“To take a walk.” Given that she didn’t even bother turning her head to say it, she didn’t know if they heard. But no one chased after her.
Good. As soon as she’d left the circle of lamplight, she increased her pace, her feet finding the flagstone path she’d been walking daily. Around the side of the house, through the overgrown garden, across the unkempt lawn until the grass turned altogether wild and the horizon was nothing but star-studded sky sinking into black water.
The crash of the ocean insulated her. She slid to a seat on the damp earth, wrapped her arms around her legs, and let her forehead rest on her arms. Here, her own sobs were just one note in nature’s symphony, barely audible above the wind and waves. Here, no one but the stars could see her break.
She couldn’t go back. Not after the sobs finally subsided, not when her legs went numb, not when exhaustion weighed her down. Back meant questions she couldn’t answer and responsibilities she didn’t know how to shoulder and a future she didn’t trust to be worth fighting for.
How could he do this to her? She’dtoldhim, told him it wouldn’t end well. Told him, time and again, she wasn’t the leader Alliance needed. He was the visionary, the one with experience and connections, the one everyone trusted.
What was she? A wife who’d disappointed her husband so badly he’d left her. A mother who hadn’t seen her children in months. A musician who’d abandoned her dream.
She must have dozed off, because when pain in her back and hip convinced her to move, she realized she’d slumped to a fetal position on the ground and the sky to her left was lightening with morning.
And a blanket covered her. How...? She looked around, startling a bit when she saw Marcel sitting a few feet away, face turned toward the east and the coming sunrise. The wind off the Med wove its fingers through his hair, and the soft light of predawn gentled the circles under his eyes.
“Why aren’t you in the house, sleeping?” Her voice cracked, chafed. “You have things to do today.”
He blinked but kept his gaze on the vista. “Mine aren’t the things anyone is worried about. I couldn’t let you wrestle with this alone, even though Vivi said you’d want to.”
Dear Vivi, who’d always understood what she wanted. And dear Marcel, for somehow knowing what she needed despite not wanting it. She pulled the blanket around her and repositioned herself so she was beside him, facing the same direction. “I can’t just become Navarre.”
“Of course not.” He hooked his arms over his raised knees.“You’re exactly who you need to be. All you need to do is go into the house. Sit down and eat some breakfast. And keep doing what you always do.”
“You make it sound easy.”
He laughed, low but light. “Easy? Zelie, no one but you would ever call any of that easy.” He turned to her, the light going pink as it washed over him. “No one’s ever ready for a battlefield promotion. But you’ve gotten one, soldier. And you’ll step up and do what needs done because that’s who you are.”
Her eyes stung, though she’d have thought she’d run her well of tears dry last night. Swiping at her cheeks, she tried for a laugh of her own, though it sounded more like a croak. “Some soldier—soldiers don’t cry.”
Marcel leaned closer until his shoulder bumped hers. “Yes, they do. But they keep fighting anyway.”
“And that’s what I have to do.” One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. One encryption, one mission, one report. So why did it feel impossible? “What if I don’t want to?”
He was quiet for a minute, lips pursed in thought. “A legitimate question. No one is forcing you. So let’s say you decide to quit. Who would you put in charge? Henri, maybe? He seemed like a fine enough chap. You’d have to teach someone else, anyway, to do what you’ve been doing. And then... what would you do? Go to Cannes?”
Henri was certainly a “fine enough chap”... a fine enough lieutenant. But he’d be the first to admit he wasn’t good at being the one moving all the pieces. He did best with a set mission and someone to keep him in check.
Even if she found someone else, it would take months to train them on all the details she alone handled.
And then, her. Whatwouldshe do if not this? She’d enjoy the time with Blaise and Elise, yes, and her mother, but how longwould it take for her to get antsy, need to do something else, something more? How could she possibly see all that needed done and not have a part in doing it?
She sighed. “You’re right. This is my part to play.”
Marcel pushed to his feet and offered her a hand. “You may be our maestro, Zelie—but you’re not alone. Don’t forget that.”
She put her fingers against his palm and let him pull her to her feet. They turned together away from the shore, back toward the villa. “I know.”
Her tone must not have been convincing, because he sent her a frown. “Do you?” When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “I’ll add that to my prayers for you.”
“You pray for me?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She didn’t honestly know many people who prayed, much less for her. Maman, the children. Who else? Anyone? Perhaps Marguerite was better at the lessons they’d learned under the nuns than Zelie was.
“Every day.” He said it so simply. Easily. As if faith were no great thing, no oddity.
It felt a bit like the blanket she held tight as they walked.
Birds began to wake and sing and flit, and the light was golden by the time they reached the house. She slipped off to her room to tidy up, change her clothes, and redo her hair. When she stepped into the breakfast room twenty minutes later, she’d mostly worked the kink out of her back... and had a piece of paper in hand.
Lucien sat in his usual spot, breakfast in front of him. Vivi shoved a plate of food at Zelie the moment she stepped inside, and she took it with a smile.
