With that, Sionna inclined her head and began walking away down the corridor. Trevain frowned as he processed this. As the tall redhead disappeared around the corner, he shouted, “Hey! You still avoided the question!”
He mumbled something about infuriating Ramaris women and how much easier his life had been before he had known any of the females in his family, and then he mumbled that mermaid women were even more complicated than human women. He continued on to mumble about Brynne, who was not even a mermaid but chose to mermaid about in her stupid scuba suit, and be so annoyingly enthusiastic about everything under the…
Trevain’s mumblings were abruptly interrupted when Elandria stepped out of the room. Usually, when women took forever to get ready, there was not much visible difference. This was not the case. Elandria had not only been transformed from girl-next-door to mermaid-princess; she had been transformed from mouse to lioness. One moment, she had been hiding in her hole behind the baseboard to avoid getting her tail caught in a mousetrap; the next, she was pawing the ground menacingly, and purring a guttural growl at anyone who threatened her cubs.
He marveled at her extravagant façade. Her gown had a boned ivory bodice that was heavily encrusted with pearls and perfectly sculpted her figure. There was an extremely wide cloth-of-gold skirt which flared out around her in a magnificent manner. Having spent some time in the sunlight to darken her hair, the rich mass of black had been styled into a wealth of soft curls which framed her face and shoulders, giving her an air of sublime femininity. Her hair was fitted with a diamond tiara. She could have been a painting. Dare he believe that she was real, she was flesh?
“Do not laugh,” she warned as she approached him. “These clothes belonged to Aazuria. I’m stealing them, and I know they look outlandish on me.”
“They do look outlandish,” he agreed. “They look as though they come from a much better, otherworldly land.”
“Well, enough of this triviality. Let us prepare for their arrival.” As Elandria moved past Trevain, he caught wisps of her fragrance.
“Is that jasmine?” he asked.
“Yes.” She turned back to him with a smile. “You and your plants.”
For the first time, he could plainly see without searching that she was a princess in her own right. She was a vision. Poise and confidence radiated from her so powerfully that it perplexed and disoriented him. It was Aazuria’s smile that he identified in the curve of her lips as she teasingly taunted his obsession with botany. Was this Elandria? Were the clothes somehow causing her to be haunted with his wife’s essence?
“Sedna, this skirt is heavy,” Elandria complained, looking down at her garments with frustration. “I have not been this dressed up since Russia. Father used to ornament me and make me sing before an assembly of the Rusalka. I did not mind singing before an audience; it was the only thing I ever did well.”
“You’re selling yourself short,” Trevain told her as he observed the downcast profile of her chin.
“I am scared, Trevain,” she said, turning to him suddenly. For an instant, he recognized the old Elandria in her honest expression. “How can I talk to these important men? I went hundreds of years barely saying a dozen sentences. When I spoke to you in Alaska, it was the first time I had spoken in over a decade. I had to, because you didn’t understand sign language. I forced those words out, and it felt like I was breaking through a block of ice headfirst. It’s less painful now, but I still feel the barrier every time I open my mouth. I’m not sure I can do this.”
Trevain moved closer to her, sympathetically. “Just imagine that you’re singing instead of speaking. These are the most powerful people in the world, and it’s natural to feel nervous around them.”
“I feel so vulnerable when my lips aren’t shut. All my defenses are gone.”
“No. That’s not true.” Trevain said firmly. He remembered when he had first met Elandria, and he had felt the need to fill the void left by her deceased father. Initially he had thought that would mean paying for college education, but if it meant being a king and fighting a war, he would find a way to rise to the challenge. It would take time, but he was adjusting, and he would continue to improve. “I will be your defender. Aazuria would expect that of me. And after what I did, I owe you this. I will be beside you, and I will lay down my life to defend you if I must.”
She looked up at him, blinking in surprise.
Trevain smiled, realizing that he was still holding the bundle of white fur in his arms. “I forgot your cloak!” He unfolded the garment and shook it out before extending his arms to secure it around Elandria’s shoulders.
His fingers grazed her bare skin as he slid the cloak around her, and he felt her stiffen at his touch. For some reason, he found that his fingers were trembling as he fastened the jeweled clasps. He cleared his throat and took a generous step back.
“Now you look like a northern princess,” he commented admiringly.
She was frozen for a moment before she nodded. “And you look like a retired crab fisherman about to play a game of golf. Go get dressed, for Sedna’s sake.”
Chapter 13: The APEC Summit
Helicopters were littered all over the lavish parking space on the glacier. The dignitaries had arrived, and were being given private tours all over Elandria’s ice palace. She had recreated the ice-sculpture garden from Lower Adlivun, as they were now referring to it, and it was very popular among the politicians. Elandria had given each leader an elaborate gift basket in addition to a white fur cloak to match her own. The leaders were excited at the prospect of taking a group photograph in their new treasures, as was their tradition for these meetings. The refined graciousness of Elandria’s hospitality was proving to enchant all of the guests.
