Chapter 12 #3
She was more elegant than the flowers waterfalling from the hedges.
Her dramatically wide alabaster hat blocked the sun, and the sleek white dress fit snugly against her gentle curves.
However, she spun a wide circle and a train of flowers exploded from her shoulders, rippling down her back and several feet across the grass behind her.
The chefs applauded.
“A bit of theatre magie,” she said. “I can’t help myself.
Now, welcome to my humble home! In a few moments, we’ll proceed through the gates and into the heart of my gardens.
Your job is to smile—or scowl, your prerogative—but drama, my friends, drama is what we’re looking for.
Collect your Patrons and prepare to be presented. ”
Any joy Elara felt evaporated as she stepped beside Nikolas in the line.
All the other chefs looked cheery with their Patrons. Hector beamed at a young Directeur from Arts Viseuls who had his same nose, rounded chin, and brilliant smile. A daughter? Granddaughter?
This morning’s longing magnified.
“Here we go!”
Nikolas said nothing as Faucher led them through a tunnel swathed in sumptuous red fabric, illuminated by thousands of glittering lights. It was like being transported into …
Paradise.
A massive green field covered in wildflowers stretched all the way to a perfectly manicured tree line.
They followed along a tall hedge to their left with various bushes on their right.
They’d all been carved into beautiful statues.
A woman was frozen mid twirl, her parasol held high.
A juggler waited for a green puff ball to fall into his awaiting palm.
“Amazing,” Elara whispered.
“Magie,” the topiary replied.
Elara gasped as the ball finally fell and the ballerina spun.
“Chefs.” Souverain Faucher stopped them where the hedges parted in an archway, but she turned their attention upon the field of flowers. “Your audience.”
Like a veil ripped from her eyes, the tulips and violets and marigolds became people.
They shivered and shed their petals until an audience of at least a hundred sat before them, scattered upon picnic blankets and lounging beneath tents.
This time, they were all Directeurs and they gathered with their families.
Children chased dogs and blew bubbles against the summer air.
Couples lounged, heads leaning together as they shared sips of wine.
Police were stationed around the perimeter and a couple more inside the hedged structure behind them, which, despite being few in number, did little to calm her pounding heart.
One mistake would be enough for someone clever to realize she was a liar, that Elouise Auclair didn’t exist. Those guards would descend upon her in seconds, and she would disappear like Colin from The Market.
“The Counseil!” Souverain Faucher motioned behind them.
Through the archway, a dais of draping, purple wisteria rose into the air. Upon it, the Souverains sat in thrones made of intricately woven vines, where they smiled and waved at the cheering crowd.
“Friends,” Souverain Faucher trilled. “Welcome to Chateau des Visages and the first of three tantalizing events designed to test these remarkable chefs. Today, two more will be eliminated on our quest to find the one most deserving of the title of Souverain des Arts Culinaires!
“They will select two ingredients and prepare a dish within two hours. It must display impressive power both in magie and in technique.” Faucher’s voice dropped dramatically low. “But they will not do so unassisted. Past mentors await them. Together, they will triumph or they will fall.”
Elara felt sorry for the poor chump Nik had conned into being her mentor. They were probably waiting with the others, high on the hope they’d win and become something great.
“Off you go, chefs! Into the labyrinth to pick your stations!”
Elara cast Nik one final glance, and he ticked a brow.
All the reminder she needed. Fourth or fifth. Not first. Blend in. Smile like a little fool.
Elara followed the other chefs into the labyrinth, which twisted once or twice before opening into a space that felt more like an arena than a garden.
The Counseil sat above the hedge opposite the audience, where they could see and be seen at all times.
But the setup drew Elara’s envy, and she wasn’t the only one.
The cooking station at the center was … massive. An island of ovens, burners, and sinks awaited with more than enough space to move. It was everything a chef could ask for and more.
“I claim one,” Berina muttered.
“Two,” Hector.
On and on until Fiona turned and smiled. “We’ll get along fine. Six.”
That left Elara seven, opposite her.
“Chefs! Your mentors!”
Beyond the hedges, the doors opened and steps crunched along the gravel. Elara tried to look indifferent as she studied her station, opening cupboards and inspecting what tools she had to work with.
Steps halted at her side, and she popped up with a brilliant smile for her old friend.
“Nice to see you again—”
Her smile dropped.
“Hello, Ellie.”