“Wonderful. Can I play with her?” Zalcan asked, approaching Visola excitedly. The drop of blood was slowly descending and resting just barely on the top of her lip. She had the consuming urge to let her tongue dark out and lick the drop, but she continued playing dead.
“No, you’d better not,” Vachlan said quietly. “I really let her have it earlier. She’s unconscious.”
“You never let me have any fun,” Zalcan complained. He reached out, with the thumb that Visola already despised, and roughly wiped the droplet of blood away from the corner of her lips. She fought the urge to sink her teeth into the appendage. It was a precious opportunity to bite off the thumb which intended to oppress the whole Pacific Ocean beneath it, but she let it pass. Taking his thumb would not stop him. She needed to take his head. Then she needed to take his father’s head. Visola did not know how she could possibly do it, but she knew that she needed to stop Emperor Zalcan Oris.
The thumb had lingered on her lips for a second too long before Prince Zalcan withdrew it and turned back to her husband. “So what did you learn from her?” Zalcan asked. “How many men are in Adlivun?”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” Vachlan answered. “They have many more warriors than we expected. They have received reinforcements from the Ningyo… and a group of rebel Rusalka warriors also managed to escape to Adlivun.”
Visola kept the surprise away from her face. Was it true? She had only been away for a few weeks, and there had been no Rusalka reinforcements in Adlivun. She had not sent for them, since there had been hardly any communication between the nations in almost a century. Was it possibly that Adlivun’s army had received a huge influx of warriors? This idea made her hopeful, but she was still skeptical. Where was Vachlan getting his information—from Namaka? Was it possible that Namaka was feeding him lies?
“Damnation,” Prince Zalcan cursed. “Father said this was going to be an easy victory. Do you have a precise number, Vachlan?”
Vachlan seemed to pause before responding. “She hasn’t given me a precise figure, but from her descriptions, I gather that there are upwards of fifty thousand warriors protecting the nation.”
“Fifty thousand warriors!” Zalcan exclaimed angrily. “Fifty thousand warriors?”
In her mind, Visola was making similar shocked noises of incredulity. Vachlan had hardly questioned her about the army at all! His questions had all been personal, and she certainly had not given him a morsel of information about Adlivun. She felt like her head was going to explode with the effort of remaining still and silent. These farfetched words had cut through the hazy cloud which had surrounded her thoughts, and she began to understand what was happening. Vachlan was lying to Prince Zalcan. Vachlan was betraying yet another employer. But why?
“I was not even expecting them to have ten thousand!” Zalcan was shouting in a shrill, girlish voice. “I thought these northern settlements were less populated, Vachlan!”
“I thought so too,” Vachlan said quietly. Visola could feel that his eyes were on her. Did he know that she was awake and listening?
“We can’t defeat that many!” Zalcan screeched. “No wonder that fool Atargatis failed. But Vachlan, are you sure she’s telling the truth? Is this woman’s word reliable?”
“She’s their general, Prince Zalcan,” Vachlan answered firmly. “Besides, look at her. She’s crucified. She’s completely broken. She’ll tell me anything I want for a piece of cheese, like any filthy rat. Don’t you trust my work?”
Zalcan began sniggering as he moved closer to Visola. He reached out and poked one of her nailed palms. She did not react. “You did do quite a number on the poor girl.” Zalcan ran his hand along Visola’s arm, dragging his fingers along her elbow and bicep. He caressed her neck roughly, examining the bruises that Vachlan’s hands had left there. “I am disappointed that you didn’t save a little bit of fun for me. She’s a pretty little thing, no? I would love to hear her scream.”
“I am sure you will,” Vachlan told the other man quietly, with a strange tone in his voice. “I’ll let you know when she’s awake sometime, and you can join us.”
“Splendid, splendid!” Zalcan said, as he placed both hands on Visola’s hips, aggressively groping what little meat she had left on her. She believed that her leg was healed enough to kick him, but she would save it until she had the opportunity to cause more permanent damage. Zalcan was giggling. “Yes, I can see that you did break her down quite well. Excellent work, as always. If we don’t have enough men to destroy Adlivun as it stands, I will just send to my father for more. The emperor can surely spare a bit more manpower for his favorite son.”
