Crest (Ondine Quartet Book 3) (28 page)

I wasn't sure why he'd asked me here. But it was nice.

The opportunity to sit and talk was something we rarely did. Fear was still there, whispering and reminding me of how much harder it was going to be later.

But with the delicate cream of eclairs filling my mouth and Tristan's calm presence beside me, I didn't care.

"Tell me about this morning," he said quietly.

I glossed over the Áimoni incident. No point in adding to everything he already had on his plate.

"So someone cut the line after you got on it."

I shrugged. "Looks that way."

No one saw anything because it was in the blind spot Blaise mentioned at the beginning of class and the attack's swiftness implied a selkie.

But selkies ran around that area all the time, so it could've been anyone.

"Until we figure out what's going on, it might be better to stop —"

"No. I'm an elite and I'll train with my classmates."

Frustration flickered across his face. "They're not the ones being targeted."

"So what else is new?" I took another gulp of coffee and tried to ignore that niggling voice in the back of my mind.

You're just another ondine he's obligated to protect
.

"I'm more than capable of handling a few dings and dents, Your Highness," I said lightly. "And whoever did it clearly didn't want me training there. If I stop now, it'll just feed into what they were trying to accomplish."

Tristan exhaled. "Maybe. But promise you'll —"

"I'll be careful." I put the cup down and glanced at him. Time to switch subjects. "Your people don't seem too happy that we're here. Your family, either."

"Did you already meet Dax?"

I nodded. "At the welcome reception."

Concern tightened his expression. "I hope they behaved themselves."

I couldn't shake the feeling that what was happening between me and his family was between us.

Tristan didn't need any more tension with his father and I didn't want to stir anything up between him and his brother.

"They were fine," I lied.

"It's been complicated..." He stopped and pointed out the window. "Look."

Sun touched the horizon, a deep, burnished orange painting the canvas of the cloudless sky. Color slowly deepened, burning the water with scarlet and coral.

Now I understood why Tristan built his office and bedroom in precisely this spot.

Vantage point. The floor of the room perfectly aligned with the horizon in the distance.

It was as if the sun sank at our feet.

I cleared my throat. "It's beautiful."

"Eric showed me this spot when we were children," he murmured. "He'd figured out how to lower himself from the third floor. He was always doing things like that. Finding special places a lot of people would overlook."

"Why did he show it to you?"

"Part of the training for gardinels involves getting past the initial shock of attacking someone," he said.

The process of desensitization. Punching someone wasn't as easy as people thought.

"I was six years old on the first day of class. The instructor paired me up with Emile, one of my closest friends. I couldn't believe I'd been paired with him. I didn't want to hit my friend for no reason at all."

"Did you do it?"

"Not exactly. The objective was to win. Emile charged. He was the type who lunged first, asked questions later." Tristan shrugged, mouth curving into a small smile. "I stuck my arm out at the last second. He flipped over it and I pinned him down."

I laughed. "And you won."

 
"Yes, but my instructor was furious."

"Let me guess." I remembered the thin, lethal man who'd led the gardinel trainees. "Myrddin."

 
He nodded. "He said I missed the point of the class. He pulled Emile up, held him in front of me, and instructed me to punch his face. Class wouldn't end until I did so."

"What did you do?"

He shrugged. "I had no choice. I did it. Afterwards, my father sent me straight to my room. He was furious and embarrassed that my first offensive strike in training took place with my instructor holding my opponent like a punching bag."

He sat behind his desk. "I felt I'd let everyone down and that I'd never become a gardinel. Eric came to my room and brought me to this spot. He told me I should always watch the sunset because it meant I'd survived another day. No matter what happened, no matter how awful father, training, war, or life got, I could always trust the sun to rise and set."

The reassurance that life continued.

He'd needed to look at it today and had shared it with me.

A silence as delicate as the ending day hung between us.

"Did Emile ever tell you how it made him feel?" I kept my eyes on the horizon. It was easier to speak if I didn't look at him. "After you hit him in class?"

