Breaker (Ondine Quartet Book 4) (5 page)

Her absence from Rhian’s funeral spoke volumes. I’d had the nerve to question her tactics in the Selkie Kingdom and she clearly hadn’t gotten over it.
 

She’d select a horrific replacement simply to make my life miserable. The Council was already problematic. We needed an ally, not another enemy.

“That’s not good. Jourdain hates my guts, Jeeves.”

He seemed to be expecting that answer. “There might be a way around it. But I’ll need a little time to put it together.”

“Fine. We’ll go over it tomorrow morning.”

He hesitated.

“Something else?”

“You’ll need to leave the Academy dorms and move into the Governing House as soon as possible,” he said gently.

Over the past few months, I’d spent more time away from the Academy than in it. Part of me understood that my life as a Lumiere student had ended long ago.

But another part of me still found it difficult to let go.
 

“Yeah, I’ll get to it.”

“
Sondaleur
—“

“I said I’ll take care of it.”

Jeeves gazed steadily at me, sympathy in his eyes.
 

“I know it’s important,” I said quietly.

He touched my arm. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

His unspoken words were clear. Time was now a luxury. The elemental world was currently without a leader. The sooner I moved in and established my presence, the smoother the transition of power.
 

We stepped out into the hallway. Council members swooped in, murmuring their sympathies. A few were genuine; some simply kissed my ass. Others remained distant, wary of what kind of leader I would be.

Gradually, the crowds thinned. Night clothed Haverleau in a silk cloak of darkness. It slid across the top of the ocean and hugged the coast, wound through lush gardens and paved streets, and wrapped around buildings of marble and ebony.

I leaned against the wall and briefly closed my eyes. A moment of blissful silence.

I felt his warm presence a moment before his low voice caressed me. He’d waited until everyone left.

“Are you okay?”

No. “I will be.”
 

I turned to face him.
 

Tristan leaned against the chamber doorway, a lock of tousled dark hair curving against his cheekbone, the chain of his amber
pedaillon
resting against the smooth line of his neck. In the moonlight, his golden skin appeared luminous, almost otherworldly. He looked so good it made my chest ache.

“Hi,” I said.

He smiled. “Hi.”

He leaned in, his breath brushing my skin.

A group of gardinels and chevaliers exited the Justice Department, their boisterous conversation cutting through the night.
 

I jerked away.

 
“Your Highness,” one of the gardinels called out.

Tristan raised a hand in greeting.

Elementals now looked to me for a solution to this war and a plan for our future. If they knew I was involved in a relationship that would cost my mortality in a few years, there would be an uprising.

Those who sought power would sense a weakness and exploit it. The public would react to the perceived power instability.

In a time of war, people wanted to believe they were safe, even if it was just an illusion. No matter how much I wanted to lean into Tristan, I had to maintain a public facade. Our relationship had to remain a secret.

He rubbed his face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” It sounded more bitter than I intended.

He studied me. “What can I do?”

“You can tell me how I’m supposed to do this.”

A beat. “The governorship? Or us?”
 

Exhaustion washed over me. The past two days had knocked me down, stomped on my ribs, and kicked me in the face. The thought of wearing another mask for the sake of duty made me nauseous.

I was too tired to explain. “I should get back to Lumiere. I need to start packing up and preparing for the move.”
 

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then his hand lightly touched the small of my back.
 

The tiny gesture almost undid me.
 

“I’ll take you.”

Silence stretched between us during our ride. Tristan’s presence was soothing and a part of me wished I could crawl over to his side of the car and let him hold me until the world stopped tilting.
 

But tonight the space between us was too filled with Rhian, with the ghosts of Marcella and my mother, and the weight of things to come.

He parked in the school lot and leaned over. His lips brushed against my forehead.

“I’m here if you need me,” he said quietly.

I gave a small nod and exited.
 

