. “I’m just a harmless fisherman from Alaska, right? What you may have missed is this; I was the king of the Bering Sea. I was hands-down the most successful crab-fishing sea captain. I was careful and responsible about my job. Those seas were colder than a witch’s tit. It was difficult, draining work, and I persevered.”

  Elandria did not move or react, but she was obviously paying attention.

  “Why am I telling you this? Well, now I’m the king of the underbelly of that selfsame sea, and I’m not a delicate flower that’s going to wilt if a harsh wind blows. Fuck that! Do you hear me, Elandria? I’m going to succeed at this job the same way I prospered above the surface. Just because this place is different, doesn’t mean the people are any different. And I know how to deal with people. New world, new rules, same man. Same capable, conquering man.”