"He said he was proud because the first hit he ever took was from a Belicoux." A long pause. "He died ten years ago on assignment."

I remembered the first time my punch made contact with another person. How I'd curled into a ball afterwards and cried until no more tears could come.

"The first person I hit was my mother." My throat felt strange, unused to sharing my past. "She had me practice on her. Insisted I couldn't continue in human martial arts classes until I'd learned to hit her face as hard as possible."

With each punch, each kick it grew easier.

But you never forgot that first time your knuckles made direct contact with skin, how much your hand hurt.

"It's to remember the cost of that first hit," he said softly.

"I know."

And then I made the mistake of looking at him.

He leaned back in his chair, slightly open shirt revealing the bronzed skin of his throat and the glint of his
pedaillon
.

I wanted him to tell me more. About his brother, about what he was like as a child.

I wanted to touch and kiss him again and not stop.

All those hungers were dangerous because there was the possibility I wouldn't be able to walk away.

"You look good," I blurted out.

His brow furrowed. "Thank you."

"I just meant you look relaxed. Happier." Why did saying that make my chest hurt? "Must be nice being home again."

When Tristan took walks through the Royal Gardens and out to the rough beauty of the cove, I wondered if he instinctively searched for places that reminded him of this kingdom.

"Home is..." He stopped. "Haverleau has become more of a home for me over the years."

That blank look in his eyes again as if something had closed down.

Awkward silence descended until I couldn't take it any more.

I stood. "I should go."

"I'll walk with you. I need to speak with Augustin."

An odd tension stretched between us. I had the distinct feeling he wanted to say something, but I didn't know what.

An electric buzz of excitement hit us before I could ask. More gardinels than usual hurried along the second floor corridor.

"What happened?" Tristan asked a passing palace worker.

"There was an accident, Your Highness," she replied. "A chandelier fell in Yahaira Ardaineu's room."

Sian's mother.

"Is she okay?" Tristan was already moving. I was right behind him.

"Yes. The chandelier didn't fall directly on her, but some of the shards left cuts. She's in the infirmary."

He glanced at me. Maybe the traitor had finally screwed up.

"Back again, are we?" Daniel said in a jovial voice. "Your Highness, we must work on keeping the
sondaleur
out of this infirmary."

"Agreed," Tristan said dryly. "How is Yahaira?"

Daniel removed his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them. "She's fine. A few cuts and bruises but it could've been a lot worse. Her body has already healed on its own. She's awake if you'd like to speak to her."

We walked in to find an older selkie lying on the bed, her skin pale and eyes wide. Rich, dark hair spread on the pillow, the crisp white sheets accentuating her delicate form.

"Tristan." A smooth, melodious voice. It reminded me of a southern grandmother, sweet and loving. "I hope everyone didn't cause a big fuss. It was just a little accident."

He leaned in and wrapped her in a gentle hug. "You want to tell me what happened?"

She waved her hand around. "Oh, it was probably just coming loose or something. I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Woke up at my usual time and cooked up a few dishes to take to Ewan and Garreth."

Tristan smiled. "I'm sure they'd love that."

"When I walked across the living room there was a snap. I ran toward the door when that blasted thing crashed and caught me." Curious eyes drifted to me. "We're being rude, Tristan. Please introduce me to this lovely ondine."

"Yahaira, this is Kendra Irisavie."

"Of course." Warm smile flowed through me like honey. "It's very nice to meet you, dear."

"Same here," I murmured. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary before this happened? Maybe something was out of place or you felt as though someone had been in your room?"

"Why would someone be in my room?"

"We just want to check all possibilities," Tristan reassured her.

Horror flashed through her eyes. "Do you think this has something to do with those murders we've been hearing about? Those poor ondines —"

"Mother!"

A trace of ginger blossoms brushed through the air. Sian hurried over, face white with worry.

"Are you all right?"

