Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (29 page)

His eyes glazed over as he stared at the sleeping girl. She was completely vulnerable; she trusted him. He had seen it in her eyes when he had removed her blindfold. She knew that he would never let any harm come to her. Not any real harm. This was not true—she was mistaken to have such trust in him. She was mistaken to think that she could allow herself a deep and restful slumber, completely off her guard. Was she off her guard? Visola was never truly vulnerable, was she? He watched her chest slowly expand with her breathing, and he knew that she was; she was utterly defenseless.

He tightened his grip around the hilt of the sword, adjusting it slowly in his hands. He raised his hands to shoulder level.
I need to do this, now. No more stalling. Do I really have the balls to do this?
he asked himself.
No,
part of him answered.
Visola does not deserve this. Whatever happened with Kyrosed—it was not her fault. She is probably so ashamed of it that she cannot speak about the subject. She deserves better.

No! She betrayed me. Reasons do not matter. Circumstances do not matter. She is remaining silent out of guilt and shame. If it had not been her choice, she would have confessed that she was forced or blackmailed. She betrayed me! She made a joke of me! She ruined our perfect life, our dreams of having a family together… and she knew how badly I wanted a family! She knew how badly I wanted a place to cast my anchor and feel at home. She knew that she was my answer, and my end—the end of my drifting, destructive existence.

We intended to create and nurture life, when all we’d both known was destruction. We wanted to make a change: to be human and happy. She ruined it all! She ruined it all, and this is my long awaited vengeance. So yes, I will now kill General Visola Ramaris. I am bound to her through our marriage, so I accept that with her death, I will slay a part of myself. Nevertheless, it must be done. Forgive me—if there is anyone who has the power or jurisdiction to do so, I ask your forgiveness in advance. My dead mother, or any possible gods who preside… Sedna, the Inuit goddess that Visola so respects. Please, forgive what I’m about to do.

He adjusted his grip once more, turning to stare into the dark silver of the metal. He saw his own grey eyes reflected back in them, distorted and stretched. He closed them briefly, unable to look at himself. He imagined the strike before he delivered it. It was the correct procedure—to think about something carefully and picture doing it several times before following through with the motion. Especially when the decision being made was such a large one. He knew that he did not really have to make the decision. His job was to follow orders, and his orders were to kill the girl. He could empty his mind of conscience, and just allow himself to be the tool guided by another. Yes, that is how he would find the resolve. He would cast aside his personal feelings and become a weapon.

Visola, please forgive me for betraying your trust. You should have known better than to trust me.

As his arms pulled the sword back in the beginning of a swing, images of Visola flashed through his mind. He remembered her laughter, although it had been a considerable fraction of an eternity since he had heard the sound. He remembered her green eyes glistening in the sunlight, her body moving under his as they made love. He remembered her whispered words, her strong hands clinging around his neck. More laughter. He remembered her sternness, and her hard voice reprimanding him. He remembered the gracefulness with which she moved in battle—like liquid flesh. There was no one quite like his wife, and he never felt more triumphant and free than when he was in her company.

The sword quivered for a millisecond in his sturdy, battle-worn hands. How could he kill the most alive person he knew? It was an insult to the world, and an insult to all of nature. Visola’s spirit was a masterpiece of creation; he loved the way that it was always in perfect harmony with her body whenever she moved, and the way that she never could subdue it, even when she was trying to remain expressionless and silent. He could never conquer her—he knew that. He could also never destroy her, despite being the Destroyer of Kingdoms.

Now, he would strike down upon her neck, in one violent, powerful strike. It would sever her head from her body, and her life would pour out in her blood. He would steal her breath, and smother her life, but he could never truly extinguish her flame. She was one kingdom that could never be destroyed. This was the thought which reassured him, and returned the strength to his hands. The words and thoughts dancing through his mind were empty and emotionless. Their purpose had been to prolong the inevitable, but now it was time. Vachlan steadied himself, and looked at his target: her slender neck. He could not look. He did something he had never done before when about to kill. He averted his eyes from his victim. He could not face how dishonorable his impending strike would be. He just had to get this over with.

