Whirl (Ondine Quartet Book 1) (21 page)

Nexa said the
sondaleur
prophecy had
been made eighteen years ago. I thumbed through the pages until I
found the year I was searching for. Only one entry existed.

This had to be it.

The prophecy was long, taking up the full
page and written in an ornate calligraphic script that I didn't
have time to examine. I was down to my last few minutes.

I unzipped my wristlet and took out my cell.
With the phone's camera, I snapped several high-resolution photos.
Satisfied, I hurriedly returned the book back to its place and left
the Prophecy Room, securely locking it behind me.

Shit, how much time did I have left? My heart
pistoned and nervous adrenaline ricocheted through me.

Think, Kendra.

The way into the room was done through a
book. The way to close it would likely be the same.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I scanned the
history bookcase again.

Come on, come on
.

Second row from the bottom. Black book with
the title
, The History of Ondine Prophecies, Book 2
.

I pulled it slightly off the shelf and the
bookcase shifted back to its original position.

I breathed out a shaky sigh. That was
close.

"Why are you always in places you're not
supposed to go?" a voice whispered in my ear.

I spun, instinctively hammering my fist
toward the speaker. Warm, gentle fingers gripped my wrist before I
could make contact.

"Does anyone tell you the whole silent
gardinel thing is creepy?" He'd gotten the jump on me. Again.

Tristan's mouth quirked slightly as he let go
of my wrist. "Odd question coming from someone who spends most of
her time sneaking around."

I glared at him. I resented the reference to
my super ninja moves as "sneaking around." "Displaying superior
stealth" or "using viper-like reflexes" would have been much
better.

He leaned against the wall, moving with
casual grace. Amusement softened his beautiful features. His black
jacket accentuated the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders.
Unlike the other men I'd seen tonight, he didn't wear a formal bow
tie. His white dress shirt was slightly open at the top, exposing
the chain of his
pedaillon
and highlighting the golden skin
of his neck.

My heart beat a little faster and this time
it wasn't because I was scared of getting caught.

"Did you follow me from the ballroom?" I
didn't want Jeeves to get in trouble for helping me out.

He shook his head. "I was watching you."

I refused to get excited.
He's just doing
his job
.

"But when I couldn't find you after the
security change, I had a feeling I might find you where you weren't
supposed to be." His lips curled. "Imagine that. I don't suppose
you had anything to do with the sudden shift in security protocol
for this wing of the House?"

I headed for the stairs with as much dignity
as I could. "Of course not."

He stayed right behind me. "And I don't
suppose you'd care to explain why you were in the library in the
first place."

"I was interested in reading some books, Your
Highness," I replied innocently.

He swore under his breath.

We made our way back to the ballroom. Now
that the guests had been shepherded into the west wing, the room
was much more crowded. The noise of people dancing, eating, and
talking had risen a few decibels.

Tristan headed for an open space on the side
wall, joining the other gardinels and chevaliers.

"I knew that dress would look great on you,"
a voice suddenly said.

Marcella stood near me, a soft smile on her
face. She looked absolutely beautiful. A white silk and crinoline
gown draped over her body, showing off her gleaming hair and creamy
skin.

"You do have style," I admitted.

"I try."

"Where's Gabe?"

"Oh, here's around here somewhere." She
grinned. "Probably hiding out. He hates these things."

"I don't blame him," I muttered.

"Have you seen the Governor? She was looking
for you."

"Yeah, well. I didn't plan on spending
quality time with her tonight."

Marcella frowned and stepped closer.
"Remember our conversation." Her voice was low. "If you want to
accomplish what we talked about, you need to play it right."

"I can't," I said, exasperated. "Rhian and I
are like oil and water and I doubt I'll be able to control what
comes out of my mouth when I'm talking to some snobby Redavi."

"So don't say anything." Her eyes flitted
around the ballroom. "Keep a polite smile on your face and nod
occasionally as though you're actually listening."

Chloe had said almost the exact same thing
before my first dinner at the Governing House.

