Chapter 14
NIK
The ride back to his apartment took hours, days, centuries. Time was meaningless the longer he had to suffer being in Elouise’s—Elara’s—presence. Elara Rousseau. A rebel’s daughter.
Today could not have gone worse.
First place meant every eye would be fixed on her. First place meant people digging for juicy gossip. First place meant powerful, and his father had no use for someone like that.
Then there was the issue of Gaetan. Nik knew he shouldn’t have chosen him, but he’d done so as a way to ensure she stuck to the plan.
And, if he was being honest with himself, a way to push her farther from the old life that had scorned her and closer to him.
A rash miscalculation that had backfired horrendously.
In attempting to control her, he’d made it that much easier for people to discover who she really was.
If that happened, Nik’s hopes for the future would be destroyed. And his father wouldn’t just eliminate Elara from the contest. He’d eliminate her entirely.
Despite everything, he couldn’t stop staring at the rag on Elara’s arm. She kept fiddling with it and cursing in pain, but she never asked for help. It would only take a bit of ointment and a fresh bandage to fix, but she wouldn’t speak to him let alone look at him.
Only hours ago, she’d commanded the audience’s attention without even knowing it. She’d produced the most powerful magie without blinking, and stood confidently before the Counseil even when she’d been shoved onto the defensive.
Now she was a wilting flower.
Where were her easy smiles?
As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, she leapt out and scampered to the door.
Chantal was there to sweep her into a dramatic hug and escort her down the hall, leaving Nikolas abandoned in his own damn foyer.
If he were more like his father, he’d put them all in their place. But he wasn’t his father. He was a coward.
“You were brilliant!”
“Brilliantly reckless,” Blai muttered from somewhere in the kitchen.
Nik crept closer to listen.
“I don’t even know what happened,” Elara said.
“You ruined our plan, that’s what happened!” A cork popped as Blai grumbled. “What were you thinking?”
Two items clunked to the ground followed by a grateful moan from Elara. “What was I supposed to do? Fight someone else for other ingredients?”
“Yes,” Blai muttered. “That oaf Nik found could’ve tried harder.”
“That oaf just helped me win. Be nice.”
Nik peeked around the doorway to find Chantal doling out slices of cake. Elara, who’d kicked off her shoes, curled and uncurled her toes in a chair by the window.
“What you did was beautiful, magnificent, and wonderful!” Chantal kissed the crown of her head. Another moment of affection Elara let in so easily.
She took a large bite. “I don’t understand. What is scorpion root anyway?”
Nik’s jaw hit the floor.
The girl had no idea.
A new feeling—that was definitely not envy—reared its head.
“Scorpion root is a vile abomination.” Chantal started the kettle.
“Directors made us chew it all the time back at the opera. It increases magie, but they could only make the side effect tolerable if they dried it out.” She shuddered.
“It was tough as leather and made your gums and cheeks raw. And for what? An extra turn of a pirouette?”
Elara grimaced. “That’s awful.”
“What’s awful is that you stood out.” Blai pinched her ear. “Somehow, you prepared it in a way that made the most powerful person in Arts Spectacle even more powerful.”
“Shouldn’t that make me look better?”
Nik snorted, then withdrew.
Too late. Chantal had caught him lingering in the doorway. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but she didn’t give his position away.
He was done listening anyway.
Upstairs, he slammed his office door and paced. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the shaking of his hands, the pounding of his heart, and the wretched twisting of … something in his veins. It had started the moment he’d seen her embrace Gaetan.
No. Before.
When he saw the look of humiliation on her face when she realized Fiona was just as wretched as the rest of them. She’d looked so helpless, and that didn’t suit her at all.
It had taken Nik years to learn how cruel people could be in the cushier quarters. At least disagreements in the Restes could be settled with a quick fist to the nose and a bottle of liquor over cards. Here? People found your softest places, and they ripped them to shreds.
That stubbornness and pride comes from a place of wanting to do great things, to uphold a legacy that died a long time ago.
Gaetan wasn’t lying about that at least. Elara was trying to leave her past behind, which was exactly why Nik had invited him to be her mentor. He’d wanted to torture her with a face she was supposed to be running from, to see her run further away and into Nik’s … plans.
Gaetan was someone she should scorn, yet she’d called out for him during the battle and sought comfort in his arms after. And she smiled so damn freely for him.
Nik slammed his fist on the desk.
Her smiles didn’t matter.
Elara had lied to him. But if he thought about it, he understood why. If she could be believed, she was escaping her past and trying to build some new future.
Had their roles been reversed, Nik wouldn’t have told anyone his name either.
The real problem was Lafontaine. He’d hated the display. Nik hadn’t spoken with him yet, but he didn’t need to. After the ceremony, he’d refused to meet Nik’s gaze. They’d only awarded her first place because they couldn’t give it to anyone else without causing a riot. She was powerful.
More powerful than any Reste should be.
Lafontaine would call upon him soon, and it would be hell.
“Nik?”
Chantal stood in his doorway.
“I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled.
“Because whatever scheme you had with Gaetan didn’t work out?”
His head snapped up. “You’re too perceptive for your own good.”
“And you’re too obvious. You were positively giddy when she saw him.” She frowned. “She knows him. Which means you figured out who she is.”
He collapsed into his chair with a huffed laugh. “How did you figure all that out?”
“I’ve known you too long. You’re only excited when you have a scheme.” She stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind her before sitting in the chair by his desk. “Which is why I think you need to tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“Everything. Elouise, or whatever her name is, is smart, and she’ll figure it all out. You. Lafontaine. The plans for Grand Souverain.”
“No. She’s difficult enough to handle already. Can you imagine if she knew what my father really had in mind for her?”
Chantal’s face hardened. “Which is why Lafontaine keeps secrets from you. We both know it.”
