Chapter 29
ELARA
“We’ll fix this,” Nik said.
Elara didn’t believe him. Not because he was lying, for once, but because all she could think about was Colin from The Market. Jeanine’s Colin, swollen and broken. If that’s what they did to someone who practiced magie outside Société rules, what would they do to someone accused of treason?
Elara glared out the parlor window of Nik’s home, watching the guards posted at the front door. There were more on the street corners and even more spread down the surrounding blocks. Clearly, the Counseil had chosen their side.
“How?” she asked. “Gaetan is gone. The police are everywhere. And the Restes…”
The Restes would riot just as Lafontaine had planned for all along. Even if there wasn’t a rebellion, he’d made the people north of the Joyaux believe in one enough to fear it and turn to him. Her only hope was that the Counseil had enough wisdom to see through his lies.
“I need to get into Lafontaine’s office,” Nik replied. “To research.”
She stopped. “What?”
“We need to move faster than an afternoon read, Nik.” Chantal tapped her cane. She was perched on the settee looking out the window, watching the officers pace.
Nik pulled the paper Elara had given him out of his pocket. “It’s a chemical equation for some kind of new medicine.”
Heat bloomed in her chest. “You kept it?”
He nodded stiffly. “Whatever it is, it’s not good. It’s a sedative mixed with a few compounds that I know should never mix. I just can’t remember why.”
As if it might help her understand, he pressed his finger to the first few letters. “This part slows down the communication between your body and your mind.” He tapped the next few letters and lines. “This one increases blood flow and oxygen to the brain, which heightens the senses.”
Chantal shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Exactly.” He waved the paper. “The key is in the elements and chemicals I don’t know. Ones Lafontaine must be working on to make … whatever this is.”
“How does this help Gaetan?” Elara asked.
“Whatever this formula is,” Nik said with a shuddering breath, “I have a feeling it’s meant to cause more harm than good. But I’ll figure it out—with or without him. The answers have to be somewhere in his home.”
Nik knew something. She could see it churning behind his eyes.
I’ve got you, he’d said to her tonight.
Elara wanted nothing more than to believe that, to sink into the safety of his arms as she had in the carriage ride back. To feel protected and comforted as he held her like she was all that mattered in the world.
But a few weeks couldn’t change a person entirely. How many of their midnight meetings would it take to fully capture his heart? To make him abandon everything he’d worked for with his Souverain?
“Why?” she asked, because she needed to know the truth.
“Why what?”
“Why hurt Lafontaine to help me?”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” he replied, tapping the paper against his free hand. “I just want the truth.”
“I see.” It was foolish to think he had any other motive.
Without warning, he crossed the parlor in two long strides and threaded his fingers through her hair, broad palms cupping her heated cheeks.
It was what she’d wanted earlier tonight when he’d found her huddled in the corner, and it was every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined.
She clutched his coat to steady herself and pulled him closer, leaning into the warmth of his fingers that outlined the shape of her ear.
He was going to kiss her.
And she wanted it so badly.
Instead, his forehead pressed against hers, their breath mingling.
“This is the best I’ve got,” he whispered.
He brushed his nose against hers.
“I’ll be back. Stay here.”
“I can’t just wait around while everyone solves my problems for me.”
“Elara.” His voice rumbled as his fingers pressed desperately into the back of her neck. “Promise me you’ll stay here. Wait for me.”
Like he needed her.
Like she was the only thing keeping him tethered.
“Fine.” She closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
The door closed behind him, and she watched as he sneaked past the guards and down the street. Elara shut the curtains with a snap.
As if from a nightmare, the faint chime of the Objet d’Art envelope rang out from the kitchen. It was probably a dismissal. At least now the whole damn thing would be over, and she could—
CHEF ELARA ROUSSEAU,
This evening, your fate as a contestant, not to mention your status as a citizen, was under great scrutiny.
The Counseil has determined that you are not guilty of treason but instead, a victim of a terrorist’s deceit.
It is in the spirit of support for all citizens that the Counseil has granted your continued participation in Objet de’Art.
“The crowd loved you,” Chantal explained. “After your starvation tart? After Gaetan practically confessed? The Souverains would risk public favor if they turned you away.”
Elara’s throat tightened as she continued to read.
Throughout the festivities, you have enchanted some of the most renowned Directeurs and Professionnelles in Anespérer.
But as the finale approaches, let us not forget those a Souverain truly serves: the people.
