Chapter 12 #2
She hadn’t expected to be backed into a corner before the competition even started.
“Many across the river kill for a loaf of bread,” she said, “and maybe I didn’t ask for this.”
She regretted the words immediately.
Berina scoffed, face twisted in disgust. “What a waste.”
Hector pressed a hand on Elara’s shoulder. “Forgive Chef Berina. I think it’s fair to say she’s our most ambitious competitor this year.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Berina argued.
“No one’s saying it is.”
Berina considered him as if she might fight back, but she decided against it, instead offering a curt, respectful nod to Hector before spinning on her heel. Three other chefs followed after her.
Elara exhaled. “What the hell was that?”
Hector rubbed his smooth chin. “Berina has had to fight more than most. I think you know this already, but Anespérer is slow to adapt to new cultures. For example, Vasomarian cuisine can now be found only because a few chefs crawled out of their own egos to try paella and realized the wonder of flavors that exist beyond our shallow city. Now imagine someone with roots from Taravol trying to do the same.”
Elara had never tasted either of the cuisines, but she knew it had taken a while for the city to accept the bold flavors and spices of Vasomar. She’d never heard of a place serving Taravol’s food.
“Berina pushed for years to make Souverain Lisette Plouffe see the value of her ingredients and flavors.” Hector smiled at the woman now standing apart from the others, fingers twiddling anxiously.
“She could do that as Souverain,” Elara said.
“And open up trade with Taravol, which Anespérer has sorely neglected.”
Elara closed her eyes. “And I’m the ass who said free bread.”
Hector patted her shoulder again. “People wouldn’t mind that decree either. Hector Vidal.”
Elara stared at his extended hand before taking it, cursing her sweaty palms.
“I know. I stole a magied poster advertising your newest restaurant when I was a kid.”
He laughed, warm and rich. “I’m honored. Us old guard don’t get much respect these days.”
“Nonsense,” a lilting voice called out from the refreshments table. “You’re the fan favorite this year, I think.”
“Ah. Chef Fiona. Another rising star in Arts Culinaires.”
Fiona was young, maybe a few years older than Chantal, but she carried herself with the poise of royalty. Her red hair was braided into a crown, and her pale skin would easily burn if today’s competition was outdoors as the current setup suggested.
“Hector,” she sang. “You’re making me blush.”
There was a familiarity between them that made Elara want to step away. It was a reminder of how far out of her depth she was, and it made her think of the mark upon her chest, of Fernand and the people she’d known back in étoiles.
“Don’t you worry about Berina,” Fiona said. “She’s just grumpy she had to step away from her restaurant for this. She’s such a workaholic.” She set her champagne glass down on the table. “Now. You must tell me how you produced that magie at the Exposé.”
Elara opened her mouth. It was a question Chantal had prepared her for, but the chaos of the conversation and the overwhelming anxiety had snatched the answer away.
In search of something to ground her, a reassurance of any kind, she found Nikolas standing amid the other patrons, looking just as awkwardly on the outside as her.
This is a competition, he would remind her, and you need every edge you can get.
Maybe the edge she needed was the truth. Chantal had said as much.
“Their transformations were real,” she replied.
“And it was based on who they looked at, yes? How did you manage that? Transforming the body is extremely dangerous and painful.”
“Not if you use umber rum and cherry pits.”
They both thought for a moment before Hector snapped his fingers.
“The rum amplifies energy,” he said, “which gives your magie the boost to work quickly, and the cyanide in the pits…”
“Dulls the pain,” Fiona cried. “Genius!”
“It also shortens the duration.” Elara shrugged. “There has to be a way to increase the efficacy.”
“Astonishing,” Hector said, and it felt like he meant it.
“Well!” Fiona clapped her hands in delight. “You’ve certainly got the skill to be here. Let’s catch you up.”
According to Fiona, Directeur Charles Renard was only selected because he was Souverain Lisette Plouffe’s personal chef and to not accept him would’ve been a slight.
However, Hector suggested Professionnelle Manon Gavreau actually had remarkable skill with fish and sharp flavors, though she didn’t have a clue when it came to baking.
They both agreed that Aspirant Lyana Bellamy was like Elouise, a wild card.
Except they all knew she’d been chosen because of her connection with a powerful Directeur uncle in Arts Manufacturiers.
Elara’s mood darkened. “Was everyone chosen because they had a connection?”
“Unfortunately,” Hector said with a sigh, “it doesn’t hurt.”
The Counseil care about a Favored’s magie and skill with a whisk far less than what they can offer them, Nik had said that first day.
Elara turned to Fiona. “And you?”
“Came from Cael a year ago and earned an apprenticeship with Directeur Hugo Pascal.”
“Of Boulangerie Pascal?” Elara had to stifle a laugh.
“That’s the one.” Fiona beamed, and Elara didn’t have the heart to shatter her pride.
“And you’re from Cael?” she asked. “The main continent?”
For years, Anespérer had struggled to build relationships with the major power across the sea. Cael had their own system for training magied artists, and Anespérer refused to open trade or negotiations with them let alone allow their artisans to apprentice in a Société.
Fiona sighed. “To be honest, I was summoned by Anespérer to try and mend the bond between our countries. Seems your city is running out of farmland, and we have plenty of it.”
“I see.” More power grabs.
“I hate politics,” Fiona lamented. “I’d just rather bake all day, you know?”
Elara found herself giving her first genuine smile in days. “That’s the most sensible thing anyone’s said to me in weeks.”
“Then we should have drinks after this round.” Fiona winked. “To celebrate our successes and get to know each other more.”
Elara’s smile dropped. What the hell could she say to Fiona that would make any sense? Berina was fighting for her country, Fiona was opening trade negotiations, and Elara? Elara wanted free bread. A worthy cause, but not the one she was currently chasing. Which made her the biggest fraud here.
Thankfully Souverain Faucher set her free with a grand entrance from the garden gates.