Vachlan clenched the muscles in his arms, and drew the weapon back for momentum. He exhaled as he swung it downward in a firm, true strike to sever the head of his wife. He closed his eyes tightly and waited for impact. He knew how it would feel, and he braced himself. A feeling of horror coursed through his gut, and he felt an overwhelming bout of nausea. The impact came. His eyes shot open and he froze. He breathed a few staggering breaths. He had expected to feel the force of her life leaving her body through the blade. A clean cut. Skin, flesh, veins, bone, soul. The impact which he felt, however, was completely different from what he had expected. Abrupt. Metal.

Visola ripped her eyes open, feeling pain shoot through her arms as the full force of Vachlan’s blow was absorbed by the shackles on her crossed wrists. Having heard the sound of metal whizzing through the air, she had reflexively moved her hands into a blocking position.  Dazed, she stared at the clashed metal for several seconds before her eyes followed along the long blade to its wielder. She saw that Vachlan’s head was turned away, and she could not register what had happened. Her mind replayed the jarring sound of metal against metal—she felt her clenched fists tightly pressed against her jawbone. She was not even sure that she was completely awake. She had been dreaming deeply only seconds ago, and the dreams still lingered, casting a haze over reality.

When Vachlan turned to look at her, he seemed more surprised than she was. Her stomach sank and she understood what had happened. She felt betrayal wash over her. It drained her strength. She pushed his sword away from her neck, and rubbed her sore wrists. She could not reconcile why this had happened; had she not gone to bed thinking that she could trust him? Had he not shielded her from Zalcan? Of course—because she was
his
special toy to abuse, and he would not allow anyone else to share in his amusement. It had been jealousy! Pure jealousy between competing men, having nothing to do with her whatsoever. It had not been the well-meaning, loving kind of protection.

Why did she feel betrayed? Why had she expected more? He had killed Corallyn. He had brutally dissected Corallyn, like a soulless beast. No, not even a beast! Animals killed to eat or to protect themselves. Only brutes killed for pleasure, and only thugs killed the harmless innocent. Of course he was not on her side! She had been a fool to believe that—thank heavens that her body was not as quick to trust as her mind. Her body had remained apprehensive and on guard, even while her mind had decided to relax. She sent a little prayer of gratitude to her father for training her so well, and for developing her instincts beyond even her own comprehension. She felt a little rush of victory, as though she had passed some great test.

Vachlan stood frozen solid, as a bead of perspiration trickled down the side of his face. As he stared at Visola’s expression, hungrily inspecting her animated eyes, the dread that had paralyzed him slowly receded back to its distant corner. He breathed out, without realizing he had been holding it in, and the air came out in a rush, a sigh…

Of relief.

Vachlan tossed his sword aside, and it clattered noisily to the floor. He fell to his knees at Visola’s bedside, grasping her shackled, bandaged hands. He could not bear her tormented stare, and he bowed his head, resting his face on her hands. He shut his eyes tightly as clarity came to him in patchwork flickers, and he realized how unhinged his emotions and behavior were. He was losing touch with reality, and he was losing command of his own actions and thoughts. He was filled with regret and despair. He did not even know what he wanted anymore; he did not know what was right and wrong. His whole body trembled with the weight of his emotions, shaking under the force of a sob.

“Viso,” he said, his voice breaking. He was sobbing, but it was muffled against her hands. “What have I done to you? God, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Visola felt the moisture of his tears sliding over her wrists. They coated the narrow space between her bandages and her shackles. She tried to resist the instant wave of pity and love that afflicted her, but she was powerless at the sight of his suffering. She realized that she was witnessing a phenomenon that no one alive had ever seen. Vachlan never cried. He never felt remorse. Words swam through her mind again.
Y
ou reach your limit when surrounded by truth! It crushes you, it crushes your bones. The pressure is too heavy, and the darkness too obscure. It is also cold. You cannot go any further.
Visola blinked the confusing words away, and tried to focus on the even more confusing situation unfolding before her. She watched her husband’s shoulders shuddering involuntarily.

Seeing that he was inconsolable naturally aroused her maternal, or perhaps wifely instinct to console him. She slid closer to him on the cot, and touched her head to his. She kissed his temple, and kissed his wet cheek. The moment her skin brushed against his moist warmth, she forgot everything but the desire to be close to him. There was sense and rationality in this touch. Hundreds of years of lost love and longing were kindled in the uncertain connection of her lips against his cheek.