With unrest knocking at our door, it is important to show our citizens that we are united in their pain, and they are united in our victory.
The final event will be hosted at the week’s end in the Restes Market, where you will be joined by two assistants to create a banquet not only for the Counseil, but for the people.
You will have six hours to do so. After which, a new Souverain will be crowned for a new future.
All of Anespérer be with you,
THE COUNSEIL DES SEPT
The Restes?
“Why would they host it there?” she asked. “They’ve never hosted there.”
Chantal paled. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Which meant they were planning something.
Elara dropped the envelope, wrenched open her collar, and touched the tattoo.
You’re in danger.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Come on.”
Unlike the previous call, this one felt … empty. As if her pleas had entered an abyss rather than gone unanswered.
Fernand! Please!
Nothing. Not even a tingle itched her skin.
Fear roiled her belly. Had they caught onto the truth? Had they found Fernand? Ransacked étoiles and arrested countless others all because of her?
She’d promised Nik not minutes ago that she would wait, but how could she sit inside the safety of this house wrapped in the armor of Nik’s social status while her friends—her family—were in danger?
She couldn’t.
She took off upstairs to Blai’s room.
Chantal was quick on her heels. “What are you doing?”
“Nik has his plan, and I have mine.”
“Which is?”
She knocked once. Twice. A third time.
“Where the hell are they?”
Chantal shook her head. “They didn’t come back from the interview.”
Elara didn’t have time. She wrenched open the door and went right for their closet. She took out the dress she’d worn during their previous trips and stripped off the chef’s coat and old gown.
Chantal lingered in the doorway, watching her with brows drawn.
“If Nik comes back—”
“Elara.”
“—tell him I’m sorry for being a bad listener.”
“Elara.”
“But I should be back before—”
The sharp rap of Chantal’s cane cut her off.
“Slow down,” she said firmly. “I can only handle one harebrained scheme per night. Unless you tell me exactly where you’re going and why, I’m not letting you leave.”
Elara considered ignoring her and bolting anyway, as if she could take her. Chantal would kick her ass in three seconds flat.
“I did this,” she relented. “I really believed this would be a silly little competition where I could bake silly little pies—get everything and give up nothing. Fernand tried to tell me! You tried to tell me! Gaetan…” She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her.
It was her words people were slashing upon the bricks and shouting at riots. She’d lived in fear of being doomed to her mother’s fate, and now, she was that same beacon of light in the darkness to the Restes. Maybe even brighter.
She’d lived most of her life a coward, but no longer.
Silence was where evil thrived.
But she couldn’t be a leader.
Could she?
“People are looking to me.” Her voice broke. “I don’t deserve that kind of power.”
Chantal shrugged. “Do you think I deserved anyone’s praise for breaking family norms to become a ballerina?”
“You worked hard to do that.”
“I’m not the only one. Hundreds before me dared to be different.
I was simply the first they couldn’t ignore.
The first they could use.” She offered a sad smile.
“Like it or not, the Restes are looking to you now, and what you do next matters. Go along with the Counseil and sit in silence among them, be used by them. Or make a difference.”
There was no escaping this fate.
“I know someone in the rebellion.” Elara swallowed her pride with every word. “Someone who’s been leading it for a long time and has an annoying knack for getting in and out of places he shouldn’t. He can help.”
Chantal tossed her cane up and caught it with a snap. “All right.”
She selected a bleach-stained green dress from the racks.
Elara gaped. “What are you doing?”
“Picking out a costume. I need to fit in, don’t I?”
It was as if Elara had been living the last few weeks in a cloud of smoke, and now, it had cleared. Chantal tugged off her citrine gown and nestled the frock over her dainty shoulders, back straight as if readying for a performance.
“When I started pushing for reform in the theatre, they responded by making me prima ballerina. What better place to put a threat than beneath a spotlight? That’s what they do, Elara. Then, they lay on the pressure until you break, rendering you useless—no longer a threat.”
She snatched her cane. “I want to prove them wrong.”
The decision was made.
Arms linked, they crept out the kitchen door into the tenement garden, through an open window of a darkened house and out into the back streets. There were more police than ever tonight, and their numbers thickened the closer they came to the Joyaux.
Above the rank of garbage came an acrid smell.
Elara sniffed.
No. Please. No.
Not again.
“What is it?” Chantal asked.
They turned a corner, and Elara’s steps faltered.
The Restes was burning.