Breaker (Ondine Quartet Book 4) (13 page)

The narrow concrete ribbon arced high above the endless expanse of glittering water, connecting Fontesceau to the mainland and serving as the sole entry point into the community.
 

Dozens of gardinels and chevaliers patrolled the entrance, their solid, square figures dark against the white sand.

Businesses gradually gave way to modest residential houses and the street grew quieter. A white bungalow sat on the beach along the northern border of the community. Two gardinels stood guard in front of the porch; six others patrolled the perimeter. Another manned the roof.
 

I acknowledged the selkies, hopped up the steps, and knocked on the whimsical blue door. A surfboard leaned against the wall. Several pairs of slippers, covered in sand, were neatly arranged beside it.
 

The door opened.
 

A petite ondine with short, dark blonde hair, tanned skin, and familiar periwinkle eyes greeted me.

“Governor Irisavie.”

Although this was my first meeting with Brigette Genevieve, she looked familiar.
 

“Tissues,” I murmured.

“Excuse me?”

I shook my head. “I saw you at my grandmother’s funeral with someone I know.”
 

 
“Headmaster Pelletier.” She stepped back and motioned me in. “Yes. I saw you there as well, Governor.”

Every time I heard that title, I expected to see Rhian.
 

“Call me Kendra.”

A pause. “All right.”

Her features were delicate, but there was a sharpness in her gaze that reminded me of Nexa. A hawk disguised as a sparrow.

Bright reds, blues, and golds graced the intimate living room. A row of photos lined the mantle above the fireplace. A baby with chubby cheeks and Genevieve eyes stared back at me.

“That’s Nathaniel,” Brigette said proudly. “He’s sleeping upstairs. That was taken a month ago. He’s six months now.”

“Cute.” That was what you were supposed to say to people with kids.

Her mouth twitched. “Thanks.”

Another photo drew my eye. A young Brigette stood beside Jeeves, who looked to be in his twenties. He held a baby in his arms and his eyes exuded a smoldering charisma that managed to both suggest and promise.

The Governor’s office had tempered that raw wildness into the cool, suave exterior I knew today, but back then…damn. Jeeves definitely had it.

“I was a senior in high school,” Brigette said. “Julian was only a few days old there. Augustin was so proud he practically refused to let go of the boy.”

My curiosity deepened. “Do you see Nexa and Jeeves a lot?”

“I used to. I lived in Haverleau until about fifteen years ago.”

Something Nexa conveniently forgot to mention.

Brigette settled on the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her. Shrewd eyes studied me. “I’m sure the Governor didn’t come here to ask about my family.”

I took the seat across her. “I’d like you to reconsider leaving.”

“I understand your concern, Kendra. But I’ve already given Augustin my answer on the matter. This is my home. Unless there is a credible, verified threat, I see no reason to leave it.”
 

“And how does your mate feel about it? I’m sure he’s concerned about Nathaniel’s safety—“

“He was killed a year ago, a few weeks after I discovered I was pregnant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a good binding,” she said simply. “This was our home.”

“Merbais is annihilated, Brigette.” I made sure she saw the truth in my eyes. “The Shadow has pointed to Fontesceau next and I won’t let what happened there happen again.”

“Charlie doesn’t agree with you,” she pointed out. “If she did, she would have issued an evacuation.”

“A community-wide evacuation presents logistical difficulties. Moving one person does not. Since you’re the probable target, I’d like to secure your location as quickly as possible.”

Unperturbed, she raised her brow. “Do you have proof I’m the target?”

I reined in my irritation. “You are the last living clairvoyant. There is a possibility you may have a vision or prophecy leading to the end of this war.”

She shook her head. “Fontesceau is filled with Redavi from all over the world. Many hold important positions within the elemental community. They could be just as much of a target as me.”

It didn’t make sense. As the last Clairvoyant, Brigette held a crucial position among elementals.

But she behaved as if her Virtue wasn’t worth protecting.

“Is there something I should know?”

