Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (33 page)

It took every effort she could muster to refrain from killing him straightaway. She did not even know why she was procrastinating. “One reason, Vachlan Suchos!”

As the tip of her blade prodded his tonsils, he pondered what reason he should state. He tried to remember what he personally knew of Aazuria, and he tried to remember all of the recent hearsay. What was the one thing she held most dear? Was it love? Was it family? Was it honor? He remembered regarding her as a frigid, do-gooding bitch for most of his existence. She was careful. She did not love easily. What reason would seem the most moving to her?

As her icy, unyielding blue eyes bored into him, he realized that there was only one thing which could save him. The truth. He began to rummage within his unsorted baggage to discover the true reason his life should be spared. Of course, there were several. He enjoyed breathing, for example. It was hard to think under pressure. He still imagined that he could gain the upper hand and overcome Aazuria in this fight, but that was not the point. He needed her to sanction his existence.

Why? Why did he need this? For Visola? Visola wanted a divorce. Why did he need Aazuria’s judgment? He had always been above the law, above the rule of the kings and queens and emperors. He had gone where he wished, and he had taken what he had wanted. When someone had displeased him or insulted him, he had destroyed them without a second thought. Now, he was feeling more guilt than he had ever experienced. He could not accept Visola’s pardon, for her judgment was tainted by love. Aazuria was a mostly impartial party who could justly deem whether he deserved his life.

He was not sure that he believed he deserved to keep breathing. 

Aazuria lifted the sword from his throat, scraping it callously against his teeth and lips as it exited. “Speak now,” she commanded.

Vachlan felt a sudden emptiness in his throat where the sword had been. He moved his tongue around to exercise its liberation, stroking the roof of his mouth awkwardly. He swallowed back the mélange of blood and saliva that had gathered once more. As he tried to straighten to some semblance of poise, he noticed that Visola was kneeling at Aazuria’s side and weeping. It occurred to him then that this might truly be his final moment. The two women were the closest of friends, and yet Aazuria was completely ignoring Visola’s desires.

Neither was Visola fighting or struggling to save his life. Not because she was physically incapable of defeating the queen, even in her current weakened state, but because she was deferring to Aazuria’s decision. Her ultimate loyalty was not to her husband, but to her queen, Vachlan realized, and he admitted to himself that this was rightly so. He had proven through desertion that he was not worthy of any loyalty—especially one as absolute and pure as Visola’s.

He swallowed again, but this time his mouth was dry. No one would mourn him. Visola was the person who cared for him most in the world. She was the only person that he had ever considered attaching himself to, and he had failed miserably. He had never really stayed in one place for too long. He had never really had a family to speak of. All his life he had been a nomadic mercenary, and he wondered if he really could fulfill the duties he had promised to so long ago. Maybe he should not have returned to Adlivun.

“Vachlan, if you will not speak, then I will be forced to act.”

“Queen Aazuria. Please forgive my transgressions. I need to live so that I may redeem myself as a husband and father,” Vachlan found himself saying. “I need you to give me the chance to make things right with Visola.”

In one swift and unexpected motion, Aazuria slammed the heel of her foot into the side of Vachlan’s head. She tossed her sword at Visola’s feet before she crouched down over Vachlan, curling her hand into a fist and driving her knuckles into his jaw.

“You want the chance to make things right with her? You want to heal the wounds you caused?” She scowled at him scornfully. “Are you not eagerly anticipating the moment she opens herself to you, the moment she smiles at you with pure trust? Then when she is vulnerable, you can delight in breaking her down again?” She pulled her hand back close to her body, and repeated the motion, coating her knuckles liberally in his blood. “How are you going to betray her this time, Vachlan?”

She hit him again. “How are you going to betray us all? We welcomed you into our home once and treated you like family. How did you repay us? You sent an army against us, led by Atargatis. Then you had Corallyn killed. Tell me Vachlan, did you kill her with your bare hands? Did you carve those words into my sister’s flesh yourself, or did you order an inferior to do it?”

“He didn’t do it,” Visola said weakly. “Aazuria, it was all Zalcan...”

“When has this man ever followed orders?” Aazuria asked her friend. “If it was done, he could have stopped it. Am I right, Vachlan? You had complete control of the situation. You could have prevented my sister’s death. You could have chosen not to harm Visola to begin with. Am I right?”

“Yes,” he answered. He pushed on his teeth with his tongue to check if they had come loose. “Queen Aazuria, I am sorry for everything that was in my control, but there was also a great portion of the situation which was beyond me. You must believe one thing, if you believe anything—if I had not been stalling and sabotaging Zalcan’s armies, Adlivun would have been under his control decades ago.”

“And this is your justification for torturing my friend?” Aazuria whispered.

“No… that was a personal mistake…”

“Mistake!
Mistake!”
Aazuria shouted. She balled her hands up again into tight, solid fists, and returned to beating him mercilessly.

“Zuri, please!” Visola begged. She turned to Trevain, lifting her hands in shock. “She’s gone apeshit!”

“Whoa, take it easy!” Trevain said, reaching out and wrestling Aazuria away from Vachlan. He held her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to restrain her. “Zuri, were you going to let me meet my grandfather before you put him in a coma?”

“Look at what he did to her!” Aazuria hissed.

“I know, but look at the way she feels about him,” Trevain said. Indeed, Visola had gone to Vachlan’s side and was gingerly touching his jaw. She turned to Trevain angrily.

“Yes, I like him a little!” she shouted. “You don’t have to make me sound like some lovesick schoolgirl—I am over ten times your age, young man!”

