Then Aazuria had been taken. He knew he should restrict his thoughts to productively brainstorming how to get her back, but he had been searching for months to no avail. He had been combing through every possible lead on land and sea. It was appearing more and more futile. He did not know who to blame. Was he to blame his grandfather for not killing their enemy thoroughly enough? Was he to blame Lieutenant Namaka and Major Mardöll for not guarding Aazuria closely enough? Or was he to blame this enemy, Prince Zalcan, whom he had never seen? Everyone had screwed up. He had screwed up even more than they had, because he should never have allowed Aazuria out of his sight. Traditional week of reflection? It was a load of horse dung. Ceremonial bullshit. He should have been with his wife when she needed him. Now, there was nothing that anyone could do.
I blame the fucking seaweed, he finally decided. Trevain reached down to withdraw the sword he had begun keeping at his belt, and he began to viciously slash. His arms were already tired from hours of swimming when he began, but he was fuelled forth on fury alone. His muscles seemed to pulsate with some divine second wind as he destroyed the glorious undersea ecosystem. He made sure that none of the little glowing fish, richly colored sea urchins, or jeweled top snails were safe from his swinging blade. Why should they be?
He cursed out loud and recoiled in disgust when a massive eel swam out at him, frightened from the destruction of its foliage habitat. Trevain really hated eels. He considered them slimy, repulsive creatures. An immediate vendetta was activated in his body as he chased after the invertebrate with his sword, intending to chop it to bits. Its motions were swift, and the water was harder to fight in than air. He spent several minutes chasing after the eel, until suddenly a man was standing where the eel had been.
Trevain’s sword swung out at the man, but he stopped it from colliding with him at the last second. He glared at his wife’s cousin. The tip of his blade hovered in the water an inch from Naclana’s nose, wavering in Trevain’s exhausted grip.
“King Trevain, Sionna sent me to collect you,” Naclana indicated in sign language. The man’s face was expressionless.
Trevain snarled and shoved his sword back into its sheath at his belt. “You are despicable,” he responded. He had hated the long-haired man since the moment he had first laid eyes on him. “Why does Aunt Sio want me?”
“It’s your mother,” Naclana informed him, ignoring his insult. “She is unwell.”
Trevain glared at him before responding. “Do you see? Do you see why I can’t stand you?”
“I am just the messenger,” Naclana responded. “The same way you are just a fisherman who happened to marry my cousin, King Trevain.”
Naclana was only using his hands, but Trevain could very well see that if he had been speaking, the word ‘king’ would have been spoken with sarcastic emphasis. He swam close to Naclana, until he was hovering directly in front of the man. His heavy breaths from rigorous exercise amongst the kelp huffed water into Naclana’s face.
Trevain had learned during his time in Adlivun that sea-dwellers were excellent at reading lips. This is why he did not use sign language, but instead spoke the words he wished to say. The water washed away the specific details of their sound, but Naclana could read their meaning visually.
“If I ever find that you were concealing information about my wife’s whereabouts, I will not wait for a trial. I will kill you.”
“I am not your enemy,” Naclana responded with his hands, assuming that Trevain could not read lips. “You are losing your sanity—assuming you had some to begin with.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Naclana. It’s not what you say that bothers me, but how you say it. You garner some sick kind of enjoyment from watching our suffering, don’t you?”
“I have just been doing this for a really long time,” Naclana answered, expressionlessly. “I have to be stoic. I can’t go around attacking plants with gusto like a menstruating schoolgirl, or where would this country be?”
Trevain fought the urge to hit the man, and instead reached out and patted Naclana’s green Kevlar armor in a menacing fashion. “Your cousin Aazuria chose to marry me for a reason. I am the grandson of General Ramaris. I wouldn’t forget that if I were you.”
“I couldn’t forget it. It’s the only reason anyone tolerates you.”
Trevain lifted his hands to form a quick retort. “And the only reason anyone tolerates you is because you’re Aazuria’s cousin.”