She didn’t answer the question. “You look like her. Naida.”

“No, I don’t,” I said automatically.

“Maybe not exactly, but there’s something…” She tilted her head. “I went to school with your mother.”

Oh. “Were you a friend?”

Asking felt strange. It was almost impossible to imagine my mother as someone who had friends.

Brigette sobered. “I was probably the person she hated the most.”

The Naida Irisavie I knew hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with. She may’ve been a different person before Dad’s death, but one quality had always remained the same.

My mother’s determination had been singular. When she set her mind on something, she did whatever it took to achieve it.
 

Emotion never affected her judgment. If she hated Brigette, there must’ve been a strong reason for it.

“We were in the same grade and had the same classes. Even the same Virtue.” She placed her soda on the table. “Jealousy is a terrible disease, Kendra. And I was consumed by it.”

“Because she was the Governor’s daughter?”

“Because she was brilliant. Naida’s Virtue was light years ahead of mine. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her and I cared all the time. She could do things I’d never seen before and the things she said…” She paused. “I’m not proud of what I did, Kendra. I didn’t want people to believe her because I didn’t want people to think I was like her.”

Realization dawned. “You told people she was crazy.”

“I wanted to be accepted so very much and I was afraid others would think there was something wrong with me. Although I knew the truth of Naida’s struggle with her magic, I spread rumors about her mental stability.”

I should’ve felt angry. Brigette’s petty jealousy had tarnished my mother’s reputation and permanently turned Haverleau against her ideas.

The harm done to her memory still lingered.
 

But I couldn’t.
 

All I felt was a pang of empathy for the young ondines they once were.

“When she returned from the hospital, pregnant with you, she came to me. Naida said her child was the
sondaleur
and that one day she would need my help. She wanted my promise that I’d give it.”

“What did you say?”

“I laughed at her.” Regret and a sharper disquiet darkened her voice. Shame. “Because what she said frightened me. It wasn’t until she went Rogue with Ansel that I began questioning myself.”

Brigette stood and walked over to her photo with Jeeves.

“Augustin told me about his Virtue. He told me Julian had the same gift and I saw a truth about myself I didn’t like.”

The ondine who’d tormented my mother might possibly provide the prophecy to help me end this war.

Fate was an ironic bitch.

“Do you know how our power works?” Brigette asked.

“A little.” My mother never told me anything and we only learned a few basics about each Virtue in school. “Clairvoyance allows you to see through time and space. The future comes to you in prophecies, visions.”

She nodded. “The difference between prophecies and visions is size and scale. Prophecies are like the vastness of the ocean. Its scope covers what is to come for all our people and can only be written, not spoken.”

“Why?”

“Because prophecies require a tremendous amount of power to encompass such a broad view. It’s more than the power of one Virtue. It requires the magic of every Clairvoyant, every ondine that has come before us. It’s our history and our present linking together to form the landscape of the future. That kind of power can only be contained in the written word.”
 

I remembered the magic saturating the Governing House library. Jeeves once told me words had tremendous power, a reference to the prophecy room hidden on the third floor.

“Visions are narrower. Multiple streams rather than an ocean,” Brigette continued. “Instead of one overarching possibility, they show us many ways in which a choice, a decision, can affect flow or direction. The future remains undefined.”

“Because a vision is simply a possibility.”

“Yes. The real power lies in the choice we make, what path we set into motion.” Her eyes locked on me. “Naida suffered because of my stupidity. But what she did was extraordinary. You deserve to know the truth.”

Why Brigette felt the need to confess to me about what she did suddenly became clear.

“You’re saying my mother knew she was going to die.” My throat tightened. “That she chose to die.”

It was a question that had haunted my dreams for two years and I now had my answer.

That last night she left for patrol in San Aurelio, my mother had known she wouldn’t return. She’d let me storm out of the house, let me leave angry so she could accomplish what she set out to do.

It was a quintessential Naida Irisavie move.

