Read Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) Online
Authors: Nadia Scrieva
Fathoms of Forgiveness (Sacred Breath, Book 2) (40 page)
“General Ramaris! We have heard rumors about decreased senescence among your people. Are your lifespans really longer than ours? How old
are
you?”
“I was under the impression that questions about a lady’s age would be strictly off limits,” Visola said with a playful pout, “but yes, the rumors are true. I was born in 1449 off the coast of Norway. That makes me two years older than Christopher Columbus—if he were still alive, of course.”
“How do you stay looking so young? Are you immortal?”
“Afraid not, darling,” Visola said, casting a sad smile on the reporter. “I would love to share my beauty secrets and make a capitalistic killing from seaweed-infused cosmetics, but the truth is that I just breathe a lot of water. Oh—but don’t try that at home, kids. Not unless you have ultrasound results proving that you have amphibious lungs, and someone who knows CPR nearby in case your second pair of lungs aren’t strong enough to extract oxygen from the water. The reverse happens to us sometimes—sometimes our children are born without the ability to breathe water.”
“So it is possible for humans to have children with… mermaids?”
“Yes, and making them is just as fun,” Visola responded, matter-of-factly. She waited for the giggles and chuckles to dissipate before continuing with a serious response. “Our people have been mixing with yours for thousands of years, all over the world. We’re the Selkie in Ireland, and we’re the Ningyo in Japan. There are hundreds of names for us, in every language, and we have dozens of underwater nations. You have countless paintings and stories about us, except you like to exaggerate and make us fantastic. Now you know the truth. We’re just like you.” Visola placed her elbow on the wooden podium, and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She smiled out at the audience. “We’re just like you… except wet.”
Marshal Landou left Trevain’s side and moved across the stage to whisper to the female politician. Trevain frowned, studying their lips.
“Tell me about her—what do you know?”
Marshal Landou was quietly asking the woman.
Trevain began moving over to interrupt this conversation. The man needed to be rebuked—regardless of military rank, no one was allowed to speak about Visola literally behind her back. However, a younger military official came up to Trevain’s side to grin at him.
“Wowzers! Keeping all the hot mermaid tail to yourself, ain’t you Captain Murphy?”
Trevain clenched his fists, growing extremely angry. These people were despicable! How had he lived among them for an entire lifetime? “That woman is my grandmother,” Trevain said in a low voice. “My wife is missing, and you’re supposed to be looking for her.”
“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean…”
Trevain ignored the apology and concentrated on reading the lips of the conversation Marshal Landou was having. The female politician responded to him just as quietly—no one would have been able to hear them over the noise coming from the speakers and the audience.
“She has a sick daughter,”
the woman was saying,
“recently admitted to the hospital.”
Trevain’s eyes narrowed. How did they know the details of his mother’s condition?
Marshal Landou nodded, as he turned to keenly inspect Visola’s back and backside. There was no doubt in Trevain’s mind what the bald man was thinking, and he very much wanted to walk across the stage and flatten the man’s nose. Of course, it was much too public a forum to entertain such whims.
“I’ll see if I can pull some strings and get some special care for her daughter,”
Marshal Landou was whispering.
Trevain’s anger quickly dissipated into gratitude and confusion. His mother could use all the help that anyone could offer. Was the bald man going to help Alcyone just to impress Visola? It all suddenly clicked in his mind. It was a foreign type of genius to him, for he had never been a woman, and he could not understand the power of shamelessly flaunting one’s body.
It occurred to Trevain that Visola had intended to seduce the military leader all along. She had intended to milk him for favors, grand gestures of romance, and allegiance. The tight leather pants were just part of the plan. Just a gimmick which Visola hoped would make things a little easier—easier to get on the marshal’s good side, and easier to manipulate him. Surely if a man in a position of power fell in love with her, it would be easier to save Alcyone, and easier to save Adlivun.
Trevain received confirmation of these thoughts when Visola glanced back at them, her green eyes sparkling with impish mischief. She was completely aware of the marshal’s eyes on her, and she expertly tossed him a flirtatious smile. Yes, the man was already wrapped around her finger. Without being able to control it, Trevain found his thoughts drifting again to Aazuria. Could Visola use her clout with the marshal to secure more help in searching for his wife? He pushed the thought away as fast as it had come—he would not exploit his grandmother’s body for his own purposes. Even though his purposes were also hers.
Did Vachlan know of this plan? Trevain chewed his lip thoughtfully as he observed the marshal’s transfixed expression. If his grandfather had seen this, he would have surely taken Marshal Landou’s head off, cameras or no cameras. Trevain began to feel strangely like a teenager whose parents’ marriage was about to be dissolved before his eyes. It was very uncomfortable. He knew one thing for sure: this idea meant trouble.
Visola sure knew how to step in it.
Sacred Breath Series
Thirty Minutes to Heartbreak
Novellas