“That’s very wise, Prince Zalcan,” Vachlan told him. “You should dispatch a messenger to him at once.”
“Why don’t you do it for me?” Zalcan asked, without removing his hands from Visola’s body. “Go and dispatch a messenger. I will enjoy your wife’s lovely body in the meantime. Unconscious or not, she’s still warm.”
“Don’t touch her,” Vachlan said in a low voice. Visola held her breath.
“Hey, be nice and share!”
“No,” Vachlan said vehemently.
“Why not?” Prince Zalcan whined with surprise.
“Trust me, you don’t want to do that,” Vachlan said, in a grim tone. “She’s still a bleeding mess down there from the last time I raped her.”
“Ah, why didn’t you just say so? I don’t want your damaged goods.”
Visola could not believe what she was hearing. Was Vachlan lying to protect her? He had never once raped her. Why would he tell the prince all this? Was he just being possessive?
“Exactly—I thought you deserved more than damaged goods,” Vachlan was saying. “She’s almost dead, anyway. You can find better.”
“If she’s so useless, then why waste resources keeping her alive? Dispose of her.”
“I believe she has more information to reveal. She could really help to fine-tune our strategy so that we take out Adlivun efficiently.”
“Efficiently? I don’t care how many men we lose,” Prince Zalcan said with a casual shrug. “We know that they have fifty thousand, so I’ll just send more than that, and bombard them until we win. Simple. What do we need her for?”
“We need to preserve as much of the army as possible to take the Ningyo,” Vachlan told him. “Don’t forget—fighting the Japanese is going to be harder than fighting the Alaskans. We’ve been building this army for a century, and we can’t waste it. If we play our cards right, we could destroy Adlivun within the first half of this year, and get the Japanese in the second half. Your father will be so proud of how fast you conquered the Pacific.”
“Ah, I see. That sounds ambitious, but if anyone could manage that, it would be you. I’ll trust your advice, Mr. Destroyer-of-Kingdoms.” Zalcan giggled at the nickname. “I know they don’t call you that without good reason.”
“Thank you, Prince Zalcan.”
“But I have a word of advice for you too. I am still your leader, and you have to listen to me.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Don’t keep the prisoner alive for sentimental value. You’re stronger than that. You have a history with her, and she’s obviously distracting you from your work. If she’s told us everything she knows, and she’s no longer useful, get rid of her. Just kill the girl.”
“She still knows plenty about…”
Zalcan made a disappointed clucking noise with his tongue. “Kill the girl.”
“Okay. Sure. I will,” Vachlan said, nodding.
“Thanks, brother. I have to run and dispatch those messengers. Enjoy yourself.”
When Prince Zalcan left, Visola heard her husband sigh. Several minutes of silence passed, and Visola assumed that Vachlan was lost in thought. She certainly was. It seemed that this was one of the rare extended torture sessions during which the victim would learn more about her enemy. She just did not know how to make sense of it other than to believe that Vachlan was pro
tecting her. She could not understand this, but it was obviously true. He had told the prince all kinds of lies to save her from torture and rape—and he had inflated Adlivun’s numbers to stall the attack. Visola swallowed the saliva that had been gathering in her throat.
In an instant, Vachlan had crossed the room, and had ripped her blindfold off. Even though the mineshaft was dark, her eyes still had to adjust to the light. She opened them slowly, squinting at him.
“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he asked her.
She did not respond.
He sighed. “Well, that’s lovely.” He began to pace back and forth restlessly, and she allowed her eyes to follow him. His hand lifted to stroke his chin as he took dozens of brooding steps. Visola stared at him curiously, feeling the urge to smile, but restraining her lips. She knew that one should not smile at the person who had recently crucified her. She did not want to seem superior and unintentionally earn more physical torment just because she was amused. Vachlan had, after all, agreed to kill her—and he did not always lie. She was surprised when he suddenly turned to look at her.
