Chapter 24
ELARA
Nik had been in the garden for nearly an hour.
Just sitting. Sometimes, he’d break his statue-like stillness to rub his fingers together or press them against his knee, which bobbed anxiously.
Other times, he’d take a long sip from a bottle, then rock as if he’d made the decision to get up and move on. He never did.
Elara watched from the kitchen window, rehearsing a thousand opening lines.
Sorry I lied.
Sorry my mom is someone you probably hated.
Sorry I destroyed everything.
None of them felt true enough to say, and she refused to feed him any more lies.
Everything was out on the table now … well …
almost everything. Fernand’s strange note was a dangerous weight in her pocket.
Tonight was not the time to bring it up.
She’d be lucky if she could convince Nik not to throw her into the street and be done with her.
“Quit being a coward, Rousseau.” She rallied her courage, snatched the tray she’d prepared for them, and stepped into the night.
“I was told never to drink alone.”
He didn’t look back at her.
“I’m not.” He motioned across the garden to a white, long-haired cat lounging in an overstuffed window bed. “Madame Charlotte Geneviève has been keeping me company.”
“I’m sure she’s an excellent conversationalist,” she replied.
Madame Charlotte hiked up her leg and commenced licking with enough vigor that she fell over.
A laugh burst out of Elara. She couldn’t help it.
Surprisingly, Nik chuckled too. It was deep and warm, and he buried his face as if he were ashamed. And Elara wanted nothing more than to draw that sound from him again.
“I brought you this.” She sat beside him, picking a towel of ice from the tray.
She’d seen the bruise in the carriage. What started as discoloration had now spread, and his eye was now swollen shut. Chantal said he’d come from the Souverain box like that.
“Thanks.” He pressed it to his cheek. “What about yours?”
She held up her palm, which was almost like new. “The onsite doctors refused to let me leave unless I got it checked.”
The skin was shiny across her palm and around her finger where the ring had been. Only the top of the tattoo remained, a reminder of a mistake she’d never make again. She was lucky to have escaped alive and only with such minimal damage.
“I never meant for any of this to happen,” she said quietly, rubbing the smoothness of her scar. “It’s why I fought your offer at the Exposé. I was never supposed to make it this far because I knew someone would eventually figure out the truth, and now I’m going to bring all of you down with me.”
“We knew there’d be risks,” he replied evenly.
“Not career-ending ones.”
“I can’t speak for Blai, but Chantal’s career was ruined for her, and I…” He gave a hollow laugh. “I never had one to begin with.”
Elara glared at her melted skin. “It’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is.” He offered the bottle, and she took it, knocking back a swallow of sweet, pungent wine that was far too smooth for her mood.
“Which is why you need to fix it,” he said. “With or without my … Souverain.”
She choked, rubbing a drip from her chin. “What?”
“Faucher, Perrault, and Tremblay were right. You would’ve never been allowed to compete because of your mother’s mistakes.” He raised a brow. “Tell me the truth. How hard was it to get into a Société?”
“Impossible,” she muttered.
“That’s not right. A parent’s mistakes should never be a child’s burden.”
Some mistakes. Not all. She had no idea where his fierce turn in support had come from, but she couldn’t accept it until he knew the truth.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, to find the softness in his boyish blue eyes. Prepared herself to watch them turn ice cold.
“Nik, that’s sweet of you to say, but my mother was—”
“I knew.”
She blinked, brows furrowed. “Knew what?”
He chewed on his response for a long time before taking the bottle back.
“For starters,” he said, “I knew who you were.”
She sat up, on guard now. “For how long? From the beginning?”
“Almost. Before the first contest, when I went looking for a mentor. I found—”
“Gaetan.”
“He didn’t give you away. He’s a trundling oaf, but he’s loyal.” It was a relief but not a shock. Gaetan had been right not to hire her, but he would never surrender her to the Counseil or their police. “I went digging, and I found this.”
He offered her a photograph from his pocket. The left side had been torn away at some point, but the people in the center were clear. Their faces were so young and filled with such hope. A tear splashed the corner, dripping down the smooth ink.
“Your mother,” he said. “And you staring up her like you do to everyone who eats your food. You wanted to please her, to have her appreciation.”
Always. Elara never would’ve started baking if it wasn’t for her mother’s intense passion for it. “This was the day she earned her Professionnelle rank. We celebrated all night.”
Gaetan had closed the shop the next day because he and her mother were too hungover to stand, let alone sweat in a kitchen all morning.
“No one else can see this,” Nik warned.
Because the rest of the people in the photograph were also known rebels, killed in the Senate attack or murdered by their own in revenge for their mistake. Elara was literally surrounded by criminals, and the Counseil would take it as evidence of her treachery.
Nik released a heavy sigh. “When I figured it out, I was angry.”
“Because she was a murderer?”
“Because I’d made a mistake.”
She lowered her chin. It hurt, but it was fair. If he’d chosen one of the other Favored, like Fiona, who was now probably sobbing on a train back to Cael, where she might never bake again, he wouldn’t be in this position.
She jumped when his long fingers took her hand, but she melted as he traced the smooth skin of her scarred palm. Elara froze, afraid any shift would frighten him off.
He was so warm and his fingers strangely soft. This was an artist’s touch, and Elara focused all her energy on not losing herself in the desire to feel both his hands skate up her arms, down her sides, and across her—
“I’m not used to people sneaking through my defenses,” he said quietly. “And I don’t invite people into my life easily.”
