“No. Just that I could find proof in his château, a paper.Thispaper.”
Chantal laid out the flyer with the formula. Nik had the puzzle pieces he needed, but he still had no clue what the picture was.
“He was going to have Plouffe use this poison,” Nicolette said. “On herself? On someone else? Who would they be targeting?”
“And why?” Fernand asked.
If Chantal stared at him any harder, his skin would catch fire.
But she was right. The truth needed to come out if they were to stop his father and save Elara.
“Congratulations,” Nik said to Blai. “You’re about to win your bet.”
He laid the final puzzle piece on the table: the part of Gaetan’sphotograph he’d torn away. His mother smiled back at him, arms slung around the rebels she’d called friends. The ones she’d betrayed to save the monster who hadn’t deserved her love.
“Haydee Cadieux was my mother,” he said. “And she loved my father enough to botch the rebellion.”
Fernand exploded.
The table went flying; Nik toppled from his seat.
It was Nicolette who saved him this time, her knife at Fernand’s cheek.
“Your hot head is going to give us away,” she hissed. “Keep it down.”
Slowly, he lowered into the chair, but he never turned his murderous gaze away.
“I swear.” Chantal rubbed her temples. “You all are more dramatic than a fleet of chorus girls. Where were we?”
“He’ll target the Restes.” Fernand’s leg bounced anxiously. “Now we have to figure out when and where.”
The room went quiet. Outside, the thud of boots passed by, followed by another as the police patrolled. Even after they passed, no one spoke.
Where would his father have an opportunity to mass inject the Restes? It would be too obvious. Even if he offered a surprise health clinic, people would figure him out when the bodies started to drop.
“Hello, my dears!” Lisette Plouffe’s cheerful screech made them all jump. Despite the ash and dust, she smiled back at them as she recited, “The grand finale of the Objet d’Art is just around the corner. The three finalists will present a magnificent feast as their final bid to become your new Souverain of Arts Culinaires. Will up-and-coming Berina Savi tantalize us with her bold Taravol cuisine? Or perhaps Hector Vidal, an Anespérerian treasure, will prove the classics are to be treasured? And we can’t count out the scrappy Restes orphan, Elara Rousseau—”
Nik knew it was coming, but her name still sent a bolt of electricity through him.
“—who will prove you can forge your own path? We’ll find out tomorrow evening in the Restes Market, whereyouwill determine who is worthy to sit on your Counseil.”
Plouffe went still, frozen with her fake smile.
And Nik knew exactly what his father had planned.
“The ingredients,” Nik breathed.
Elara said it every day. Food didn’t need to be expensive to be delicious. Any chef could take humble produce and magie them into something wonderful.
“Lafontaine must’ve asked Plouffe to add it into her food,” he continued.
“But when he wouldn’t tell her what it was—” Blai added.
“She came to me.” Fernand folded his arms.
“And he killed her.” Nicolette stabbed her knife in the plastered image of Plouffe’s face.
“They’re letting the people feast tomorrow,” Chantal said. “He’s going to poison them.”