"This is politics, Kendra. I told you it
wasn't going to be pleasant. You have to trust me on this."

She gave me one last sidelong glance before
moving away to speak to another guest. Despite my overwhelming
reluctance, I knew Marcella was right. She was trying to help,
reminding me to focus on the bigger goal we needed to accomplish.
It occurred to me it was very similar to something my mother would
have said.

I walked over to Tristan. Standing motionless
against the wall, he watched me approach and I felt a light flutter
in my stomach.

Damn, I had to stop feeling this way around
him.

"I swear you don't know how to have any fun
at all," I teased.

"This is not exactly my idea of it," he said
wryly.

I gestured toward the ballroom. "But you're
royal. It's your kind of party. You should be relaxed, letting
everyone suck up to you."

He laughed and my chest tightened. God, I
loved that sound.

"Kendra, not everything about being royal is
enjoyable."

"So what would you consider fun?" I asked,
curious.

Tristan was obviously well-liked and
respected. But I'd never seen him when he wasn't in either
instructor, gardinel, or prince mode. I got the feeling he wasn't
very social and spent a lot of time alone.

His eyes turned thoughtful. "Relaxing in a
quiet room with a nice glass of scotch, listening to Bach."

I rolled my eyes. "Are you serious,
grandpa?"

He hid a smile.

"Well, you should at least pretend to enjoy
yourself tonight. I know I am, especially after the effort I put
into getting ready," I grumbled. Stepping back from him, I turned
in a circle with my arms extended. "Do you like my dress?"

He stared at me and for a moment I felt that
warmth pulse between us again. The way it had at the club. He
looked away, his face again an unreadable mask. When he spoke, I
could barely hear his answer amid the music, conversations, and
clinking glasses of the room.

"Yes."

My heart gave an involuntary leap and that
feeling in my chest tightened even more.

"
Sondaleur
. I've been looking all over
for you."

Rhian joined us, her beige ball gown
shimmering in the light. Large diamond jewelry glittered coldly
against her skin, complimenting the icy aloofness of her
expression.

"I was just speaking with Tristan," I
said.

"
Prince Belicoux
," she corrected me in
a stern tone, "has more important things to do than speak to you
tonight. I need you to come with me. There are people I must
introduce you to."

She immediately walked away, assuming that I
would follow. I gave Tristan a desperate look and he shrugged.
Tossing my head, I stalked off after Rhian. He could at least have
helped me out a little.

Rhian hustled me around the room, introducing
me to several Redavi families. She always presented me as the
sondaleur
, not her granddaughter. Each time she did it, I
gritted my teeth. Meanwhile, the Redavi looked at me like I was an
interesting bug to be squashed.

I plastered a polite smile on my face and
didn't pay attention to a single word being said. I might have
overdone it a bit because some of them looked at me like I wasn't
all there. After a few minutes, Rhian trusted me to be on my own
and left me with a group of particularly snotty demillirs. When one
of them launched into a long, boring spiel about his recent
vacation in Mexico, I managed to make my excuses and slipped
away.

I kept moving, shielding myself behind large
groups of people. At one point, I caught a glimpse of Lydia and
Henry Rossay and promptly wheeled in the opposite direction, hoping
they hadn't noticed me. Edging towards the ballroom entrance, I
tried to blend in and be as inconspicuous as possible.

"Kendra. How nice to see you again."

I froze, then relaxed slightly when I saw who
it was. Oliver Moreaux beamed with a kind smile that reminded me of
Chloe.

"Marquis Moreaux. It's nice to see you, too,"
I murmured and meant it.

He grinned. "Just call me Oliver. I always
think someone's talking about Miriam's father when I hear that
title."

"Are you leaving?"

He nodded, his smile fading. "Miriam…well,
she wasn't feeling well tonight. I put in my face time here, but
I'd like to get home and be with her."

"How is she doing?"

His face tightened. "She's exhausted. She has
treatment three times a week at Lyondale Hospital and the
medication wears her out."