Vachlan’s disbelief at Visola’s tenderness quickly turned into desperation as he turned his face into hers, pressing his lips against her chin. His tears soaked her skin as they tumbled off his lashes, and he found himself seeking her mouth. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth, and running his tongue over her skin. It had been so long since he had tasted her. His mind seemed to shut down as he lost himself in the passionate pressure, as their clammy lips smashed together. Their kiss was pleading and parched, but quickly being flooded by a monsoon.

There was so much wetness that it was several minutes before Visola realized that she was crying too. She was so transfixed on his mouth that she had been unaware of the potency of her own need, disintegrating her mental fortresses like acid. She awkwardly put her arms around him, trying to untangle herself from the chains. With her kiss, she tried to communicate everything that she had been inhibiting herself from explaining for weeks.
Understand me,
she begged with her touch, and her tears,
please understand me.

He pulled away from her abruptly. He looked at her tear-streaked face with amazement.

“I’m setting you free,” he said, fumbling for the keys at his waistband. He seemed dizzy, lost, and uncomfortable with his surroundings. “You have to get out of here.” He moved to unlock her shackles, but she pulled her hands away from him.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely. It was the first time she had spoken in weeks, and she was surprised at the sound of her own voice. “No.”

“Visola, please,” he said brokenly, as he tried to grasp her hands to remove the chains. “You have to get away from me. I can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It hurts more to be away from you,” she said softly. Her tears were blinding her until she could not see, although she furiously tried to blink them away. “If I go, then I’ll never see you again.”

“I am a curse in your life,” he told her as he wrestled her for the handcuffs. She twisted away and put her hands beneath her so that he could not reach them. “Viso, you need to go. Leave Zimovia and never look back. Go
now
.”

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered. A small smile came to her lips. “I can’t get very far on this leg anyway. Listen, Vachlan. I would rather stay as your prisoner than live apart from you again. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right
here
.”

Vachlan gently ran his fingers through her tangled red hair. Grasping the back of her head, he pressed his lips against her forehead firmly. It felt strangely to her like a kiss of promise.

“Well, there are many places
I’d
rather be,” he said. He stood up, and headed for the door.

“Vachlan, don’t go. No!” she called out weakly. “Vachlan!”

He was already gone. Visola bit her lip, pounding her chained wrists into the jagged rock wall beside her. She groaned at the pain in her sore, swollen hands. She hoped that he would return.

Thick, rough fingers dug into her injured knee, jolting Visola awake. Her first reaction was surprise that Vachlan had begun torturing her again. Then she realized that those thin fingers with sharp fingernails did not feel like Vachlan’s hands, and those eerie, shallow gasps did not sound like his breathing—she opened her eyes and lifted her head to view her attacker. It was a strange man whom she did not recognize. He had dark brown skin, and was probably of Indian descent. Visola fixed the man with her most intimidating glare.

“Such pretty green eyes,” the Indian man remarked, in the feminine voice Visola had heard before. “Why would he ever put a blindfold on those?”

He tightened his grip, increasing the brutal pressure on her knee, and Visola tried to pull her leg away from him. She looked around for Vachlan, and was alarmed to see that he was still not in the room. Where had he gone? Her first fear was that something had happened to him. Had he been punished or harmed for failing to carry out orders and kill her? Her second fear was that he had abandoned her. The panic which suffused her had plenty of historical evidence to justify flourishing in her chest. Her pulse began to quicken. She had shared a sweet emotional moment with Vachlan. He had considered it a sign of his weakness, and he had gone running.

“Are you looking for your husband?” Prince Zalcan asked, putting his face close to hers. “Vachlan left on important business. He said I could enjoy you as much as I liked.”

“Is that so?” Visola asked, recoiling at the heavy stench of whiskey on the man’s breath. She realized that she had begun hyperventilating, and she tried to regain her composure. She could outsmart this slip of a boy.  

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” the man said with a sleazy smile. “I am Prince Zalcan Hamnil from the Maldives, heir to the Clan of Zalcan.”

“I’m General Visola Ramaris, also known as the woman who’s going to kill you.”

He laughed, a high pitched and annoying sound, especially at close range. “Have you noticed your handcuffs? I don’t think that’s likely.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Visola said. “I always make good on my promises. Do you want to know how I would like to kill you? With acid. I would like to drown you in acid—pinching your nose while slowly pouring it into your mouth until you inhaled it, letting it fill your lungs. Can you imagine how it would feel to have acid eating away at your lungs?”