He observed her face for a moment. Seeming to have made a decision, he moved to his cot. He dragged the small bed over to where Visola had previously been shackled to the ground, and where her shackles still remained. He returned to where she stood nailed to the trident.
“Here, let me take these nails out,” he told her. He grabbed a tool, and began to carefully pry the first nail out of the wood. When her hand was free, her arm and body began falling forward. He easily caught her and held her upright by tossing her arm over his shoulder. He began working on the second nail. Once her hands were free, he lifted her and carried her over to his cot. He laid her out carefully. He propped his pillow up under her smashed kneecap to help increase circulation and healing.
Visola had never been so happy to be lying down. Her head rolled back against the cot blissfully. She was looking forward to a deep, restful sleep which her body could use to heal. She felt like she was healing already. A little sigh of contentment escaped her lips, and Vachlan noticed this subtle sound. She barely made any sounds, and he had become very perceptive of her every breath.
“I’m going to pull the nails out of your hands, Viso,” he told her softly.
She turned to look at him then, her face no longer as expressionless and hard as she had trained it to be. Although she did not allow herself to smile, she knew that she could not keep the shine from her eyes. She was sure that he understood, as he carefully cleaned her hands and removed the large nails which he had driven through her palms. He occasionally stole a glance at her as he worked on sprinkling turmeric on her hands, applying a healing ointment, and bandaging the wounds. He could see that she trusted him. She trusted him implicitly.
“Viso, I just...” he began to explain, but trailed off into silence. He returned to wrapping the bandages around her hands. By the time he had finished caring for her, she had almost fallen asleep. He reached up and grasped the shackles that would fasten her to the wall. Visola heard the sounds of the chains, and opened her eyes. She saw him hesitate.
She lifted her wrists toward him, giving him better access to fasten the shackles around her wrists. She did not want any more complications to this situation. The prisoner-captive relationship was a simple one; it was much simpler than being husband and wife. He locked her wrists in the shackles, and moved to do the same to her ankles. Visola was glad that he was shackling her, because if he did not, then she would need to try to escape. She was in no condition to escape, but her pride would have forced her to try. When he finished binding her, he moved away. He lay down on the ground, a few feet away from her cot. His back was turned away from her and facing the only entrance to the cave.
Visola suddenly realized why he had ordered a cot brought into this room when he had heard that Prince Zalcan had returned. He had chosen to sleep in these uncomfortable surroundings so that he could be close to her—so that he could defend her against any possible trouble. From the real enemy. He was not her enemy. Was all of this some twisted, convoluted love game? He had been acting a role, like in the theatre. Since his back was turned, she finally allowed herself to smile a little. A little tear of happiness escaped her eye as well. If Vachlan was on her side, then she felt completely safe. She even felt safe from him, for she was certain that he did not mean her any irreversible harm.
“Go to sleep, Viso,” he ordered her gruffly. “If you keep staring at me you’re going to burn a crater into my back. Stop thinking so damn loudly.”
Her smile grew wider. Goodnight to you too, Vachlan, she thought to herself. The pleasant thoughts somehow overwhelmed all of her body’s aches, and she knew that she would have lovely dreams.
Chapter 23: Only Two Syllables
Undersea coronations were very rare due to the extended lifespans of monarchs. Customarily, the ceremony was a spiritual event, but the focus of this one was revving up the morale of the military. When Aazuria saw the crowns, which had been carried in by the army officials Holma and Geira, she was immediately upset.
“I thought we pawned all of our jewels!” she whispered harshly, turning around and looking for someone to scold. She normally would have scolded her youngest sister, or even Visola—they had been responsible for collecting and pawning the jewels. When she turned around, and neither of them were standing close to her, this made her even more upset. Elandria was there, and she shook her head sadly.
“They pawned small heirlooms and trinkets. You cannot get rid of the priceless crown jewels, Zuri. They have belonged to our family for thousands of years.”