Yahaira chuckled. "I'm sorry you had such a scare dear, but I'm perfectly fine. I don't need to stay here any longer."

"Oh no, you don't." Sian placed hands on her hips and spoke firmly. "You're staying until I make sure you're okay with my own eyes. And no more visitors." She turned her stern gaze to us. "My mother needs her rest."

Tristan nodded. "We were just leaving."

Yahaira winked at me from the bed and I couldn't help smiling.

"Be sure to stop by for a meal, okay?" she mock whispered.

I nodded. Sian fretted about her like a worried butterfly.

We exited the infirmary and headed for the west wing.

"What do you think?" he murmured.

I shook my head. "It could be an accident. She didn't sense anything unusual —"

"Your Highness!"

Urian ran toward us, his expression severe. "We discovered this in Yahaira's room."

The iris appeared tiny and fragile in his selkie hands.

But the smear of black blood seemed huge, an ominous threat growing with every passing day.

THE FLOATPLANE DRONED.

MATT'S FEET worked the rudder pedals, control stick shifting in his capable hands.

"I was surprised you asked for transport since you just arrived two days ago." His warm voice came over our headsets. "Running already?"

"Too much selkie for me," Julian muttered.

Ian's head bobbed against my shoulder. He'd fallen asleep the moment the plane took off.

We glided east and Matt eased back on the stick. "Yeah, guess they're not the most friendly people in the world."

I leaned forward. "Did your family always work with them?"

"It's all I know. Dad's father did it before him, too. Before we had planes, selkies swam right up to my ancestors' home on the water and asked for help."

"You're human. You can live among your own people. Why would you want to be at the beck and call of shapeshifters?"

Matt frowned and I wanted to smack Julian. "Guess we don't think of it that way. We know how important the war is. Gotta admit, the whole demon thing freaks me out."

"Have you ever come across an Aquidae?" I asked.

He shook his head. "We're too close to the kingdom for something like that. But it's not just the war. Selkies always made sure we were financially okay. If we ever need help on our end, we know they'll be there for us. Mom died from cancer a few years back." He paused. "She flew down to Anchorage and King Belicoux footed the entire cost of treatment."

That surprised me. Ancelin had referred to Tristan's kindness as a flaw.

Matt slowly pushed the stick and my stomach lurched as the plane dipped into descent.

After we landed, we exchanged quick hellos with Jesse and Lucas before transferring to a waiting SUV.

An hour of figuring out backroads and Ian's complicated mapping system finally led to another half-hour on a lonely gravel road winding through the middle of nowhere.

Ian stared at his GPS device.

"Here," he suddenly said. "Here. Stop!"

Julian braked hard. Nothing but dense woods and shrubbery for miles around.

Ian got out of the car and moved aside piles of branches and brush until a barely passable dirt road emerged.

He climbed back into the car. "Ray's careful about visitors."

"I can see that." Julian carefully navigated the car down the bumpy trail.

A thin trail of grey smoke became visible through the trees ahead. It came from a small pipe protruding from a dark green and brown structure that seamlessly blended with its environment.

Whoever built it had security in mind.

Steel bolts and bars lined every window and door. I'd once seen a similar setup at an illegal gambling club in LA.

Once Ray initiated a lockdown process, a metal plate would slam over every entry point. You'd need an explosive to break through.

Given the surrounding terrain, I suspected he also had several escape routes in place. Maybe even something underground.

Julian parked a few feet from the front steps and turned off the engine.

Ian took a deep breath. "Okay. Ground rules before we head in. Ray's sensitive, so let me do most of the talking."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because when you concentrate you look like you're calculating all the ways you can slice someone before they hit the ground," he said dryly. "And Julian looks like he'd rather be on a chaise lounge at the Playboy Mansion."

Julian and I looked at each other. Maybe he had a point.

"And no sudden moves. Ray's cameras have probably been tracking us for several miles. He's suspicious so whatever you do, don't use magic." Ian paused. "That goes for both of you."