“You have quite the imagination,” Zalcan said, with a snigger. “That’s never going to happen. Let me tell you what is going to happen—I’m going to pound you raw. Vachlan says you’re a great lay, so I’m here to try you.”

“Try me?” she asked, stalling for time. “Am I an article of clothing, or a gourmet dish?”

“You’re a woman—a scared helpless animal who exists only for my enjoyment.”

Visola chuckled. “You really think you’re more masculine than I am, Ladybug?”

“You doubt my masculinity?” he whispered as he reached down and began to undo his pants. “Let me demonstrate the extent of my manhood.”

“Sure,” Visola said with a smile. “Put it in my mouth. My teeth aren’t that sharp, I promise.” She ran her tongue over her incisors, with a malicious look in her eyes.

“Thank you for the offer, but I don’t take orders from commoners. I will choose exactly where to put my…”

“Listen, Hamnil—may I call you Hamnil?”

“No. You must address me as Prince Zalc...
ow!”

Visola had used her shackled wrists to deliver a blow to his head. She cursed when it was not strong enough to knock him unconscious.

“That hurt!” he squealed, as he fell away from her cot. He rolled up into a ball on the floor, clutching his head. He whined loudly. “You bitch!”

Visola groaned. “I really doubt that anyone, in any part of the world would consider you masculine. That’s perfectly fine and you don’t have to prove anything to any…”

“Vachlan said you were broken!”

“He broke my heart once,” Visola said, with a melodramatic melancholy. She smiled at her attacker. “Want to hear about it? I’m in the mood for some girl-talk, and maybe if you have any ice cream or chocolate…”

“I have a better idea,” the prince said, grabbing a nearby baton, and aiming it at Visola’s arm.

Prickly icicles of electricity ran through Visola’s body for several seconds when the prince fired the weapon. When he removed it, after what had felt like an eternity, she was vastly weakened. The pulsing contractions of her muscles continued without her permission. Although she fought to regain control of her mobility, her body refused to follow instructions. She knew that her adversary had gained the upper hand. Her eyes rolled to look toward the room’s entryway, praying for Vachlan to return. Had he really abandoned her? Had he done this
again?

“Poor little redhead,” Zalcan said with a grin. “All paralyzed and nowhere to go. Want another taste?” He fired the weapon at her again, and again, until Visola was completely incapacitated and blinded. He prodded her with the baton, laughing gleefully. “Where are your smart remarks now? Would you like me to put this in your mouth? I wonder how much it will hurt if I shock your sassy tongue!”

Visola could not even reply to tell him that she truly believed another one of those shocks would kill her. There was a great plummeting feeling in her chest, and she wondered if her heart was failing. As she struggled with the disruption of her body’s basic maneuvers, the cot squeaked under her. Zalcan had climbed back on top of her, and was returning to his initial intended undertaking.

“It does take some of the fun out of things now that you are a lifeless doll,” he said to her with a frown as he slid her dress up around her waist. “Can you still scream? Please try. I really want to hear you scream as I do this.”

Visola tried to fight her dizziness and move her frozen lips. Her tongue felt heavy and awkward, as if she were trying to push a boulder around in her mouth. Her thoughts went hopelessly to Vachlan.
I can’t believe he left me here with this man. All because of a kiss? I thought he cared… he acted like he cared. Didn’t he? I swear it wasn’t my imagination. I should have learned by now not to ever try to interpret a man’s actions or his words. They are never good indicators of their thoughts or decisions, because men think much later, long after they have spoken or acted. Damn you, Vachlan!
Visola felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness and despair that was only partly due to her paralysis.
You always leave me when I need you the most.

“You really are unable to speak!” Zalcan said with a smile. “I didn’t realize how powerful the electricity would be. You’re totally vulnerable now—it’s highly amusing. Vachlan has the best toys lying around, doesn’t he? Let’s see if the tiles match the tapestries!”

Never in her life had Visola wanted to hurt someone more than when Zalcan began pulling off her panties. He giggled when she was exposed, and commented in delight about how much he liked well-coordinated home furnishings. Visola thought about her husband wretchedly.

“Now you get to feel how much of a man I am,” the prince said with a sneer, as he positioned himself over her. “The way I showed that little bitch Corallyn before I chopped her up.”

