Chapter 39
NIK
For the span of a heartbeat, Nik feared she’d give him away.
Nik wanted nothing more than to damn the contest and tell her the truth about his father’s lies. But would it make a difference? Did it even matter when so many other lives were at stake?
“You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed.
“I don’t want him here either.” Fernand, disguised as a much older version of himself, leaned against the counter.
Elara’s jaw slackened as she tried to see beyond Blai’s expert makeup. “What the hell is this?”
“Impressive magie,” Fernand replied. “Do you have any idea how useful Lozano could be?”
“They’re not your pawn.” Elara’s gaze darted to the Counseil.
Nik leaned in. “We figured out what the—”
She held up a palm. “Counseil?”
They didn’t move or look.
“Vive la révolution,” she whispered, eyes focused on the caravan. “Lafontaine killed Lisette Plouffe.”
She was testing them. Of course. The other rounds had been amplified one way or another for the crowd. He doubted his father would want every detail as transparent tonight.
When she was sure they couldn’t hear, she nodded for him to go on.
“We figured out what the serum does,” he said. “Do you remember the scorpion root? It can never be mixed with a sedative of any kind.”
“Why?”
“The reaction reverses the scorpion root’s magie and doubles the potency. Meaning it has the opposite effect than what you accomplished during the first round.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “It dampens magie.”
Fernand nodded. “We’re not sure if it’s permanent.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one should be able to take another person’s magie.”
“Or prevent them from having it.” Nik surveyed the crowd. Only a small percentage of them likely had magie to begin with, but the others would have it removed before they could even have a hope to learn.
“He only has one syringe on him,” she said. “A threat to keep me in my place, but it’s not enough to do anything tonight.”
“Unless he injected it somewhere else.” Fernand nodded to the table laden with ingredients.
Elara’s knuckles turned white. “He wouldn’t.”
“He already has.”
Elara’s face darkened with rage as she took in the sumptuous produce and tender selection of meats. Nik understood that fury. Food was hard enough to come by in the Restes. For someone to offer a feast to the starving only to lace it with poison was beyond cruel. It was evil.
“Then we tell everyone,” she said. “I’ll scream it from the top of my station if I have to.”
“You’ll be silenced before anyone has a chance to look your way,” Fernand muttered.
The armed officers around the perimeter proved that.
Elara scratched her pen against the paper, scribbling until the ink soaked through, tearing a hole through the page.
“What do we do?” she asked.
Nik exchanged a glance with Fernand. With this plan, they’d either earn her trust or lose it entirely.
“Call his bluff,” Fernand said. “Lafontaine is banking on the crowd tasting the meals.”
“Find a way to make the Souverains eat first,” Nik said. “If the Counseil eats, they’ll lose their magie.”
“Or die.”
“Either way, my father would never let that happen.” Nik chanced a glare at Lafontaine sitting smugly on his throne. “He’d either have to eat it himself and lose his magie, or…”
“Reveal he knows something about the food.” Elara smiled. “Brilliant.”
Nik’s insides fluttered. The crescendo of praise lasted only a moment before she was glowering at him again, stepping back as if his very nearness would poison her.
“How do we ensure they eat first?” Fernand asked.
“Leave that to me.” Elara tapped the recipe. “And I’ve got the perfect meal to deliver.”
Nik read the recipe twice before he realized he was staring at a page devoid of stains or rips. It was clean and the writing was Elara’s jagged script, not her mother’s.
“What happened?” he asked.
“My mother left me some advice,” she said. “And I listened. For once.”
Quickly, she copied the recipes onto scratch paper and passed them out.
“Fernand, you’re on the main course. Duck à l’orange.”
“That’s more than feeding a duck oranges,” he muttered. “Isn’t it?”
“A little. Don’t worry, the recipe will walk you through it.”
When she turned to him, Nik swallowed the knot in his throat.
“Montagnes de lavande.” She held out the recipe. “I want to hit Lafontaine where it hurts.”
She said it almost as a test.
“Yes, chef.”
Elara faced the Counseil again, palms pressed on the countertop. As he’d taught her, she took a deep breath in and released it slowly.
“Take your time,” she said. “If you get lost, call for me. We can’t give ourselves away.”
“Yes, chef,” they replied.
She nodded. “Let’s get started.”