“Sorry, grandma.”

“Jesus, he’s our grandson?” Vachlan asked, as he stared at Trevain with amazement. He felt a lump of emotion welling up in his throat—an unfamiliar sensation. Was it possible to feel nostalgia for something you had never had? The two men stared at each other, sizing each other up first as adversaries, and then as relatives. “He’s large,” Vachlan observed.

“Impressive lineage will do that,” Visola said proudly. “I think he’s a whole inch bigger than you.” When everyone turned to look at her, she frowned and began gesturing wildly at Trevain’s stature. “His
height!”

“My name is Trevain Murphy,” the new king said, releasing his wife so that he could reach out and shake his grandfather’s hand. Vachlan rose to his feet, wiping blood from his nose and cheek with his sleeve before shaking Trevain’s hand. “I want you to know that for my grandmother’s sake, I am going to encourage Aazuria to let you live. But if you make a single, tiny misstep, I will finish what she started. I will beat the shit out of you, and I will not stop. Is that understood?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Trevain,” Vachlan responded.

Trevain gestured to the doorway, where Alcyone quietly stood. “That woman is my mother.”

Vachlan looked at the elderly woman, and he saw Visola’s striking green eyes staring back at him from under wrinkled eyelids. Her hair was white with age, and she was thin and small. He could see his own facial structure in her cheekbones and nose. It was like looking at an elderly version of Visola, combined with the frailty of his own mother.

“Alcie, baby,” Visola was saying tenderly. Vachlan was shocked—he had never heard his brassy wife use such a sweet voice. He felt a sudden wistfulness to go back in time, and see what Visola had been like as a mother. He wondered what he would have been like as a father. Would they have had petty parental arguments? Would Alcyone have looked at him with pride, trust, and happiness instead of the utter revulsion that was on her face at the moment? Vachlan could imagine what a lovely little girl she would have been, and he could hardly maintain his composure. He felt Visola squeeze his hand, and heard that she was still speaking to her daughter. “Would you like to come and meet your dad?”

“Mama,” Alcyone said, as tears began sliding down her wrinkled cheeks. “Look at what he did to you. I would rather hang myself than ever acknowledge that man as my father.”

“Sweetie…” Visola began, but Alcyone had already left the room. She sighed, and finished her sentence unconvincingly: “I’m perfectly fine.”

There was an awkward silence in the room, as everyone looked at each other uncertainly. They were vaguely conscious of the fact that they were supposed to be family members, and that there was supposed to be some solidarity between them. Sionna moved to her sister’s side, and began to unwrap the bandages from her hand to examine the wounds.

“I need to get you to the infirmary,” Sionna said quietly, “and you need to fucking eat something.”

“Always thinking about yourself, Sio. Can’t stand being the heavier twin, can you?”

Sionna made a face. “I feel like I’m looking into one of those mirrors in funhouses that make you all stretched and narrow. You were ugly before, but now you’re hideous.”

Visola smiled, and was about to retort, when Vachlan interrupted. “Sionna—why the hell did you give her a suicide pill?”

“The real question is why didn’t she use it? If I was forced to interact with you for as long as she was, I would have. Her body will heal, but the irreversible psychological trauma from having to exist near you? I expect that my sister will either go into a catatonic hibernation forever, or join some sort of strange religious cult which promises her salvation.”

“Oh, Sio,” Visola said with a smile. “You’re just jealous of my hottie husband. I know you want him. I bet you think about him when you mast…”

Visola was cut off by a firm gesture from Elandria, who had been remaining silent, as usual.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but before we become comfortable with Vachlan’s unsavory presence, should we not ask Aazuria whether she really permits this? This man is only constant in his perfidy. He is our enemy, and because of him Corallyn is dead. We cannot possibly accept him hospitably! My opinion is that we should keep him imprisoned at the bare minimum.”

“Always the voice of reason,” Vachlan commented. “Without the voice, I mean.”

“You intend to live here among us, Vachlan?” Aazuria asked him bitterly.

“With your permission, Queen Aazuria,” he responded, bowing to her.

“I know that my father wronged you,” she said, “but none of us did, and you should not have taken it out on us.”

“I realize that now.”

Aazuria shook her head sadly. “Visola has always been there for me. She has always protected me, placed me before herself, and even before her family. She shot her own grandson when she believed he was about to harm me. Why is it that relationships are always so one-sided?” Aazuria questioned. “Why is it that one person is always the benefactor, and the other person benefits? One person is always the protector, and the other is the protected?”

She began advancing on Vachlan. “I do not approve of this model. Certain things should be mutual. Just as Visola has served as my protectress, I will be hers. I do not even care if she approves of my actions. You will be accepted back in to Adlivun on probation. If I see you look at her in a way that is not respectful, I will kill you. If I see you look at another woman in a way that resembles interest, I will kill you. If I hear you speak to your daughter in a rude or controlling way, if I hear you talking down to your grandsons, I will kill you. Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’ll accept whatever conditions you impose. I know that you are fair, and I don’t deserve your trust. I just need the chance to be close to my family—I need to be able to protect them from what’s coming.”

“Then I guess you want your job back,” Aazuria said derisively. “The Destroyer of Kingdoms wants to help us preserve ours. Wonderful. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Visola.”

Visola shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle. He’s like a trained puppy dog, on a leash of platinum-plated guilt.” Visola made a gesture of pulling on an imaginary leash which was wrapped around Vachlan’s neck. He glowered at her unhappily.

“Very well,” Aazuria said, turning to leave the room. Trevain followed her, with a passing backward glance at his grandparents.