“She chose the path she believed was right, one that included her death.” Her voice was quiet. “It was the path for you to have a future.”
 

Maybe it was so I could get to Haverleau. Maybe because she saw the sequence of events leading to my
 
chevalier induction or my ascension to the Governorship.
 

The pressure in my throat grew. Naida Irisavie’s cold-blooded determination had followed her to death.

“I went to Rhian’s funeral to pay my respects to the mother of the strongest ondine I’d ever met, the kind of ondine I wasn’t able to be,” she said.
 

“Her strength was forged from duty, not choice.” The words were bitter in my mouth. “We work with what we have. She did what was necessary to end this war —”

“What she did was out of a mother’s love. A desire to see her daughter survive.”

“So I could end this war,” I said coolly. “Which is why I’m here asking you to trust me.”

A long pause. “We all choose, Kendra. In the end, we can only hope we’ve chosen wisely. Regret is a horrible monster to flee from.”

Brigette had always felt her magic was inferior to my mother’s. Two Clairvoyants, the same age, but with very different backgrounds. That’s where the resistance was.

“You don’t think you’ll see a prophecy.”

“No,” she said carefully. “And I don’t think relying on one is the best idea for ending the war.”

“But you might.” I leaned in. “And even if you don’t see a prophecy, a vision alone could be helpful.”
 

“Maybe. But they are simply possibilities, not paths set in stone.”

“Nexa is here because she believes you can help.”

“She’s here because she wanted to attend a convention,” Brigette said wryly.

True, but that wasn’t my point. “You can’t help if you’re dead.”

Her mouth tightened.
 

“You can’t help if you’re grieving over your son,” I continued. “You can’t help if you’re bearing the responsibility for innocent lives that might be lost because you refused to evacuate.”

“Kend —“

“Please.” I held her gaze. “For my mother.”

She looked at me, her mouth half open as if afraid of what arguing with me would do to the regret chasing her.

I waited.

She briefly shut her eyes. “All right. Give me a few hours and I can be ready by tonight —“

“You have two hours.”

“Kendra, be reasonable —“

“I saw my best friend crying over her sister’s corpse,” I said flatly. “Parents clinging to their child’s body. Aquidae are not going to wait. There is nothing reasonable about this.”
 

She stared at me for another long moment, then gave a jerky nod and hurried upstairs.
 

After a brief call to Jeeves confirming Brigette’s departure, I left. The sun had drifted further west, finding its way back to the ocean. Humidity clung like a second skin and the afternoon hung heavy and still.
 

Fontesceau’s social scene centered around a one-story mansion of steel and glass simply known as The Well. The hybrid nightclub and cafe perched on a grassy clearing above the strip of white sand.

A large dance floor took up the majority of the space with a bar on one end and a stage for live music on the other. Music boomed through tall speakers set up along the platform.

Since most of the younger elementals were busy on the beach, older ondines and demillirs currently occupied the dance floor. Carrying drinks in their hands, they bobbed and weaved, their inebriated voices as loud and staccato as the music.
 

 
A tall ondine, wearing a white halter top and a breezy floral print skirt, shimmied behind the bar. A frizzy mass of hair surrounded her weathered, deeply tanned face like a copper halo. She wiped down the counter top and arranged a row of clean glasses, her movements crisp and swift.

I sat at the counter. “Charlie.”

“Governor.”

“I thought we were past that.”

She shrugged and grabbed an empty glass. “I prefer addressing folks from Haverleau by their appropriate titles.”

Charlotte “Charlie” Rosamund had led Fontesceau for over thirty years. Soon after our arrival, it became clear she harbored a deep distrust toward the Governing Council.
 

I couldn’t blame her but it made working with her more difficult.

She poured orange juice into a glass, splashed a bit of vodka on top, and slid it over.

“You prefer addressing me formally and yet you run Fontesceau with as few rules as possible.”
 

“Think we’re doing all right,” she said easily.

I took a sip. The sharp alcohol raced down my throat with just the right amount of bite. “Charlie, this is important.”