She stole a glance up at him through her lashes and found his intense gaze leveled entirely on her. They’d never been this close, not like this. She could smell the wine on his breath and feel the heat of his skin against her hip.
“I chose Gaetan because I was furious,” he continued, “and I wanted to throw you off. But I’d made yet another mistake in underestimating how stubborn and resourceful you can be. How powerful.”
He whispered the last two words like a prayer as he lifted her fingers to the moonlight. Gently, he turned her palm in study, as if he might see the magie flowing in her veins. Elara couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to. He’d cast a delicate spell that felt as if it might shatter at any moment.
“And now I think you’re exactly what the Counseil needs to help the Restes.” He lowered their hands but did not let go. “You won tonight, without Lafontaine’s help.”
“They just like a good show,” she mumbled.
“That might’ve been true to get you past the Exposé, but not now. You’re the first Restes citizen to make it to the finals. You did that on your own.”
Not entirely. He’d been there. Not some vision. Him. But she had to know if what she’d felt during her darkest moment tonight was real.
“I think I had extra help tonight.”
“I may have bent the rules a little,” he replied.
Elara had come to know one unshakable truth about Nikolas Dupont: He did not defy Lafontaine. Ever.
Until tonight.
Brave. Elara needed to be brave because life was far too short to leave the world with regrets.
She closed the gap, trapping their hands between their chests, and pressed a gentle kiss to his warm cheek.
At first, he stiffened in surprise. Then he gripped her hand tighter, holding with a desperation she wished he would chase.
When she pulled back, those eyes she’d once thought cold were on fire.
For her.
At some point, his free hand had dropped the bottle and found its way to her knee, where he outlined the shape of her bones beneath her skirt.
“Please.” His eyes cinched tight. “Change the subject or I might do something we’ll both regret.”
She was not thinking. “Who says we’ll regret it?”
His eyes flared wide as he leaned in.
She dove in, ready to meet his lips with that same heat.
“Shit.”
Nik recoiled in pain, cupping his bruised face.
What was she doing?! Nik was right. They’d both regret this come morning. What she felt was an effect of the wine and the thrill of escaping through the second round. Nothing more. Besides, there was too much at stake to lose her head over a boy.
But her heart was racing too fast, and her skin burning too hot. She needed to focus.
“Here. Let me see.”
She took the pack and pressed it against his temple. His breath fanned her face, spilling across her cheeks and down her throat, which was suddenly very dry.
“What’s the prognosis?” he asked.
“Well, I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen my share of bar fights. It should heal in a week or so.” She chewed her lip. “Do you think you’ll be able to patch things up with Lafontaine?”
“He made it very clear he doesn’t want to see me again.” He released her hand to face her more directly, all flirtation gone. Good. They needed to stay sharp. “Elara … He’s going to retaliate.”
“You don’t have to take his abuse,” she replied.
“He won’t be coming for me.”
Elara blinked. “Oh.”
Everyone had tried to warn her, but she’d been too angry to hold back. The cruelty they’d forced the chefs to endure tonight was only a fraction of the cruelty they’d rained down upon the Restes for … years. Long before her mother and the rebels attacked.
However Lafontaine responded would be because of her.
Except this didn’t feel like another mistake.
In fact, if she were to do it all again, she would take Chantal’s advice and reveal herself from the start.
It had felt good to tell them all the truth: Her mother was both wonderful and human.
She’d been pushed into a corner and saw no way else out except to attack.
Which meant Elara had been wrong about so many things.
“I’m ready for him,” she said.
“You don’t understand.” Nik leaned his elbows on his knees, glaring into the dark hedges. “He will destroy you and everything you love if it means getting what he wants.”
Elara frowned in confusion. “Doesn’t he want peace?”
Nik’s jaw feathered. “I thought he did.”
It was wrong to think of Fernand, but what he had said was, miraculously, starting to make sense. Lafontaine was up to something, he’d said, and whatever it was had been bad enough to send Souverain Plouffe to the rebels for help.
Had Nik been lied to yet again by the man he admired the most?
If so, she didn’t want to be the one to shatter his hope.
Not now. She wanted tonight to remain just like this, with her hand still tingling from the warmth of his touch.
They could shelter each other from the oncoming storm if only for a few hours.
Across the way, Madame Charlotte roused herself and pounced down, out of sight.
Elara took that as a sign to leave. “Good—”
“My drinking partner is gone.” Nik raised his bottle. “Care to stay?”
The knots in her belly released immediately, and Elara knew she was in trouble because she desperately wanted to stay. To laugh and drink and be near him.
Nik’s relationship with Lafontaine was destroyed, yet he was still here. With her. He’d brought her back from the brink of destruction, not because he needed her for some scheme.
Because he liked her.
She took the wine. “How do you know so much about Madame Charlotte?”
He laughed. “I was a veterinary assistant for a few weeks, and Madame Charlotte was rushed in one afternoon. She was panting and sweating, and she refused to move.”
“Poor thing! What was wrong with her?”
“Turns out she ate an entire block of cheese, and needed a bit of help. The doctor felt her swollen stomach and gave one good push to … um … release the pressure.”
They both laughed until they were reduced to giggles, passing the wine back and forth.
At some point in the evening, while Nik told her stories from his varied apprenticeships, Elara laid her cheek on his shoulder.
And she swore he laid his head upon hers before her eyes closed.