“Is this polar bear fur?” the Canadian prime minster had asked Trevain cautiously.
“Of course not,” Trevain had answered. “The people of Adlivun have great respect for polar bears, and would never hunt them. Also, their fur isn’t quite as thick and soft as arctic fox.”
The prime minister had laughed, and commented on the fine quality of the pelt. Underneath their professional suave exteriors, everyone seemed as fascinated and excited about Adlivun as children in amusement parks who had finally grown tall enough to ride the really big rollercoasters. Trevain could feel it in the air; it was palpable as a kind of warm electricity. He made his way over where Elandria was conversing with the Russian prime minister. He had promised not to leave her side, so he never ventured very far in case she needed him to step in to speak for her. However, it did not seem likely that she would.
Elandria was conversing with the woman in fluent Russian, and they sounded very much like reunited old friends. Both women were smiling and chatting with such ease that it was musical to Trevain’s ears. He could not curb a premature sense of optimism about the event.
“How is your language so flawless, dear girl?” the prime minister asked in English.
“Russian was the official language of Adlivun during the 18th century,” Elandria explained.
“Ah, that explains why your speech sounds so stately and old-fashioned! Like a poetess. It’s charming, Princess, quite charming.”
Elandria smiled and gave a shallow curtsey in response to the compliment. Trevain was staggered by the elegance and effortlessness with which she moved and conversed among these men and women of influence. If anyone had ever considered Adlivun a joke because it was a small undersea kingdom, he knew that this was no longer possible. Elandria’s dignity was overwhelming. When he tried to look at her from the perspective of an outsider, he could only imagine a country of great academic advancement, great cordiality, and neighborliness. She represented her nation well.
“Is this handsome fellow hovering near you your husband?” the prime minister asked.
“No,” Elandria said, turning to smile at Trevain who was unconvincingly pretending to admire an ice sculpture. “He is the King of Adlivun, my older sister’s husband. My sister was abduc
ted a few months ago.”
“Ah, I heard about that. I am sorry for your loss, and I hope that we will come to an understanding which will result in her return.”
Trevain hoped so too. He played the challenging game of staying close to Elandria and still chatting with his own share of politicians. They all asked about his wife. He hated having to answer the same painful questions repeatedly.
“What was she like?” the ambassadors questioned.
“Oh, you know. Just like every other 600-year-old woman I’ve ever met,” Trevain said, forcing a smile as he elicited a chuckle from his listener. “She was very serious and intelligent. Protective of her family. She loved to dance.”
Finally, he grew sick of the schmoozing. It was inane, and he wanted to get down to business. He tried to keep the impatience from being obvious in his demeanor, but he did not have Elandria’s sangfroid. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur until finally, he found himself seated at a round table carved from ice. He tried to keep from drumming his fingers on it with annoyance at the pleasantries which were still being exchanged. Finally, he heard what sounded like a solemn introduction from Elandria.
“My dear friends; you are all fellow leaders of Pacific nations. You understand the truth of why our sea-dwelling kingdom has now exposed itself to you, for the first time in recorded history. We are under severe attack from a legion of mermaids from the Indian Ocean known as the Clan of Zalcan. This submarine superpower has already enslaved our neighbors to the Northeast, the Rusalka, and destroyed our neighbors to the Southeast, the Ningyo. We’re next. Quite simply, without your help we will be destroyed.” Elandria paused, making eye contact with everyone as she scanned the room.
Trevain watched her closely, and could see that her chest was rising and falling slightly more quickly than usual in the bodice of her gown. He could tell that she was terrified, although he was certain that no one else could. He found himself wondering about her health. She had been seriously wounded not long ago, and he wondered if her heart could take the stress of her new role. After his mother’s sudden passing, he found himself searching for infinitesimal signs of trouble in everyone he cared about and trying to fix every discernible flaw.
“Now,” Elandria said, “let us be frank. I know that you all would not be here unless you intended to aid us, and I know that you would not offer us protection unless you believed that we had something substantial to offer in return. Of course, we do possess considerable financial resources, but I believe there is something more at stake. I would enjoy hearing what we can do for you.”
Trevain was flabbergasted by how much she had communicated in so few words. The financial resources at Adlivun’s disposal were mostly garnered from their mining industry. The country was lush with precious gems and minerals. Also, Vachlan’s assets seemed to be virtually limitless. He had stockpiled gold doubloons in his youth, and in more recent years, had begun hoarding diamonds in safety deposit boxes all over the world. Before meeting his grandfather, Trevain had considered himself wealthy. Now, he had to reassure his broken ego by reminding it that Vachlan had been alive for a much longer expanse of time, and he used much more ruthless methods to win his fortune. For every crab that Trevain had caught, Vachlan had killed a person. It was different; but Trevain could not help feeling competitive with his ancestor.
He refocused his attention on the discussion at the table, and he heard several politicians protesting with hyperbolic modesty that they required nothing from Adlivun. Trevain observed Elandria’s rigid posture, and saw that she was becoming increasingly impatient with their fakeness. For several minutes, they continued to exaggerate and flaunt the claims of their goodwill and altruism.
