The doorbell rang once, demurely.
One of Aazuria’s eyes squinted open. She felt an unusual pressure across her stomach, and was startled to see that it was an arm. An arm belonging to another person—a rather heavy arm. Everything was heavier on land, but she was not accustomed to having arms draped across her body at all. Her eyes followed the limb to their possessor and she was further amazed to see a man. This was the most surprising element of the situation altogether. She looked around and took in the couch, the popcorn, the empty bottles of wine, and the television still tuned to the channel that constantly played old black-and-white movies.
This is exceedingly comfortable, she thought to herself with contentment, remembering the movie marathon they had had the night before. She had been swept away in the classic beauty of Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe, of schoolteachers falling in love with doctors, and millionaires with big boats. (Trevain had jealously insisted that his ship was worth a hundred useless pleasure yachts.) After Corallyn and Elandria had gone to sleep, Aazuria had finally relented to trying a glass of merlot called Pétrus, and had enjoyed sipping on the fruity oak flavor for hours. Eventually, they had needed to open another bottle. She hoped that Visola would never find out about her lapse, for after years of giving the redhead grief about her drinking habits, she would surely seem an awful hypocrite. But she did not regret it—the moment had begged for a touch of abandon.
As the divine dark liquid had caressed her palate with hints of berries and vanilla, her spirits had begun to soar with sensual pleasure. She had not wanted the moment to end, and had requested “one more movie” at least five times, until she was far too tired to sit upright. Her memory was fuzzy about her final hours of consciousness, but she remembered growing comfortable enough to lie against Trevain’s chest on the couch. She remembered his fingers lazily stroking her long dark hair, entangling between the strands near the nape of her neck. She remembered how soft and warm, how extraordinarily cozy he had been. She remembered thinking that she would give up her kingdom in a heartbeat for this.
She remembered being so overwhelmed by the beauty beyond the television screen that she had begun crying during one of the scenes. Aazuria had discovered with dismay that the one century she had been confined to the water happened to have been the most incredible century in the history of humanity.
“I have missed it all,” she had moaned. “I have missed the entire twentieth century. How can I never have seen a movie? All this technology, all of these new stories. How can he have kept it all from me? I should have been able to experience all of this as it was created!”
“Aazuria, these movies were filmed long before you were born. Some of them even long before I was born. Luckily, they have all been preserved and we can still see them now.”
“You are wrong. It is not the same,” she insisted, tears cascading over her cheeks. “The world has changed so much that I hardly know it anymore. I do not belong here. I want to survive in your world, but I do not know the first thing about this place.”
“I’ll teach you everything you want to learn,” Trevain promised, wiping away her tears. “The world isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. We can go and see anything you want to see.”
“Just stay close to me,” she pleaded. “There is too much to take in—I am afraid that I will make too many mistakes. I will stumble and fall on these weak legs. I am so lost here.”
“I won’t let you fall,” he had answered.
She remembered Trevain lightly pressing his lips against hers in a reassuring kiss. But she was not sure if that was memory or imagination of what she had wished to happen. She should have felt embarrassed at showing such emotion—Aazuria had always prided herself on being stone-faced, as was expected of undersea royalty. But Trevain’s warmth easily melted her icy countenance, and she was not upset with herself for allowing this. It was refreshing to trust someone enough to fully relax in their company.
The doorbell rang again.
Aazuria lifted a hand to rub her eyes. She adjusted herself so that she could stretch her legs before carefully slipping out from under Trevain’s semi-hug. She walked out of the room a bit unsteadily at first, but she had resumed her poise by the time she reached the door. She undid the locks deftly. When the door swung open, it revealed that Brynne was standing there.
“Sea-wench,” Brynne said hoarsely.
“Fisherwoman,” Aazuria responded in greeting. She was suddenly alarmed when she realized how unkempt she was. In Adlivun, she never entertained visitors without first suffering hours of intricate hairstyling and elaborate face-painting. She quickly tried to arrange her disheveled clothing to be more presentable, and lifted her hands to smooth her hair. “Please come in.”
“Where’s Trevain?” Brynne asked in a quivering voice.
“He is still resting,” Aazuria answered. “I apologize—it’s my fault. I kept him up all night watching movies.”
Brynne chewed on her lip fearfully. “I need to see him. Can you please get him?”
“Shouldn’t we let him rest?” Aazuria asked. “I can tell him whatever it is…”
“Please,” Brynne said in a hushed voice, completely unalike the brash tone she had used with Aazuria at their first meeting. “Please get him, Aazuria.”
Aazuria frowned, but she nodded compliantly. She crossed the house to the family room and spoke Trevain’s name while touching his arm to wake him.
“Hmmm?” he asked, groggily.
“Brynne is here. She wants to speak with you.”
“Brynne?” he responded, clearing his throat. “Bet she’s here to boast about their catch.”
“I’m not so sure,” Aazuria said in confusion.
“I guess I should find out what she wants,” he said, pulling himself to his feet. He rubbed the wrinkles out of his shirt. He left the family room and headed for the foyer, with Aazuria close on his heels.
When Brynne laid eyes on Trevain, she stopped wringing her hands. She was deathly still and quiet for a few seconds before she tried to speak. “Trevain…” Brynne’s voice caught in her throat. She paused, and tried to speak again, but no sound left her lips. She tried again. “Trevain, I…” She shook her head, screwing up her face before she burst into tears.
Trevain did not move or speak as he observed the strange behavior of the brunette. Finally, he turned his back on the women, clenching his fists. “No. I don’t want to hear it.” He turned around and headed upstairs.
Aazuria was bewildered by the whole situation. She knew that something serious had been silently communicated between the longtime co-workers, but it escaped her understanding. She stared after Trevain’s retreating back, seeking understanding in his tired and angry gait, before returning her gaze to Brynne. “What is wrong, dear?”
Brynne was now sobbing uncontrollably, and she had fallen against the marble-topped console table in the foyer. Her shoulder had knocked over a large glass vase holding fresh flowers, and it was rolling off the edge and crashing to the ground. Aazuria knew that she could not catch the heavy vase in time, so she pushed Brynne back to prevent the woman from being cut by the shards of glass. Aazuria felt a few sharp pieces graze her own legs as the container smashed on the marble floor. Brynne fell to the ground a few feet away from the vase, and was whimpering as she stared at the water from the vase spilling all over the floor. The water had surrounded Aazuria’s bare feet, tinted with a few droplets of blood from where the glass had cut the woman’s skin. The fresh forsythia blossoms lay scattered gracelessly on the pile of broken glass.
“I’m so sorry,” Brynne said wretchedly. She began sobbing again.
Aazuria moved to her knees and tried to put her arm around the distraught woman to console her. “Come and sit down,” she insisted, using her strength to support Brynne as she helped her up from the ground. She guided the distressed brunette carefully around the floral glass carnage, and deposited her safely in the nearest couch. Brynne moved compliantly along in a daze, and once she was sitting, she collapsed and placed her head in her hands.
“Brynne,” Aazuria urged gently. “Will you please tell me what has happened?”
“It’s Callder,” Brynne said between gasps. She could not seem to catch her breath as her sobs shook her whole body. “Callder’s dead.”