Chapter 34
ELARA
They spent the night behind the bar. Nik had scavenged around the neighborhood and brought them back wine, a bit of cheese, and some stale bread for dinner. They talked, not entirely of their plans, until the bottle was empty and they’d devoured every crumb.
It had been the best meal of her life.
But she slept fitfully, waking to a fierce thunderclap and unable to fall back asleep.
She’d occupied herself by staring at Nik, who was as comfortable as she’d ever seen him.
With his guard down, the hard edges of his face were smoothed into boyish softness.
She’d thoroughly mussed his curls, and his lips were perfectly swollen from their kisses.
He even smiled when she stroked a lock of his hair from his brow.
Maybe this could work.
Maybe playing the Counseil’s game was the only way.
Elara might not be Souverain material, but she’d learn.
Those worries were for a world outside of these walls.
In here, Elara had a bigger truth to face.
She’d fallen in love.
Her clothes were still damp when she pulled them back on.
She left her coat for Nik to curl into as he fell back to sleep.
His plans were still on the counter, dappled by morning light. When had he made the time to draw them? They were detailed, which meant he must’ve visited this place more than once to determine the measurements.
Everything he dreamed of for her felt possible. Using the formula against Lafontaine, she could become Souverain. With that power and money, she could buy this building and begin construction immediately. People could come and learn any skill they pleased, and the Restes would begin to heal.
Chantal could have her studio, and Elara would supply the lunches.
Blai could work for the theatre once more.
And Nik …
What did he want? Would he take up drawing? Painting? Perhaps he’d find his love in gardening like his mother.
Whatever he chose, they’d make it real.
After tea, of course.
The hinges of the kitchen door squeaked as she crept through.
It was a mess.
The oven was rusted shut, the abandoned kettle burned beyond use. The tap sputtered, releasing a few flecks of water. No power. No water.
It was a sign to return home and prepare for the finale.
Except something that definitely shouldn’t have been there caught her eye.
A bouquet of freshly cut lavender, the colors stark against the gray.
“Lavande somnolente.”
The bundle fell from her fingers. Her heart stuttered as she turned to the face that had haunted her nightmares last night.
“Lafontaine.”
He stood in the far corner of the kitchen, hidden in shadow.
The first weak hues of dawn burned through the slats over the window, slicing golden arcs against his white robes.
He stepped farther into the light, shadows now cutting across his face.
He looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept well last night.
“She was always so curious. About everything.” He gave such a genuine, soft smile that he almost seemed human.
“Nik’s mother?” she asked through her teeth.
Lafontaine raised a brow. “Interesting.” His smile cut to the side, sharper now. “She was more than that. She was a poor girl born to unfortunate circumstances. A powerful artist capable of creating something the world had never seen before. A shooting star with a heart on fire.”
He stepped closer, advancing until Elara had her back pressed against the door. She could scream for Nik. They could overpower him, and then … what? They’d hang for even laying a finger on a Souverain before they could reveal his plans.
Lafontaine stooped to pick up the bundle, bringing the petals to his nose.
“How would you know all that?” she asked quietly. She didn’t trust Nik to stay calm if he woke up and found Lafontaine here.
“He hasn’t told you.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I tried to fix him, you know. When his mother died, he was nothing but a sniveling wretch, and I … Well, I took pity on the poor boy.”
“He doesn’t need to be fixed,” she spat.
“Are you so sure about that?”
Lafontaine plucked the petals one at a time, letting them float away.
“He’s still a coward running from himself,” he continued. “What story has he spun for you, my dear? Has he told you I’m the cruel Souverain dangling my praise on a string? That everything he’s ever done has been for me and me alone?”
Just like she had at the interview, Elara remained silent.
He gave an undignified snort. “He’s still a pathetic boy too afraid to make his own way in the world.”
“I’m not listening to you.” She spat on his pristine hem. “You killed Gaetan, you monster.”
Elara wanted to bottle the look of surprise on his smug face.
“We know what you’re doing. He’s not your dog anymore.”
“You’re right.” Hauntingly, Lafontaine rubbed his lip the same way Nik did. “It seems he’s yours.”
“Bastard!” She dove for him.
A click in the corner made her freeze. From the darkness, the barrel of a gun gleamed. The officer holding it stared right through her, as if killing her would be no chore at all.