The two men stared at each other for an intense, testosterone-fueled minute.
Naclana was the first to break. “We’re going to get her back, you know.”
“I know.”
Trevain walked briskly through the halls of the infirmary. When he rounded a corner, he saw the distant silhouette of a muscular man with a dark ponytail leaning against a wall. As he approached, he recognized that it was his grandfather. He noted that the long scar running along the side of Vachlan’s face was healing, but still a prominent reminder of Aazuria’s wrath. It was still startling to Trevain that a man who was over four hundred years old could look like he was in his early thirties. The sea had been kind to his ancestor in preserving his body. Trevain could not prevent a small feeling of jealousy as he reached up to run his hand through his own grey hair.
“Vachlan,” he spoke in a gruff greeting.
The older man glanced up at him, and nodded in acknowledgement.
“How is she?” Trevain asked. “Have you seen my mother?”
“She’s going to be fine,” Vachlan answered, crossing his arms and frowning, “but she still won’t speak a word to me. I don’t know how much more apologizing I can do. She’s my daughter. They won’t even let me in the room.”
“I’ll talk to her for you,” Trevain offered. “It’s just… well, my mother is very sensitive.”
“Maybe I don’t deserve being spoken to,” Vachlan said, turning to his grandson with serious regret in his eyes. “Her illness is putting things in perspective for me. I could have missed it all. I could have never met her, and I could have never met you. What if she never speaks to me?”
“She will,” Trevain said, feeling empathy for the man.
“Sionna says she suffered a minor heart attack. She could have died. I never would have gotten to know her. I never would have spoken to my daughter.”
Trevain’s brow creased, as all concern for Vachlan flew out of his mind. “Died! How dare you say that?” He pushed Vachlan out of his way roughly before making his way to the hospital room, and forcing the door open.
Alcyone looked up in surprise. She was partly submerged in a healing pod, while Trevain’s younger brother, Callder, sat very close to her. His wife, Brynne sat on the rocks nearby with a book on her lap. Trevain swallowed as he looked at the domestic scene. Before Aazuria had gone missing, they had intended to have to have a double-wedding with Callder and Brynne. They had ended up going through with the wedding of the younger couple, but on a much smaller scale than they had initially intended.
“Mom,” Trevain said, as he closed the distance between them with his stride. “What happened?”
“I’m perfectly fine, dear,” Alcyone said with a reassuring smile. When her eldest son put his arms around her, she placed a kiss on Trevain’s cheek. “It’s so good to see you, son. Brynne has been reading to me. She’s such a darling girl.”
“Gawd. She’s been reading romance novels,” Callder said with a huge, exaggerated yawn. “It’s all I can do to keep from snoring. Would it kill these writers to have a little bit of action in their stories? Some good ol’ fashioned blood and guts? Maybe some demons raping virgins?”
“I told him to shut up and go away,” Brynne said to Trevain dryly as she looked over the rims of her reading glasses. “Mrs. Murphy and I obviously need some quality chick-lit time.”
“Thanks for taking care of her,” Trevain said to his sister-in-law. He turned back to his mother, assessing her health from her appearance. “How are you doing, mom?”
“I’m strong as an ox, Trevain, my boy,” Alcyone answered promptly. “Don’t worry about me—I just had a little bit of pain in my arm and a dizzy spell. Sionna said it was a heart attack, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
“Does Visola know?” Trevain asked as he frowned at his mother’s pallid complexion.
“Oh, yes. Mama has been popping in and out, but she’s very busy preparing for the press conference,” Alcyone said. She reached up and squeezed Trevain’s hand. “Darling, I know I look as old as Methuselah, but I will be fine. You need to focus on finding Aazuria.”
Trevain sighed, feeling how weak Alcyone was in the way she squeezed his hand. “I’m trying my best.”
“It’s all my fault, you know,” Alcyone said softly. “If I hadn’t insisted she follow tradition…”
“Mom! It is not your fault!” Trevain shouted a bit too loudly. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine…”
“Both of you are bonkers!” Callder yelled, jumping to his feet. “It was nobody’s fault. It was just a screwed up, shitty thing that happened, and we’ll get her back!”