Sympathy rushed through me when I saw the
worry in his eyes. I liked Chloe's parents. After all the assholes
I'd met, it didn't seem fair she should suffer.

"Miriam and I grew up with your parents," he
continued, his voice softening. "Ansel was a great friend. Even
after all these years, I still miss him."

The only memories I had of my father were the
faint recollection of warm hands, a rich baritone voice, and the
smell of woodsy aftershave. A few photographs reminded me of what
he'd looked like.

Oliver gently patted my arm. It was such a
simple, affectionate gesture that I felt an unexpected lump in my
throat.

"Thanks, Marqui —er, Oliver."

He nodded and we made our goodbyes. Somber, I
wandered into the crowd near the center of the ballroom. My parents
had probably attended this event every year. Had the Head Chevalier
and Governor's daughter smiled and flirted with each other? Did
they hide on the sides like the other chevaliers and gardinels or
did they socialize with a polite smile, playing the game of Redavi
politics?

A thundering crash suddenly reverberated
through the room and the force of it was like the crack of an
earthquake. Sharp screams of terror punctuated the air. A thick,
choking panic saturated the atmosphere and people around me began
pushing.

Time slowed down.

My movements turned sluggish as I tried to
make sense of what was happening.

And that's when I saw it.

The very thing that was never supposed to
happen in Haverleau.

The impossible.

Two of the enormous windows overlooking the
royal gardens had shattered and jagged shards of glass flew through
the air like hundreds of tiny, deadly weapons. Dozens of Aquidae
streamed through the opening, moving inhumanly fast and taking out
anyone in their paths. As people fell before the onslaught, the
screams built to a high-pitched roar, grating painfully against my
ears.

Most of the Aquidae jumped straight into the
violent chaos, but several of them climbed onto tables and chairs,
using the height to search the room.

What are they doing?

I knew the moment their eyes lasered on to
me. They weren't searching for something; rather, someone.

Me.

SIXTEEN

Gardinels and chevaliers leaped into action.
Redavi trampled each other in an attempt to flee, but the ballroom
was stuffed with too many people. Guests surged toward the one exit
in a blind panic and ended up in a tight bottleneck, trapping most
of them inside. The gardinels and chevaliers had already formed a
loose perimeter, forcing the Aquidae against the walls and away
from the crowd.

I remained in the middle of the ballroom,
keeping my distance from the crowd. If they were coming for me, I
wouldn't put other lives at risk.

All my senses snapped to attention. Hiking up
my dress, I yanked my dagger out of its ankle sheath. My shoulders
dropped and I held the blade in front of me, arms in
kamae
guard position. My heart hammered.

Everything about it was wrong. The Aquidae
were dressed in black turtlenecks that covered the Origin, making
it more difficult for the gardinels and chevaliers to stake them
accurately. And there were too many of them to count. Aquidae were
known for working in small independent cells of five to eight
members. I didn't think it was possible for there to be such a
coordinated attack with this many of them.

An Aquidae broke through the perimeter and
lunged for me. Whirling to the side, I dodged, slipping out of his
grasp. I threw my left arm at his face, while I slashed with my
right. My blade made contact, leaving a shallow slice over his left
rib cage. I knew it was a lucky shot.

He snarled and his fist flew at me in a blur.
This was going to hurt. I blocked him with my forearm, and the
force of his punch smashed directly into it. The impact shot spikes
of pain through me, rattling deep in my bones. Gritting my teeth, I
lashed out with my leg in a low sweep kick that caught his left
ankle.

I staggered. It was like slamming my foot
into a steel pole and had no effect on him.

Keep moving. Faster.

Without losing momentum, I slammed my fist
forward. He avoided the brunt of my blow, but I clipped the edge of
his jaw. Spinning the other direction, I transferred my blade to my
left hand and raised it, hoping to stab him through the back. He
easily slid out of striking distance, and his hand dug into my left
shoulder with an iron grip. With one shove, he sent me flying
through the air and my back slammed painfully against the
floor.