16. Elara #2
Elara almost missed the frock Blai had designed for her. It would’ve been nice to return in a new Aspirant dress with wide panels and lace at the sleeves.
But the Restes would’ve questioned it.
The police would’ve noticed.
Now she and Blai were sneaking their way back in bleach-stained Restes frocks. As far as anyone else here suspected, Elara had been rejected by Gaetan and likely forced out of her Société. The lie needed to be upheld for her ruse to go on.
Rather than stealing across the bridges, Elara ducked down an alley that guided them to a narrow spot in the river that was little more than a trickle. It was easy enough to leap over, but the ledge on the other side was dangerously slender.
She’d had to hold Blai against the wall as they scrambled onto a darkened wedge on the Restes side.
“Remind me why we couldn’t take the bridge like normal people?” they huffed.
“Because we aren’t normal. And because guards ask questions.”
They were on the southernmost end of the Restes, a place she hadn’t visited in years.
The run-down Société tenements were practically palatial in comparison to this area.
The river was too narrow for filtration here, and things as basic as drainpipes didn’t exist. Waste was thrown directly into the river, garbage left to rot in the alleys.
Blai grimaced as rats scampered from a crack in the wall. “Where the hell are we?”
“My old home.” Elara didn’t look up. Kept her eyes straight ahead. “My mother tried for years to earn enough at the factories to get us out of here. It wasn’t until she joined Arts Culinaires that she could afford an apartment a few streets down.”
That was home for Elara.
“Why did you come?” she asked as they turned a corner into a more open street. A few more blocks, and they’d see the sun again.
“I’m ready to turn you in if there’s a reward.”
Elara rolled her eyes. “You’re all bark and no bite.”
“My ex-lovers would tell you I bite plenty.”
“Ex-lovers from Vasomar? When you were a playwright?”
They batted their lashes, which were still, despite their disguises, perfect. “If you must know, yes. My shows sold out nightly, and my troupe was our Queen’s favorite.”
“Did she send you here to be trained?”
“Not exactly. I made the worst mistake of all. I hoped for more. I became an idealistic fool who thought I could save my people from her harsh rule.”
Everything about Blai came together. They’d always pushed for the best and demanded a steel grip of control, not only because they were particular about details but because they needed this to work. Blai didn’t risk their neck for anyone.
“You were a rebel.” Elara let the fact dangle in the air.
“In the simplest of terms, yes. I was so caught up in some impossible future that I didn’t see my present crumbling beneath me. My plays were outlawed, my career imploded, and one night, my company was … gone.”
Elara frowned. “Gone? As in…”
“Killed. Bodies hooked to the palace for all to see.” Blai rolled their shoulders. “I left that version of myself behind and sailed across the sea to start again.”
Blai walked onward. Behind all the bravado and impeccable fashion was an idealist who’d been burned before. They’d blazed a similar trail as Elara’s mother had and survived to see their friends, their family destroyed.
“You could still help people,” she said, catching up. “Try to make things better.”
“Trying isn’t good enough. You have to succeed or it’s worth nothing in the end.”
Elara looked away.
She’d had similar thoughts about the rebels and her own future as a baker, except it now felt wrong.
She hadn’t been silly for making her first decree to bring bread to the Restes.
They deserved it. Needed it. If Elara managed to win, she could bring them that and so much more.
Besides, like she’d told Nik, there was always room to try again.
“Chantal wants a ballet studio with accessibility for all dancers. Why are you helping?” she asked.
“Fame and fortune, like anyone else.”
Elara perked a brow. “Blai.”
They flipped their hand dismissively. “Some of us are simple creatures, Elara. There could be many benefits to being the best friend of the newest Souverain.”
“Ladder climbing doesn’t look good on you,” she muttered.
“Everything looks good on me.”
They stepped into the tailor’s shop.
“Be right with you,” the seamstress called.
Blai didn’t seem to mind. They were already wandering the racks of clothing, fingers touching every seam and stitch.
“—a fabulous performance this weekend from Elouise Auclair!”
Elara jumped at her name, finding Lisette Plouffe’s poster plastered near the door.
“In all the history of Anespérer, Elizabeta the Brave has never been seen in such a monumental performance, but Auclair’s brazen use of scorpion root allowed Souverain Faucher to bring the audience right into the great Battle of Montclair!”
A sense of pride rose in her. It had been wonderful, hadn’t it?
“I speak for the entire Counseil when I say, we can’t wait to see what she does next! In just six days, the remaining five Favored face the toughest challenge yet—themselves!”
“What can I do for you?” Madame Landry faltered. “Back again?”
“My Aunt Blanche is so fickle. She needs another dress hemmed.”
“I see. And how soon does she need it?”
“Four weeks.”
The woman glanced at Blai, who was watching intently. “And them?”
“My cousin.”
Landry motioned to the back.
Blai thankfully followed in silence. In the fabric closet, the woman leaned against the bolts. “He won’t like it.”
“He already knows.”
Landry shoved, giving Elara room to slip behind and into the hallway. As soon as they were alone, Blai whistled.
“Are you sure you’re not a rebel?”
“Not anymore.”
Elara shrugged off their stare as they entered étoiles and passed by the guard.
“What is this place?” Blai whispered.
“It used to be a nightclub. Then it became something else.”
The illegal market was still running to the left, and the booths on the right were filled. Music wrapped around her, and the constellations above twinkled.
Elara didn’t understand the feeling crawling in her chest. Regret? Already?
“Who did you say your contact was again?” Blai asked.
“An old boyfriend.”
“And what exactly does your old boyfriend do?”
That Elara had left out for a reason. It was bad enough she had connections to a dead rebel; if the Counseil found out she’d crawled into bed with the leader of the next generation? She’d have her throat slit in some back alley too.
As they headed down the hallway, the door to the Cradle opened.
“Elara.”
She was not going to analyze the way she hated his flat tone.
“Fernand. I know you don’t—”
Blai nudged between them, offering their hand. “Blai Lozano. Charmed and … charming.”
Fernand pinked at the cheeks but then reverted to a dour glare. “I don’t have time for you to play matchmaker. I have work to do.”
“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important.”