Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (19 page)

When Visola awoke, she realized with a start that she was not alone. The warmth of another body so close to hers had made her sticky and uncomfortable, and she was quite sure that it was not a puppy cuddled up against her back. No, as advertised, it was one of Aazuria’s half-naked, well-muscled, exotic men indigenous to the Southern Continent. She groaned, and slammed her elbow backwards into the man’s stomach, shoving him away from her with disgust. He hit the floor with a loud crash and an
oof
as the wind was knocked out of him.
At least I have a story to tell Sionna when we get home,
she thought to herself. She snuggled back down happily between the sheets. Then it occurred to her that she was no longer on the beach.

He hit the floor? Visola frowned and opened her eyes. She saw the wooden patterning of her bedroom wall on the ship. This confused her as she had not remembered returning to the boat. She had brought a Yawkyawk man back to the ship? What had she been thinking? What about Aazuria? Visola was reminded of the fact that she should never party, because she always partied too hard. Was it really worth ruining days or weeks of her life over one night of pleasure? Pleasure that she could not even remember, for that matter.

The man she had accidentally shoved off her bed made a grunting noise. She turned over to face him, and propped herself up on her elbow so that she could speak to him in sign language.

“Please leave my room immediately,”
she told him. Even as she commanded this, she observed his features and physique. He was wearing trousers, but unclothed from the waist up; she was surprised by her evidently impressive subconscious taste. She kept her face stern, and did not betray that she found his appearance pleasing.
“I was drugged last night, and I apologize for anything I said or did, but I do not remember any of it, and I did not mean any of it. You must leave immediately or I will employ force to remove you from my quarters.”

The man rubbed his head where he had hit it on the floor. “God almighty, are you always this grumpy in the morning?”

“I am
not
gru…” Visola froze. He had spoken in English. With a thick British accent. She noticed his fair skin and precisely groomed black hair which was swept back into a small curled tail. “You are not a Yawkyawk man,” she said slowly.

“No,” he said, yawning.

“You’re Father Kyrosed’s new man.”

He nodded, closing his eyes and stretching sleepily. “I tried to explain that to you last night, but you were convinced that I was a bird.”

“You swine!” she yelled. She pounced on the man, and punched him in the face viciously. “You scoundrel!”

“Now hold on a moment,” he said, grabbing her wrists. He was surprised to find that he could not easily subdue her. “You’re being a tad judgmental.”

Visola straddled him and forced his hands above his head, pinning them there with one hand before punching him in the face again. “I was delirious! I was drugged! I expect you to know better—you are civilized!”

The man realized he had to be fully awake to defend himself, and he managed to wrestle her off him. He pinned her under him and smiled down at her. “Are you saying the Yawkyawk are uncivilized then?”

She slammed her forehead into his and used his moment of surprise to throw him off her. She tackled him again and continued to wrestle for dominance. “They have a different culture than ours. They are more natural and simple. I expect they have different definitions of right and wrong.”

“So if I were not an Englishman, I would be off the hook?” he asked as he forced her onto her stomach and locked her arms behind her. “That seems unfair.”

She tried to throw her skull backwards to connect with his nose, but he dodged the strike. She tried to writhe with her legs to escape his hold, and failing, she began to repeatedly kick him. “You know better than to take advantage of a situation the way you did!”

He laughed. “You may cease your assault on me. We did not sleep together.”

“I woke up beside you!” she shouted, exasperated with the fact that he had actually pinned her down. How was this possible? This was turning out to be a bad morning.

“But nothing more than sleeping happened,” he explained, rather calmly in comparison. “You will notice that we both have our clothes on. You were just telling me an interesting story about your fascination with avian creatures. You were rather affectionate.”

“I was hallucinating!” Visola said with a deep frown. She continued to struggled, and was surprised when he kept her pinned down with very little effort.

“I know. Drugs are bad for you,” he said, “but unbelievably entertaining for me. I do have a great weakness for a good story. I loved the theatre with a passion as a boy.”

His earnest manner and lack of retaliation convinced her of his honesty. She abruptly stopped struggling and began to consider the situation. “Let me clarify what appears to be happening to make sure the effect of the hallucinogen has actually worn off,” Visola said. “Do you actually have me pinned down?”

“Yes, that is correct. By your fighting skill I would assume this is this not a common occurrence?”

“No. I don’t think it has ever happened with someone who wasn’t a family member.”

When he was quiet for a moment, she looked over her shoulder and saw his suspicious expression. She snarled. “What are you thinking? I come from a family of warriors, and they trained me so well from my birth that I have never been defeated.”

“Until now?” he asked with amusement.

“I hardly call this ‘defeat.’ We weren’t being serious, were we?” she asked. “This was just an invigorating morning joust.”

He released her with a smile. “I must say, it has been rather invigorating. Next time could you try to refrain from breaking my nose?” he asked.