“It would be a shame if the Restes learned their very own hero, Elara Rousseau, was murdered in the night.” Lafontaine leaned in close, breath hot against the shell of her ear. “Wouldn’t want to add fuel to this pyre, would we?”
She lifted her chin. “What do you want?”
“To set you free. From all the lies Nikolas has told you. Starting with his mother, my Haydee.”
“Your…” Her mind raced past the familiarity of the name and stumbled through weeks of clues she’d been too foolish to notice. Nik had always said Lafontaine found him after his mother died and gave him everything, but he never said how. Or why. Why him out of all the Restes orphans.
Because Lafontaine wasn’t just his Souverain—he was his father.
Tears burned her eyes.
“When I found him clinging to his mother’s corpse, I refused to present such a spineless son to the world—even if my blood courses through him. I told him to survive the winter. If he did, I’d take him in. To my surprise, the sniveling creature did, so I gave him shelter, food, and an education.”
Elara’s heart was breaking. “How could you be so cruel? All he’s ever wanted was to please you, to the point he was willing to do anything you asked.” She thought of the bruises, the countless scars on his chest and back. Some were from the Restes, but she’d wager not all.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you hate him?”
“Because he is weak. And a failure.”
He hadn’t even tried to deny it. This wasn’t a father. He didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.
She tried to shake him out of her head. “We’re finished here.”
She turned.
“Haydee Cadieux.”
Something soft, like paper, slipped against the kitchen counter.
“Does that name mean anything to you?”
Elara tried to remember everything Chantal and Blai had taught her about performing. The key was to not give anything away, to bury yourself deep behind a mask.
But how could she pretend she hadn’t heard a ghost’s name?
“You remember her, don’t you?” Lafontaine slid the paper toward her. “Maybe not her face. You were too young when the meetings started, and your mother probably kept you away from them at a certain point. Didn’t she?”
Elara stared at the door.
“Look at her, Rousseau.”
She refused.
“LOOK AT HER!”
Her shoulders jumped.
She turned, finding the photograph he’d declared evidence at the interview. At the time, she’d wondered how he’d gotten his hands on one when they were only made for the rebels. Now it all made sense.
There, in the portion that had been torn away from Gaetan’s copy, stood a woman with black hair and a brilliant smile. Her hands, which were slung lovingly around two people’s shoulders, were covered in dirt. A smudge had been left on her cheek. A flower in her ear.
“The bomb was intended for the Counseil,” Lafontaine said, “but beyond a handful of Directeurs, the only other casualties—”
“Were the rebels.”
Haydee’s name had been one her mother chanted in the days before her death, lost in a jumble of apologies and curses.
Elara looked up. “If she loved you, why did she want to kill you?”
“I asked myself the same question when I learned what she’d become.” He said it like a curse. “We’d fallen out of love by then, or so I thought. A baby complicated things. Had the Counseil known I was responsible for a bastard born of Restes dregs, I would’ve lost my seat.”
Elara huffed. When this conversation started, part of her had hoped there was a man buried deep beneath the surface, but all she saw was emptiness.
“She sought comfort in the inane drivel your mother spouted because she believed it would bring about reform that could allow us to be together,” he continued, as if he were reciting facts from a book and not recounting the anguish of his lover.
Haydee loved Lafontaine, so why had she been there that night? Why had she supported a plot to kill him and the entire Counseil?
Unless …
She’d been the one to warn them ahead of time.
After the explosion, only a few Directeurs and rebels had been found among the debris, Haydee included.
Elara’s mother had returned, bruised and covered in filth, muttering Haydee’s name.
All this time, Elara had believed it was because her mother felt guilty, not because, of all people, it was Haydee who betrayed them.
“She saved you,” she whispered.
“At the cost of her own life.”
Nik had every right to hate the rebels. It made sense why he’d been so prickly after he’d discovered her real identity. It meant a rebel’s daughter had slipped into his home undetected. Worse, the daughter of the woman who had orchestrated the catastrophe that ripped his entire world apart.
But how had the bomb gone off early? Why, after warning Lafontaine, had Haydee died with the rebels when she should’ve been safe with him?
And why had Nik not told her about all this last night when they’d laid all their truths bare? Did he not trust her? Was he still using her?
“Elara?”
The door opened behind her.
Her head snapped up, but Lafontaine was gone. No, she caught a glimpse of his robe in the dark beside the outline of a pistol.