Sionna entered the room then, and scowled when she heard all the shouting. “Good Sedna, boys. Is this the way to help your mother relax? Everyone out, now! Alcie, please stay completely submerged in the healing springs. There will be no more visiting until I permit it.”
“Yes, Aunt Sio,” Alcyone said with a sigh, as she lowered herself back down into the water.
Callder grumbled as he exited the room, and Brynne closed her book and followed him. Trevain carefully closed the door behind them and turned to Sionna.
“I thought you said that by living underwater, my mom would live for several hundred more years,” Trevain said. “I thought you said that her health would improve by being here.”
Sionna nodded. “Yes, but there are other factors. I believe they were giving her some kind of strong, unnecessary medication in the psychiatric facility. Her body developed a dependency on the drugs and she became weakened.”
“We should have taken her out of there,” Callder said angrily. “We never should have left her in that place. And she was perfectly fine all along…”
“Shhhh, Callder,” Brynne said, taking his arm and rubbing it. “Mrs. Murphy is going to be fine. Right, Sionna? You can fix this?”
Sionna’s lips tightened into a grim line. “I think it would be best if we took her to a modern hospital on land. If they know precisely what was done to her, then perhaps they can help to reverse the effects.”
“Mom will never agree to that,” Trevain said, “she hates the land.”
“And with good reason,” Sionna responded angrily. “Alcie is my niece, and I remember when she was a little girl. She was always in good health. I hate that she has been forced to ingest filth for decades, while aging rapidly, separated from her family and the water. They shoveled garbage down her throat! If she had only been at home with us. Sweet Sedna, some of these so-called ‘modern’ methods…” Sionna took a deep breath to calm herself. “I had better stop ranting before I get carried away.”
“Please, Aunt Sio,” Callder said. “Our mom’s awesome, and you have to help her get better.”
“I’ll do my best, kid,” Sionna promised.
Vachlan had been listening from where he stood, still leaning against the wall outside Alcyone’s room. He had been idly running his fingers over the scar on his face. Now, he moved over to his family members with a deep frown further marring his features.
“You can all relax—I’m going to make a phone call, and we’ll have a plane here to pick her up within the hour,” Vachlan said.
Sionna began to protest. “I’m not sure that’s a good…”
“Sio, she’s my daughter,” Vachlan insisted. “If you say she needs modern medical care, I will make sure she gets it. Immediately.”
Sionna nodded, speaking in a low voice. “Fine. But don’t tell Visola how serious this is. My sister has a tendency to overreact. We cannot afford an overreaction at the moment.”
Chapter 3: The Press Conference
“…such as innovations in sustainable fish farming. In my short time in Adlivun, I have also discovered a wealth of advancements in medicine and science that could greatly aid modern research,” Trevain spoke into the microphone, delivering the carefully rehearsed speech. He had spent hours sitting with his grandparents, preparing and rehearsing this material. Although Visola was angrier than anyone about Aazuria’s disappearance, she had been completely on task in assuming every administrative duty and picking up the slack wherever there was slack to find. She had organized the men with the skill of a true general. Trevain had been impressed.
“We will completely skim over what we need from them,” Vachlan had advised. “This whole event is all about embellishing how great we are, and emphasizing what we can do for them. Trust me, I have spent my life dealing with superpowers, and I have seen the rise and fall of too many empires to count. While they’re at their height, you have to suck up and spend 150% of your time demonstrating how worthy and indispensible you are in order to be thrown a bone. Tomorrow, the world will have changed again, and we’ll change with it—but for today, we must do all we can to survive.”
