Chapter 44
NIK
Elara had ruined his life. Elara was the enemy. His father had been right all along.
Nik repeated those statements as he watched the police construct a horrid machine in the center of The Market. He repeated them as he was pulled upon a makeshift platform with Fernand, who’d also been relieved of his disguise. The rebel was barely awake, blood dripping from his hairline.
Elara had ruined his life.
She was laid out on the wooden slats before him, unconscious.
Elara was the enemy.
Her station had been ruined, the beautiful, toxic meal destroyed.
His father had been right all along.
Lafontaine watched from the safety of the caravan. Doctors in red tended to him, Gabriel, and Tremblay: the only other surviving Counseil members. They were slumped in their jeweled chairs, pale and dripping in sweat as they were treated.
Upon the cobblestones, the bodies of Faucher, Perrault, and Cormier had been covered with white sheets. They would remain there for the duration of the events as a reminder, Lafontaine had said, of what evil was capable of.
The officers finished with the machine and returned to the line they were holding. Behind a wall of officers wielding batons, guns, and blades, a riotous crowd loomed. A lucky few had escaped, but the rest would be forced to watch his father win once and for all.
“Rouse her,” Lafontaine ordered.
A doctor shoved smelling salts beneath Elara’s nose. She launched upward, sputtering and coughing. Her first instinct was to fight, but her hands were bound. It was like watching a rabbit in a cage.
“Elara Rousseau,” Lafontaine’s voice bellowed. “You are charged with the assassinations of Souverain Appoline Faucher, Souverain Odile Perrault, and Souverain Claude Cormier. You are also charged with conspiracy to commit treason via a burgeoning rebellion.”
The guards yanked her to her feet and dragged her across the platform to the contraption Nik had never seen before.
Two beams stretched high into the air above what resembled a pillory. Between them, a hungry blade caught the festival’s lights. Beneath, a basket awaited, making the purpose of the construction clear.
Nik could almost hear the sickening blow now.
And it was Elara who stood between the beams.
The first victim of his father’s glorious future.
“How do you plead?” Lafontaine called.
Elara’s skirts rippled in the summer wind as she took in the crowd. They honored her by not looking away. They would remember her as the first to fall in what Nik could only imagine would be a massacre.
Her chin lifted. “The only one guilty of murder is you. Why don’t you tell them about Lisette Plouffe. About Gaetan.”
The guard gagged her with a rag, but it was too late. The crowd had heard, and their fury started to boil.
The guards pushed Elara to her knees and shoved her head beneath the pillory, leaving her pale neck exposed.
Elara had ruined his life … Elara was the … His father …
Behind her dark curls, he caught a glimpse of her face. She was as peaceful as the night he’d found her cooking in his kitchen, away from prying eyes. Her eyes were closed, and he swore he could hear her humming. She was exactly where she wanted to be.
Elara had ruined his life, because there was no way he could return to who he was before.
He’d been foolish to think Anespérer could be fixed by one selfish man who only wanted to own her.
She could only be fixed by the people who made her heart beat.
It was the people who’d made Anespérer the world’s greatest hub of art, and it was the people who deserved to fix her and rule in the Counseil’s stead.
Elara was the enemy, because she’d killed the boy he used to be. But from that death, Nik had been allowed to become someone new. He really did deserve to try again as many times as it took to make things right.
And his father had been right all along. Nik was weak like his mother. He was Restes to his bones, and he wanted to follow his heart rather than crawl in the shadow of a man who dangled love when it should be freely given.
“Elara Rousseau, you will be the first example of what happens to traitors of the Counseil, of anyone who wishes to endanger Anespérer’s people with treasonous lies.”
An officer unhooked the rope, and the blade dipped.
Nik refused to look away.
He would be with her to the end.
“All executions from this point forward will be a public promise that I will protect this city from evils like her.” Lafontaine stood proudly at the edge of the caravan. “From this night on, you will—”
Something fluttered in the dark above them.
A butterfly.
The world stopped.
It danced in elegant circles against the night sky.
All eyes followed the creature as it landed on the corner of the tower.
Nik recognized the craftsmanship instantly because it wasn’t a butterfly at all. It was paper.
The boy from the Joyaux watched Elara from the edge of the crowd as he released another from his cupped palms. This one landed on the platform in front of her.
Her eyes sparkled.
“Execute her.”
The guard released the rope.
Nik’s screams were lost with the crowd’s.
Thwak!
The blade froze mid-fall.
Someone had buried a knife in the rope, pinning it to the beam. The crowd gasped and parted, making room for Nicolette to stand at the police line.
“This monster has lied to you for decades.” She pointed another shimmering dagger at Lafontaine. “He has controlled you, starved you, and now tried to murder one of our own.”
The police drew their weapons.
“The Restes isn’t our only home. Anespérer is.” She turned. “It’s time to take her back.”
The closest officer cocked his gun only to fall with a sickening thud. A bloodied rock skittered across the cobblestones, thrown from an unknown hand.
A single action.
A single brave soul.
That’s all it took for the war to begin.
The people surged over the police line, breaking upon them with fists and makeshift weapons. There were no rebels, only people fighting to reclaim their home from the wealthy few who’d stolen her over the years. A true revolution.
Nik shot toward the guard fumbling with the stuck rope. They collided and toppled until Nik was on top. With a swift jab, he brought his shackles down on the man’s nose. He did it again, and again until he stopped moving and Nik’s hands were sticky.
He stared at the mess.
Stared at the mangled face beneath him until Elara’s muffled cries pulled him away.
He helped her up and removed the gag.
Fernand dropped a strangled body to the platform.
“What the hell do we do now?” Elara asked.
“We get these off, and we finish this.” Fernand whistled and slid to the edge of the platform, where a woman laden with muscles slammed the chain of his shackles open with a hammer. “Let’s go!”
Elara went next, and Nik followed.
“We have to stop the fighting,” Elara said.
“There’s only one way to stop it now.”
Fernand took off, disappearing into the battlefield. In the direction of the Counseil caravan. Of Lafontaine.
Elara ran.
Nik grabbed her.
The world faded away like it had in his kitchen when they sipped tea quietly. When she leaned her head against his shoulder and trusted him with every beautiful nerve in her body.
Four years ago, he’d let his mother go to his father.
She’d died for it.
Nik could’ve saved her if he’d been less selfish, because the truth was, he’d wanted her to make Lafontaine happy. He’d wanted a father more than he’d wanted his mother to be safe.
But he had to tell her. He would be selfish enough to carve out a single moment for himself because he couldn’t die if Elara didn’t know the full truth.
“I didn’t—”
“I know.”
She stared at him, then slowly threaded her fingers with his, tightening her grip.
It was all he needed to know this was right. Elara trusted him. And now she needed his support more than ever.
If he stood in her way, he was no better than his father.
He memorized the feel of her heartbeat beneath his fingertips one last time.
And he let her go.