Crest (Ondine Quartet Book 3) (14 page)

"That was at your request?"

I'd assumed those supplemental excursions were helping me adjust to Redavi society.

"Of course," she said.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Welcome home, Kendra.

"Because they have nothing to do with magic."

She stubbed out her cigarette. "Are you sure about that?"

Since we spent most of our magic lessons watching television, no, I wasn't sure.

"I enjoyed the city, but I was more concerned with finding the Lieutenant and the Shadow."

She opened a bag of chips and munched thoughtfully. "He remains hidden."

"We almost had him." Just remembering what happened in the control room pissed me off all over again. "We're back at square one."

Nexa had to be as frustrated as me. She usually partnered with Julian in tracking down Aquidae. Coming so close and missing an opportunity was a difficult thing to accept.

Something flitted across her face. "Like any problem, the solution usually lies in a different approach."

"But how? We've been trying to nail down an Aquidae but it's like they've disappeared into hiding —"

"What was your favorite painting at the Met?"

My brain struggled to catch up. "I liked the Monet. The Water Lilies."

"Why did you like it?"

 
I answered carefully. "There are shades of green, brown, purple, even black in Monet's water as if he could see all the hidden layers within something transparent. And those brush strokes."

"What about them?"

"I stood close to the painting because I wanted to know what he saw while he worked." I shook my head. "He used all these crazy short strokes, dabs of insane colors. None of it makes sense. But then you step back and you see the whole painting. You see how everything fits together into a whole."

"What we see in the water is a reflection of our Virtue," she said quietly. "Kinetics see movement. Teleports see destination. And Empaths see shade and nuance. Like that painting, our job as Empaths is to uncover the hidden shades that color the water's depths."

She picked up a mid-sized white bowl from the kitchen counter and brought it to the table.

Delicate floating petals covered the entire surface.

A wrinkled index finger gently stirred the surface.

"Many live like these petals, content to float in simplicity and shallowness. But what we look for as Empaths is what is beneath the surface."

She pushed the petals aside and reached into the water. When she pulled her hand out, a rotting strand of green slime twisted around her fingers.

The pungent scent of algae hit my nose.

"Sometimes we need to push aside the decorations to find the rot within." Nexa washed her hands at the sink. "Can our magic stand in a vacuum?"

I shook my head. "Meaning exists in context."

She nodded and lit another cigarette. "Who we seek is clever. We have not been able to uncover either the traitor or the Shadow through traditional investigations. We must search differently."

So how would you find a predator?

You'd think like one.

"I have to find motive."

She exhaled slowly. Grey smoke swirled around us.

"We must understand why someone would betray us, before we can stop the betrayal from happening. In the end, great evil and great good stem from one source. Our desire to validate who we are."

"How can you equate good and evil?"

She ignored my question. "What did he say to you?"

"Who?"

"The Shadow."

A shiver raced down my spine as I remembered that presence in the Lyondale factory basement. That suffocating energy, the very antithesis of my magic and who I was as an elemental.

"Love turns into hate. Passion into obsession."

She sipped her drink, eyes specultative. "Which is stronger? A sheet of ice or a placid ocean?

I once read a book where an icicle was used as a near-perfect murder weapon. The killer stabbed the victim with its sharp tip, then let it melt. No evidence.

"Obviously, the ice."

"The ice is harder. Harder does not mean stronger. If you dove off a cliff, which would accept you? The ice or the ocean?"

I considered. "The ice would break me. The ocean might hurt me, especially if I dived the wrong way. But it'd give enough to allow entrance."

"One accepts you fully." She tapped her cigarette against the overflowing ashtray. "The other is incapable of accommodation. And yet, they both stem from the same source. They're simply water in different forms."

"How does that make the ocean stronger?"

"Because strength is not in what you can break. It is in what you can accept. At its best, an emotion's power rests in its fluidity. But that very same power can easily harden into something that destroys and crushes rather than reveals."