Visola had extended her arm, allowing her hand to rest on Vachlan’s as she had given Trevain her own opinion on the matter. He heard her say the words military, submarine, and navy dozens of times. He had hardly been able to pay attention as he stared at the way her fingers absentmindedly stroked Vachlan’s hand. He had never seen two people who were more in love than his grandparents. It was bittersweet, because although he was happy for them, it made him miss Aazuria so much that it ached. He wished he could reach out and touch his wife’s hand, but there was just a wooden podium beneath his fingers. He realized that somehow, he was still speaking.
“And in conclusion, as someone who has lived in both countries—you might say, both worlds—I believe that Adlivun has much to contribute in a mutually beneficial relationship with the United States,” Trevain said with excessive confidence and enthusiasm. His mind was distant as he convincingly pretended to make eye contact with the cameras and reporters; he did not actually see anything that was before him.
Trevain felt Marshal Landou touch his elbow, and heard the bald man clearing his throat, and he realized that was his cue to step aside. He did so automatically, moving without really feeling his body or emotions. The marshal began delivering a speech explaining the situation of the war in Adlivun, and the extent to which American citizens had been unknowingly affected by the attacks of the Clan of Zalcan.
“Captain Trevain Murphy’s entire crew was murdered by these bloodthirsty savages,” Marshal Landou explained in a vicious voice, “so it appears we share a common enemy with our undersea neighbors. It is difficult to estimate just how many Americans have been killed by these aquatic terrorists over the years. The Clan of Zalcan, who fittingly wear the emblem of a shark’s tooth, has been known to terrorize the most popular crab fishing spots off the coast of Alaska. It has also come to our attention that this group has been responsible for all of the mysterious disappearances of crafts in the Bermuda Triangle. The Clan of Zalcan has been subjugating the undersea world for centuries, and they have been murdering our people without our knowledge! Many of the tragedies we thought were shipwrecks due to the dangers of the sea have actually been these monsters destroying us for their anarchistic amusement!”
Gasps arose from the audience. Although the bald man was especially charismatic, Trevain found his mind drifting again. He was vaguely aware that the marshal was discussing the complications of whether forces would be offered to Adlivun for protection. Did it even matter anymore? So much damage had already been caused. So many lives had already been lost—or possibly lost. When the marshal began citing various acronyms of economic organizations, Trevain drowned out the words with thoughts of Aazuria. Where could she be? Was she safe? Was she comfortable? He reminded himself that this was an important
event, and he needed to concentrate. His thoughts began drifting instead to his sick mother. It was impossible.
He became conscious of the fact that people were beginning to turn to him with questioning looks on their faces.
“Where is she?” one of the army officials whispered.
Trevain realized that Marshal Landou had already finished speaking. It was time for the representative from Adlivun to make a statement. She had already been introduced, but she was nowhere to be seen. Trevain communicated this to the men in a whisper.
“I’m not sure. She might be running late.”
In fact, he was not even sure who was coming. Visola and Vachlan had written a complex and fascinating speech for Elandria to deliver—indeed, in the ideal circumstance, the princess would be the one to make the address. Trevain knew that if the taciturn girl could overcome her insecurities, she would be capable of the most diplomatic and memorable speech ever given.
“The representative isn’t here? This is a disaster!” Marshal Landou hissed.
Trevain shrugged. “I could just read the script…”
“No. We need one of them.”
A frown dug itself into Trevain’s wrinkles, enhancing the shadows on his face. He did not appreciate the alienating way the marshal spoke, but there was little he could do to object when he needed so much from the man. It was necessary, as Vachlan had advised, to kiss a little ass in order to survive. Trevain needed firepower. He needed protection for Adlivun.
“This is ridiculous,” mumbled a sophisticated-looking female politician. Trevain could not remember exactly what the woman’s job was, but he vaguely felt that it was important.
The crowd was getting antsy, and everyone could be heard murmuring in impatience. Throats were being cleared and fingers were pounding away on tiny electronic devices. The wind hissed through the bleachers, and banners and flags waved furiously. There was an awkward moment of hesitation and disappointment. Everyone had been eagerly awaiting the chance to lay eyes on the fabled creature of folklore.
Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) Page 31