Instead of returning to the dorms, I veered toward the western edge of campus. Recent rain had softened the dirt trail leading up to the bluffs. The faint promise of spring draped over bare tree branches. Patches of grass had begun to appear, stubbornly poking their way through the winter-hardened ground.

Nexa stood outside her cottage. Her blouse billowed, the wind whipping long strands of silver hair around her.

She hadn’t been at the funeral and I wondered how long she’d been waiting for me.
 

Without a word, she led me to the bluff’s edge. Together, we gazed out at the ocean. The tides were smooth and long, languidly rolling in rhythmic swells, an infinite heartbeat against the unforgiving shore.

“You are ready.”

My chest hurt. “I don’t feel ready.”

She turned to me. Terrible pain flickered in the depths of her eyes.

“To be ready does not mean it will be easy. It doesn’t mean it will be smooth.” The wrinkles on her face appeared deeper, more pronounced. “It means that even when it’s difficult, you have what it takes to survive.”
 

Fear dripped down my spine. I remained alive not because I survived, but because he let me live.

Fueled by an endless reservoir of hate and rage, the Shadow possessed a colossal power. He could annihilate us with a snap of his fingers.

My blade, skills, and magic were woefully ineffective. They worked against physical beings.
 

But the Shadow was blood and energy, an immortal who used mortal form out of convenience, not necessity.

The numbers hang high where red towers over sea. Can you find me now?

His strange words reverberated inside me again, a challenge I didn’t know how to address.

“I don’t know where to begin —”
 

“I’m leaving for Fontesceau tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Located on an island off the southwest coast of Florida, Fontesceau was a popular community and favorite vacation spot for many elementals.

I’d assumed Nexa would be here for my confirmation ceremony. I shook aside the slight hurt. “Why?”

“RePa con.”

Um. “What?”

“Restless Passions Convention,” she said impatiently. “In Miami. Since it’s the show’s final season, the entire cast will be there to greet fans. I’m getting everything signed.”
 

I blinked. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.
 

“And also because of the last clairvoyant,” she added as an afterthought.

“Who?”

“Brigette Genevieve.” Her lighter flared. “Distant relation.”

The name didn’t ring a bell. I waited.
 

Nexa took a drag off her cigarette.

I sighed. “And she’s the last clairvoyant because…”
 

“She is the only ondine we know of who now possesses that Virtue.”

Clairvoyants had a turbulent history in our world. When controlled, their Virtue was remarkable - a magic powerful enough to peer through time and space.
 

Uncontrolled, it could devastate the person possessing it.
 

There could only be one reason for Nexa’s sudden interest in that Virtue.

“You think she’ll see how we can end this.”

Empath sometimes allowed me glimpses into fluctuations affecting my future. But I wasn’t a Clairvoyant, the visions were spotty at best, and my dreams had recently remained silent.

If Brigette had a prophetic vision, it could guide us to the end of this war.

“Perhaps.” Nexa exhaled. A ring of smoke curled around her. “Like any Virtue, prophecies are simply a tool. True power always lies in the one who wields it.”
 

Maybe. But it was still the best tool we had.

An unnerving thought occurred to me. “What if she doesn’t have the vision soon?”

My mother was the only ondine who’d harnessed her Clairvoyance to work for her and not the other way around.

Clairvoyants couldn’t control when their visions occurred.

Brigette could see something tomorrow or twenty years from now.

The possibility of this war continuing for that long sent a chill down my spine.

“One step at a time, dear,” Nexa murmured.

The ocean rumbled, a rhythm of discontent in the dark.
 

THREE

A few scuffs marked the edges of the desk and forlornness painted the bare walls. I’d restored the original drapes and the ugly, striped material now flapped against the window.

It looked exactly as it had a year ago.

An awkward cough from behind me. “I see you’ve already cleaned out your things.”

Great. “I didn’t expect you, Headmaster. “

“And I certainly didn’t expect this from you.” Disappointment colored Pelletier’s voice.