Like Monet's painting. Was it a fervor of chaotic brush strokes? Or a cohesive whole?

One step forward or backward could shift an entire perspective. What was once beauty could transform into horror. And what was once glorious could become dangerous.

Elementals were on edge. The Council remained wary and Rhian's position under siege. Initiating offensive strikes and more lockdowns wasn't the solution.

But I could use my magic.

Empath could uncover the hidden emotional truth that drove someone to this kind of horror.

Alone, without the use of glamour. Hidden in plain sight.

Nexa leaned forward, periwinkle eyes burning brighter than I'd ever seen it.

"Every action is driven by motive. Find his reason, Kendra, and you will find your traitor."

The unspoken words hung in the air.

And the Shadow.

BUILT LIKE AN AMPHITHEATER, THE Council Chamber's three levels of tiered seating looked down on two white marble tables shaped into the letter "T" on the ground floor.

The acoustics were specially designed to carry sound with perfect clarity to every seat in the cavernous space. Each step echoed, vibrating against the magic and history coloring the air.

The more sound amplified, the smaller I felt.

Today's challenge was about control. I needed to maintain it in the unpleasantries to come.

"The plan should work," Tristan murmured.

I touched the Irisavie seat, the marble cool and hard against my skin.

In New York, part of my work with Catrin involved the history of Redavi families. I'd always assumed there were other Irisavies, distant relatives I'd eventually get to know.

Most Redavi had an extensive network of relatives spread across the twenty-eight ondine communities worldwide.

But the Irisavies didn't.

Catrin had no answer as to why. With each generation choosing to have only one or two children, the Irisavies had simply died out over the years.

Until Rhian, an only child, was left.

It was a question I didn't want to ask because it meant a world without Rhian and Marcella.

But I had to be ready.

"What happens..." I cleared my throat. "What happens if I become Governor? Who takes over the Irisavie chair?"

"If you're mated and have a child, the chair will be reserved until she or he is of age to serve," he said. "If not, Jourdain will select a new family to become Redavi."

I glanced at the tall empty tank of water beside the Governor's chair. The hole at the tank's bottom connected to a network of tunnels leading to the ocean.

Jourdain, the dessondine High Priestess and Mother of the ondine race, would soon be focusing her creepy, unblinking eyes on me.

Not a reassuring thought.

"It'll be okay." Tristan lightly touched the space between my shoulders.

The gesture suddenly made me conscious of the blade tucked against my lower back.

I resolved problems out in the field, but I now entered a different kind of arena. Could a fighter really become a Governor?

The Warrior Prince was the only one who'd accomplished the leap between war and politics.

I envied him. Tristan had a supreme control I'd never been able to tap into. It was the kind of unlimited reserve only the best fighters had.

Julian had a cool magic that allowed him complete physical freedom. But Tristan had an awareness and power that gave him internal freedom.

"Any last-minute advice?"

"Try not to punch anyone."

My stomach clenched. "I won't promise anything."

The door opened.

Tristan stepped away and headed for his seat. A combination of Redavi families, Council members, and the general public streamed in.

Game on.

Governor Rhian Irisavie walked through the doors accompanied by Chief Counsel Augustin "Jeeves" Genevieve, Nanette, and Chloe's uncle and aunt, Cecily and Francis Moreaux.

Iron control defined the Governor. The loss of my mother and Marcella's current condition rapidly deteriorated her health.

But cold authority continued to radiate from my grandmother. She walked rigid and straight, greying hair neatly pulled back in an impeccable updo. Sharp, hawkish face betrayed nothing.

Without a single word, she settled in her chair and gave Tristan a polite nod.

Jeeves briefly glanced in my direction, then quickly disappeared into the shadows.

The sound level in the chamber rose and I carefully engaged my Virtue.

Another magical intrusion crawled up my spine.

Jourdain floated in her tank, fluorescent aura coloring the water around her. Thick hair drifted around an androgynous body like tangled clumps of kelp.