“I apologize,” she said, flipping over and sitting up. She extended her hand to him. “I am Colonel Visola Ramaris.”

“Vachlan Suchos, at your service,” he responded, shaking her hand firmly.

“Vachlan,” she repeated, with a self-deprecating smile. “Not Falcon—Vachlan.”

“Please forgive me for the indecency of our meeting. I had an extremely long day yesterday running errands for King Kyrosed, and I had not slept in two days. I was sent to retrieve you and the princess in the wee hours of the morning, and I fear…”

“Is Aazuria safe?” Visola asked with dismay. “I usually guard her so closely, but last night…”

“Her father is upset with her for disobeying his orders. She could have been seriously injured. He has locked her up as punishment.”

Visola sighed. “He’s always locking her up. I hate to speak ill of your new employer since it’s your first day on the job, but you do know that King Kyrosed is a very disturbed man, don’t you?

“We all are,” Vachlan answered. “People in positions of power are usually just more disturbed.”

Visola studied the stranger and could not help feeling relaxed by his calm manner. He seemed intelligent and composed in addition to being very physically skilled. She hated to admit it, but he probably would be an excellent asset to Adlivun. She reminded herself that he was taking her uncle’s job, and she should be predisposed to disliking him.

“I must have said and done some embarrassing things last night,” Visola said quietly. “Please don’t consider that as your true first impression of me.”

“On the contrary, good lady—I found you fascinating!” Vachlan said. “I could not stop listening, and I would have liked to grab a pen and paper to scribble down notes about the tales you were telling. You held me spellbound, illustrating your every word with gestures and expressions—it was quite theatrical. You were passionate and warm. I wished I could have continued listening, but I was exhausted from travel. Overall, your birds rather reminded me of the story of Philomela.”

Visola’s eyebrows knitted together. “You are a strange man, Vachlan Suchos.” She rose to her feet and walked over to her bed, sitting on the corner of it comfortably. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Yes, Colonel,” he said, rising to his feet. “Would you like the whole story or the abridged version?”

“Tell me everything important.”

“Everything is important,” he said quietly. He began to pace back and forth across the small room as he considered how best to tell his story, and whether he should tell anything at all. Visola observed him vigilantly, analyzing every nuance of his posture, gestures, and expressions. She was searching for one little error, one minute mistake to cling to so that she could nurture a healthy hatred towards the foreigner. She felt a strange combination of disbelief and déjà vu—she was incredulous that this seemingly perfect man had been dumped directly into her bed, and yet she was certain that this had happened before. The collision of these opposing feelings resulted in a frustration-headache, and Visola hoped that she was still just dreaming.

Maybe the man was actually just a bird sitting on her windowsill.

“It was disconcerting when you called me Falcon. My mother used to call me that.”

“Is that how this works?” she asked. “Are you going to try to ply me with some tortured-childhood story to get into bed with me again?”

He smiled at her, approaching and placing his hands on the bed on either side of her. He leaned forward, putting his face very close to hers. She felt slightly intimidated, and wanted to lean back, but she held her ground. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that she had morning-breath. When she had been wrestling with him earlier, she had not noticed, but something had quickly changed in her impression of him. It might have happened when he was able to pin her down, although she hoped she was not that shallow.

“Will it work?” he asked. “If I tell you a stirring story, will you take pity on a tired traveler?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard the story yet.”

“Good point. Now I’m thinking of how to embellish it to make it more dramatic.”

“You’re stalling,” she said, as she observed his dark grey eyes. “You feel uncomfortable facing your past and you’re making sex jokes to delay having to speak about it. You intend to distract me altogether.”

He pulled away from her abruptly. “That is correct.”

“King Kyrosed mentioned that you two had some kind of shared vision. Why did you come here?” Visola asked.

“Do you want me to be candidly honest, or do you prefer the dazzling-seduction version?”

“Both,” she answered. “Start with the honest, end with the seduction.”

The birdman nodded, taking a moment before he began speaking. “I was born in 1585, to a rather respectable family. I was well-educated, and my mother was a great lady of leisure and wealth. I had dreams of being a playwright, and my skill was praised by many, but how could I compete with that lucky bastard, Shakespeare? It was surely timing that made him so successful. I always said to my friends and family that if I had been born a few years earlier…”

“Are you joking?” Visola asked, with her red eyebrows lifted cynically.

“No. Anyway, I decided that if I could not make it as a writer, I would be a man of action. I would be
the
man of the
most
action. So when I was sixteen I joined a crew and set sail for the new world, and I spent many years exploring exotic lands. Colonel Ramaris, are you listening to me?”

“No. I fell asleep when you said you wanted to be a writer. Dear Sedna, you’re boring.”

“I immediately followed that by saying I decided to become a man of action instead.”