“Viso wanted modern weaponry. Do you know how much those emeralds cost? They each weigh about 250 carats if I remember correctly. What do we need them for? Get rid of them. I do not want a damned emerald on my head. I want Corallyn back!”
“Shhhh, you must calm down, dear sister. The ceremony is starting.”
“If we did sell them, I would not even know where to get weaponry,” Aazuria said with mounting anxiety. “Visola had special black market contacts and I do not…”
“It’s okay, Zuri,” Trevain said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Money is not a problem. Weapons are not a problem. Boats are not a problem. You have to relax.”
“I cannot. I do not think I am ready to become Queen,” Aazuria said.
“You are ready. Nothing will change except your title,” he responded. “I’m not ready in the least, but I’m just going to hide behind you and hope no one notices me.”
This drew a small giggle from Elandria, and both Trevain and Aazuria turned in surprise at hearing her voice. She smiled at them graciously. “I love you both,” she said softly, inclining her head in a gentle bow.
It was the first time that Aazuria had heard her sister’s voice since she had recovered from her wound. Aazuria knew that it took a great effort for Elandria to overcome her own fears and speak. She smiled at the younger girl with fond tenderness and the highest esteem. Somehow, the rarity of Elandria’s speech imbued it with mystical qualities—it could instantly influence one to correct their mistakes before they even made them, or in this instance, instantly warm one’s heart and lift their spirits.
Queen Amabie had begun speaking to the citizens of Adlivun who had gathered in the amphitheater. Her own warriors were gathered among them. Aazuria turned her head to listen to the stately Japanese leader, enthralled by her resonating voice and regal gestures. If anyone could give a speech, and if anyone could rile up an army, it was Queen Amabie. Her words were even convincing and reminding Aazuria of her own virtues, and making her feel a little more deserving of the position that was her birthright. The position that she had obtained sooner than necessary through patricide.
Aazuria was beyond thankful that the older woman happened to be in the kingdom for this event. In fact, Queen Amabie had been indispensible in all of the events that had recently transpired, and would continue to be crucial through the culmination of
this war. She was the closest thing Aazuria had to a mother-figure, and this was more valuable than the emeralds in the crowns. For a six-hundred-year-old woman, there were not many people to look up to and learn from. There were not many people left who would praise and celebrate her victories like a proud parent would.
Queen Amabie’s endorsement of Aazuria as both a political leader and a person gave all the Adluvians even deeper faith in the woman they already loved. When the elaborate crown was placed on Aazuria’s head, she could feel the substantial weight of the giant emerald, but it was also strangely comfortable. She could shoulder this gem; she could endure its encumbrance.
“It is not blood alone which makes nobility,” Queen Amabie said. “It is the way one fights their battles and the way one handles a crisis that shows true merit. It is actions which reveal discipline of character, and I think you will all agree that Aazuria has performed the noblest deeds of all. Today marks the end of tyranny in Adlivun! Today we celebrate the new reign of a leader devoted to justice! Hail Queen Aazuria! ”
“Hail Queen Aazuria!”
When the great cheer arose from the amphitheater, it brought tears to Aazuria’s eyes. Even Queen Amabie made a deep bow from the waist, and it was not necessary for Queen Amabie to bow to anyone. Although Aazuria knew that many people had opposed King Kyrosed’s regime, when she had performed the act of killing him, she had felt completely alone. She had endured the guilt, the regret, and the sadness of loss without truly facing her actions or speaking to her people about the event. Now that Queen Amabie was bringing up the issue before the gathered audience, and Aazuria could hear their thundering support, she felt completely vindicated.
Accepting a scepter which had been offered to her by Geira, she lifted her head, and stood proudly before her people and her allies, allowing their gratitude and support to wash over her like an invigorating downpour. It did not rain under the sea, and there was no changing weather to interpret, adapt to, or feel anything about, so Aazuria found her blazing storm in the emotions of her people. Being gathered into the coliseum-like space caused all of their sentiments to amplify and reach her with an unspeakable force. These were good acoustics for a sense of renewed kinship and community.
Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) Page 21