Pale, ghostly skin emphasized webbing between fingers and toes. Creepy black eyes took up the whole socket.

Prying magic scraped under my skin and I suppressed a shudder.

Remaining Council members assembled. The LeVeqs, Rossays, and Genevieves glared.

Marquis and Marquisa Blanchard sat across from me with pinched, disapproving faces. Their niece, Amber, was a classmate involved in the ondine training program.

But what surprised me most was the person who slid in beside me.

"What are you doing here?"

Julian looked like he wanted to be there as much as I did.

"Gabe's gone. Someone needs to represent the demillirs. Governor asked me to step in."

Part of the reason the Irisavies had strong voting power was because of Marcella and Gabe. Council members each had one vote per family.

But the Irisavies had two votes because of Gabe's position as Head Chevalier.

Apprehension washed over me. I suspected Rhian wanted Julian to side with me and provide backup should things go awry.

Unfortunately, she had no idea what happened between us and I had the unpleasant feeling she may've miscalculated.

Rhian stood, authority wrapped tight around her.

"I call this Council into session."

Energy rippled over the table. Everyone was poised to pounce.

"Given the circumstances of Marcella Irisavie and Gabriel Renard, Kendra Irisavie will be filling in as Irisavie family representative."

The Governing Council was like the Academy's cafeteria on steroids.

Julian alternated between looking extremely bored and glaring at me and Tristan. Marquisa LeVeq's brow furrowed with anxiety, her eyes nervously flickering between me and her son.

Self-assured command and elegance rippled around Tristan, but his arm flexed twice. Marquis Blanchard's eyes narrowed, gaze shifting back and forth between me and my grandmother.

Jourdain's strange magic crawled under my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Rhian cut a hell of a figure in the large, mahogany chair. Icy features remained blank, her back ramrod straight.

My grandmother wasn't very tall, but she had an uncanny ability to make everyone else seem smaller than her.

I concentrated on adopting the same mask and bluffing my way through this.

Marquisa Blanchard stood. The tilt of her nose reminded me of her niece.

"I move to dismiss the Irisavie representative on the grounds that she is a threat to the security and safety of our people."

Ooh. Dramatic.

"Seconded," Marquisa LeVeq immediately said.

Rhian nodded. "Motion is now on the table."

We'd expected them to be on the offensive. I leaned back and gave Julian's mother a polite smile.

She paled.

"Kendra Irisavie has been nothing but a danger since the moment she arrived," Marquis Rosamund began. "We've seen an increase in attacks and deaths. First, the massacre at the Governor's Ball and then the kidnapping of our children. She's even brought a nix here!"

The offended look he gave Tristan and Julian was laughable in its exaggeration. Neither men responded, though the tiniest degree of impatience rolled through Tristan's eyes.

In the first row of the second tier, Aubrey partially rose, fury etched across her delicate face.

Alex's arm moved in front of her and I shook my head slightly. Her expression remained mutinous but she settled back in her seat.

"Not to mention, the actions the Governor took last month to retrieve the kidnapped children," Marquisa Rossay added. "The plan was based on the ideas of a teenager! It placed the life of my dear relative in danger and led to an injury she'll never recover from."

I almost gagged at her fake empathy. She'd gone to see Aubrey at the hospital once, for a grand total of three minutes.

"The Governor would rather take the word of an unstable teenage ondine, simply because she is her heir, than do what is safe and right for our people!"

Shouts of approval came from the upper tiers.

Rhian leaned back, face expressionless.

"Prince Belicoux, you participated in the rescue mission at the Lyondale factory. Do your men believe my judgment in the
sondaleur
was misguided? Do you feel I carelessly placed your lives in danger?"

"The bulk of the plan hinged upon the
sondaleur,
" Tristan said quietly. "Her life was most at risk, followed by those of Ms. Rossay and the nix, Ian MacAllister. If anything, I believe the offensive showed how much the Governor and the
sondaleur
were willing to give of themselves to protect Haverleau."