“I will earn those secrets,” he said darkly.
“When will Elouise earn yours?”
“When I think she’s ready!”
Chantal sat back for a moment, appraising him. “You’re not the only one whose future rides on this plan, Nik. Don’t screw it up for all of us.”
Then she left, shutting the door with a quiet shick.
The crawling beneath his skin began again—a wild animal, scratching to get out. It wouldn’t stop until he let it free.
His eyes landed on his top desk drawer.
One night, he told himself, one night wouldn’t hurt.
He sat down and took out a book he’d sworn he’d never touch again.
It was faded, the binding beginning to break, and the edges of the paper were soft with use.
He flipped it open and took in his sketches, the earliest of which were copies of designs of buildings he’d admired when he first moved in.
The later drawings were originals, with various subjects that had caught his attention: flowers, animals, portraits.
Distractions cause mistakes, Lafontaine had lectured him more than once. Nik still felt phantom cramps from the first time Lafontaine made him copy the medical primer textbook—a favored punishment. Mistakes cannot be permitted for people like us. We must prove we’re more.
Thanks to those lessons, Nik viewed sketching as a medical treatment. It was no different than lancing a wound to release the pressure and stave off infection.
He flipped to a blank page, closed his eyes, and imagined the person who’d been haunting his dreams since he’d seen that photograph.
His mother used to have waves like sunset waterfalls, gentle and flowing, and eyes as brown as the soil she nurtured daily. And there was nothing like her red tulip smile that always turned toward the sun.
Even when she hadn’t eaten for days.
Even when she was smeared with grease and reeked of sweat.
Nik’s charcoal swept across the page, dancing through well-rehearsed lines, whisking up coils and coils of hair, chiseling away at the sharp jaw she’d passed on to him. Everything else, his eyes down to his grimace, belonged to Lafontaine.
They’d loved each other in the early days, Lafontaine and his mother. She’d died loving him, but his father barely breathed her name these days.
Someone knocked.
His charcoal snapped, striking an ugly scar across his mother’s beautiful face.
“Go away,” he growled.
It creaked open.
He huffed. “You’ve said enough, Chantal.”
“It’s me.”
His spine went rigid.
“If you know what’s best for you,” he said, “you’ll leave. Now.”
Elara was quiet for a blessed moment. “I know you’re angry, but I had no choice.”
“You were forced to make a fool of yourself today?” The words didn’t feel right, but he pushed them out anyway.
Shoved every bit of his embarrassment and weak jealousy into them.
“You were forced to pick up the wrong ingredients? You were forced to present the most powerful magie the Counseil has likely seen in a decade?”
Elara folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe.
“First, I’m sorry I didn’t suspect Fiona of being a two-faced cow.
Second, you know those ingredients were stolen the moment Gae—my mentor got up there.
Third, if that’s the most powerful magie they’ve seen, why do they deserve to be Souverains? ”
He slammed the sketchbook closed. “That’s not the point!”
“Enlighten me, then.”
“The point is that you didn’t listen. You didn’t follow the plan. Now we look like fools.”
He got up and shifted to sit on the front of his desk.
“We?” She snorted. “You weren’t the one spilling your breakfast in front of the most powerful people in the city. You weren’t having to make snap decisions in an impossible situation.”
“No, but my name is tied to yours.” A rebel name. It burned like acid. “If you go down, so do I.”
She was quiet for a moment, watching him with a gaze that pierced right through him.
Instead of fighting, her shoulders softened.
“I’m sorry.” She was gentler now, and it irked him more because it was an act. Had to be. “I shouldn’t have trusted Fiona.”
“No. You can’t trust anyone.”
“Including you?”
He turned, fingers pressed on the sketchbook, and found her studying him again.
It wasn’t as sharp as before, more imploring.
The kind of look she gave to Chantal and Gaetan, and he wondered what a warm embrace from her would feel like.
Would she fit perfectly against his body? Would he feel safe and—
“We’re all getting something out of this arrangement,” he finally said.
“A place in Lafontaine’s closest court,” she replied.
He nodded. “This is different than in the Restes, and the rules have been designed to make you fail. To everyone out there, you’re not a person. You’re a rodent best crushed beneath a heavy boot.”
Her nostrils flared.
“And you?” she asked. “What do you think of me?”
His chin snapped up.
She was standing here, in his office, filling his space with the smell of sugar and wine as if she didn’t know the impact she had upon him.
The animal clawed at his insides again.
“You’re to do as you’re told,” he said, ducking back behind the safety of his desk.
“If you wanted a doll you could dress up and pose, you chose the wrong girl.”
“Clearly.”
She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.
“Why did you choose Gaetan?” she finally asked.
“He was a random pull from the few Restes Professionnelles.” The lie was too easy. “Why?”
She shrugged.
“Did you know him?” He flipped a paper absently to avoid looking too eager.
“Once,” she said. “A long time ago.”
It wasn’t a lie, not exactly, and he admired that. They both needed to do whatever it took to protect themselves from their damning pasts.
“Come down with us.”
She was waiting for a reply as if she really meant the invitation.
Laughter echoed from below as music played from a gramophone. It was likely warm down there, and he craved a glass or two of wine to calm his nerves.
No.
He grounded himself by rubbing his fingers together, feeling the grit of charcoal from where he’d already strayed too far from the path.
“No, thank you.” He sat back down.
“We’re having cake, and I—”
“I said no.” He slammed his book into the drawer. “Not with you.”
Her shoulders straightened. Any ounce of progress he’d gained with Elara was gone with one foolish outburst.
“What I meant was—”
“You don’t have to explain.” Then she dug the knife of his mistake deeper by lowering into a curtsy. “Good night, Patron.”
And she was gone, leaving Nik to his empty office.