I practiced using my nice voice. “Unfortunately, rules are rules.”
 

According to law, Original Magic’s choice for the next Governor overruled everything else. If the ondine was still in school, she needed to pass a final exam proving her competence in elemental knowledge and history. Passing it was the equivalent of graduating.

Rhian had sent me to New York to study with Catrin Bessette in preparation for the test. If I didn’t pass, necessity still demanded I leave the Academy dorms and move into the Governing House.

But I’d have to continue coursework until the end of the year. Aub promised to help, but given the current situation with the Shadow, being stuck doing homework was the last thing I wanted or needed.
 

Pelletier casually removed an envelope from his breast pocket. “Today’s a big day for you.”

I nodded.

Silence.

“I really should get going,” I hinted.

Nothing.

“Headmaster, if those are my test results —“

“You passed.”

Yes. I resisted the urge to pump my fist in the air.
 

“This is the paperwork finalizing the end of your studies at the Academy.”

He handed over the envelope.

I grasped it.

His fingers tightened.

I pulled.

He wouldn’t let go.

I tugged a little harder. Damn it. “The rules are clear, Headmaster.”

His grip tightened.
 

“You knew this might happen when I passed the Original Magic trial,” I pointed out.

“Yes,” he said, subdued. “But not so soon.”

Surprised, I let go.

Pelletier glanced down at the plain envelope. The grooves etching his brow and sides of his mouth had deepened over the year, emphasizing his sagging jawline.
   

He looked old.

“There has only been one other time in history that someone left these dorms early to move to the Governing House.”

Rhian had been eighteen when she accepted the position. I would become Governor at seventeen, two weeks before her.

“I only ask you live up to that other…” he slowly handed over the envelope, “exception.”

Rhian had always addressed him as William. He’d cried at her funeral.

Even now, his sadness was palpable, an intense grief for a friend.

I met his gaze. “I won’t let her down.”

With a final tired nod, Pelletier left.
 

I spent another few minutes packing up my belongings, then did a final once-over.

My gaze travelled over the scuffed linoleum floor, the dark wardrobe, the slanted corner dresser where Bastien had once left an iris.

Lumiere had transformed my life but no real evidence of it remained. Nothing here marked this place as my own. There was only the room’s quiet sigh as it let me go to make space for another.

On impulse, I walked over to the desk. The wooden table top was worn, the edges stained. Students had etched the usual crap into it over the years.

R+G 4eva

suckah!

whtevs

me395v

I removed my dagger and carefully carved the letter k in the corner. It was inconspicuous, tiny compared to the others.

But I knew it was there.

Satisfied, I grabbed my duffel bag, stepped out, and closed the door.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, muddled rays tangling in the cloudy skies. An hour ago, the day had been bright and warm. Now a chill brushed against me and fat drops of rain splashed on my head.
 

I quickly pulled up my hoodie. Spring was always mercurial and indecisive, restlessly shifting between teasing warmth and aching cold.

A year ago, I’d arrived in Haverleau during the same season. The first day I entered the cafeteria, I’d treated Lumiere as just another new school, another sea of nameless faces I needed to guard against so I could move on.

I never imagined this would be the one where I stayed.

Two hulking royal gardinels stood beside a gleaming black sedan in the Academy parking lot. Its modern lines and curves clashed with Lumiere’s gothic architecture.

The car door opened and an impeccably tailored figure stepped out.

“
Sondeleur
,” Jeeves’ smile lit up the day’s dismal gray. “Are you ready?”

Like his son, Jeeves was a study in contradiction. I’d seen him fight in the Selkie Kingdom. Beneath the elegant attire and immaculate etiquette was a highly trained former chevalier with a technique as killer as his charismatic smile.

When he graduated from the Academy, I doubted he saw himself as Chief Counsel, clothed in sophistication, wearing Italian loafers and concealing his chevalier mark with designer suits.