“I see,” Elandria said grimly when they had finished speaking. “Now I ask again: what will you expect us to do for you?”
“Princess Elandria, we would never expect compensation for humanitarian…”
“Let’s not insult the lady,” said the American president, rising to his feet. “She knows this dance. Princess Elandria, these are our terms. We will offer you full naval protection and NORAD monitoring in exchange for your country’s support toward the construction of a transpacific bridge which will connect Alaska to Russia across the Bering Strait.”
Elandria cast a fleeting glance in Trevain’s direction. Her expression was cryptic, but her eyes screamed at him for help.
“Please explain further, Mr. President,” Trevain requested as politely as possible. He was the son of a fisherman. He had little concept of how to address these people, and he was carefully tiptoeing amongst the eggshells and trying not to make a misstep.
“You will appreciate this, King Trevain,” the man said, returning to his seat as he gestured behind him for his assistants to set up a projector. “It’s the fairest exchange we could think of: the labor of our soldiers for the labor of your specialized aquatic personnel. My chairman, leader of the Council of Economic Advisors, will explain further.”
Trevain hated PowerPoint presentations. Almost as much as he hated overenthusiastic infomercials and false advertising. He leaned back in his chair and watched as the skinny chairman rose to his feet and prepared to deliver his pitch.
“Your royal highness, Princess of Adlivun,” the chairman said, awkwardly bowing. “You asked what you could do for us, and we would be thrilled to have the opportunity to hire your citizens as our maritime workforce. We have the resources to provide meaningful and gainful employment for your whole populace.”
Noticing with pleasure that the chairman was made nervous by speaking before Elandria, Trevain felt a little bit better about this whole situation. He was reminded of the fact that if powerful governments required something from Adlivun, it gave his new small country a vital bargaining chip. Unconsciously leaning forward in his chair with excitement, he began developing the idea that if he could give them what they needed while simultaneously amplifying their dependency on his ‘aquatic personnel,’ perhaps Adlivun could become indispensible in the world order.
“This pivotal construction will be a hybrid of a bridge and a tunnel,” explained the chairman, gesturing with a red laser pointer to the diagram which was being projected on the screen. “It will be the first physical link between the Americas and Eurasia. There have been many proposed names, such as The Intercontinental Peace Bridge and The World Sea-Link. Economically, this bridge would be a huge asset to all of the Pacific nations represented at this conference. It will reduce shipping costs, and allow for further specialization of industry. This link will be the fundamental step towards a closer, more interdependent global village.”
The chairman used a small remote in his left hand to switch slides, and the laser pointer in his right hand to explain the different segments of the diagrams. “As you can see, the bridge will be comprised of three segments; two massive twenty-five mile bridges and one tiny connector in the middle. Phase One and Phase Two will each take about five years to build. Each side of the bridge will cost us upwards of $100 billion, including the improvements which will have to be made to the infrastructure on the land to maximize accessibility to the…”
“That seems like an excessive estimate,” the Chinese Premier said skeptically.
“This isn’t going to be a shitty, haphazard job like the bridge in Jiaozhou Bay—no offence, China. But all of the land-traffic between the continents will be concentrated at this nucleus. It’s going to be a solid, safe construction.”
“And how do we factor into this?” Elandria asked coldly.
“Your people’s ability to breathe underwater and their tolerance for inclement weather would be unprecedented advantages in this project. If you allowed us to use your workforce, it would facilitate the immediate commencement of construction. We have teams of brilliant engineers who have drafted dozens of feasible plans, but without your assistance, there are too many challenges to move forward and realize this vision within the next decade.”
There was puzzlement on Elandria’s features
. “I doubt that our masons, carpenters and general workmen are numerous enough to complete…”
“We would like to train and employ all of your people in aquatic infrastructure development. You would no longer require a military since you would have access to our national defense, so we would require all of your able-bodied adults to assist in this initiative.”
“I am beginning to understand,” Elandria said softly.
“You see, there will be accidents. Even on the mainland, there are construction accidents, but out here in the rocky frozen seas—construction will only be possible for a few months every year. For a human being without your physiology, if someone fell into the water they would have to contend with the shock which could cause immediate cardiac arrest, in addition to hypothermia and possible drowning. Even the strongest swimmers are rendered helpless; but Captain Murphy is probably the best person to tell you about those risks.”
Trevain nodded soberly. “You only have a few minutes to get a man out of that water. On my boat, the strategy was to avoid falling in at all.”
“Thousands of people could die, even with every advancement of modern technology,” explained the chairman. He switched the slides to display projected figures of losses, and used his laser pointer liberally to emphasize the numbers. “If our people erect this bridge myriad numbers would drown. With a project of this scale… it would be a major benefit to know that drowning would not be an issue for our construction workers. You would do us a great service, and in fact, you would be protecting the lives of our people while we were protecting yours. It would be the ultimate in a fair exchange.”
Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4) Page 73