Visola felt tears come to her eyes, and she emitted a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh. Vachlan had not killed Corallyn. Vachlan had not been the one who killed Corallyn! This revelation left her in such a bizarre combination of crying and laughing that she seemed hysterical. She had known it all along, deep down. She had known that her husband was good, and not capable of the things that he had been blamed for. He was puppet whose strings were being pulled by others. She felt vindicated to have Vachlan’s character somewhat restored in her mind. When she had believed that Vachlan had done wrong, she had believed herself a fool for loving him. Now, she knew that it was not true.

“Vachlan,” she managed to whisper, although the word sounded like it was being filtered through molasses. Her tongue had still not regained full functionality, but her vision was returning. So he had not killed Corallyn, but he had allowed it to happen—just as he would not be the one to rape and kill her, but he would allow it to happen. He had abandoned her, but still she only felt love for him.

“So you can speak?” Zalcan said with delight. He slapped Visola in the face. “Don’t say
his
name! Say mine, and I want you to scream it for me. Do it!”

When he slapped her again, Visola felt the pressure of something against her gum. There it was—a final, forlorn idea. If she could move her tongue enough to get to the pill, she should be able to crush it with her teeth. She was going to lose this fight, but she did not have to stick around and watch.

What she would have said if she had been in a wisecracking mood was,
Hey Hamnil. How do you feel about necrophilia?
He would have displayed confusion or surprise, and she would have responded,
Well, you’re about to find out,
before crushing and swallowing the pill. Then she would have felt at least a millisecond of smugness before she died, and he would have understood her meaning from context.

However, Visola was not in a wisecracking mood; she was feeling rather miserable and broken. So when Zalcan nudged her knees apart with deranged excitement, and when she felt the sickening moisture of his dangling, offensive organ against her thigh, she made her decision. Visola quickly moved her tongue to dislodge the pill from the corner where she kept it, and she positioned it between her molars.
Thank you, Sionna,
she thought to herself as she gripped the rubber capsule.
I hope you can feel when I’m gone—I know you’ll take care of everyone. You are worth fifty of me.

She bit down tentatively on the thick casing of the pill, feeling it give way and testing its flexibility. The moment before Zalcan could defile her, she clenched her jaw and…

Visola froze in surprise as something collided with Zalcan’s head, knocking him into the wall. She saw a massive arm reach out and grab Zalcan by the hair, hauling him away from her. She managed to turn her head just enough to see her husband swinging a spiked club with all of his force.

“You little nancy bugger!” Vachlan bellowed. “I was only gone for five minutes, and you…”

Stuttering with incoherent rage, Vachlan continued to bludgeon his employer in the head with his mace until Zalcan’s face was a ghastly, bloody mess. The Indian man’s body was soon as limp and lifeless as the ground upon which it lay. Zalcan had become one of his well-coordinated room furnishings, for a bloodied corpse went well with a dank, abandoned mineshaft, at least in Visola’s opinion. She probably should have cringed at this gruesome sight, but instead she was filled with a wave of deep contentment. Vachlan had not abandoned her.  

“Spit it out,” Vachlan said, turning toward her and holding out his hand. He must have seen when her tongue had worked to remove the pill from the corner of her mouth. Visola hesitated, but Vachlan was already reaching into her mouth and extracting the pill.

“That’s mine,” she complained.

“You had this the whole time?” he asked angrily, brandishing the warm rubber capsule in front of her face. Its shape suddenly reminded Visola of a miniature football. Vachlan flung the pill across the room, into a pile of junk. “No wonder your sister kissed you on the mouth. She even gave you a lecture on how to use the damn thing right in front of me. How stupid could I be?”

Vachlan tossed his bloody mace aside. He reached down to pull Visola’s dress back over her hips. Once she was decent, he began unlocking her from her chains. He moved quickly, fueled by anger. When her wrists and ankles were free, he pulled her into his arms. He held her against him as protectively as a tiger would guard its young from a predator. Visola closed her eyes and rested against his chest, wondering how he knew that she needed to be held so badly just then.
You didn’t abandon me.
The love she felt in his embrace seemed to infuse her muscles and coax them out of paralysis.
You came back for me.
She wanted to thank him out loud, and tell him how thankful she was.