Lafontaine tried a new approach, eyes softening as his lips trembled into a smile that would never work on Nik again. “She was my greatest treasure. A necessary sacrifice.”
“Is that why she guarded the room where you killed Gaetan Arnaud?”
The crowd was nearly back to a riot. Rocks cracked against the caravan. Knives gouged the polished wood. One blade narrowly missed his father’s head. Pity.
Fernand turned to the remaining Counseil. “And Lisette Plouffe?”
Tremblay turned stony, expression darkened by rage.
“Arrest him,” she ordered. “For the assassination of Lisette Plouffe, the murder of Gaetan Arnaud, and conspiracy to commit treason.”
Two guards moved right past Elara and Fernand to scoop up Lafontaine.
“Get your hands off me!” He cursed as they pulled him away.
Nik didn’t even watch him go. He didn’t deserve another second of thought. Instead, Nik cradled Elara’s body as Fernand lowered her down to him in order to face Tremblay. Gabriel had miraculously disappeared. Coward.
“Fernand Travers.” He offered his palm. When she snubbed the shake, he shrugged. “I humbly submit myself to represent the Restes aswe move forward. The Sociétésmustchange, and youwilllisten to your people. All of them.”
He plopped into Lafontaine’s empty chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Let’s begin.”
49ELARA
The moment Elara was aware of something other than the dark, she clung to it. A few times already she’d tried to follow little hints of life to the surface: a press of fingers on her forehead, the quiet shuffle of a page, a murmured conversation. All in vain. This time, she heard a poutedit’s my turn, and she wrapped herself around every syllable until she could feel her toes, her fingers, and the ache in her spine from lying still so long.
The first thing she saw was a familiar sage-green ceiling printed with flowers.
The second was a beautiful face covered in vibrant makeup.
The world threatened to darken, but she refused to be swallowed again.
“Good morning,” Blai said.
The sound split her head open.
“Sorry,” they whispered. “The doctors said you’d be in a lot of pain if… when you woke up.”
Painwasn’t a strong enough word. It felt as if she’d housed a fire inside her rib cage and now there was nothing left but ash and smoldering embers.
She’d actually felt the poison scouring through her nerves like dogs on the hunt. It had sought out any morsel of magie and feasted. Unlike the tattoo, which had muffled her memories, this tried to destroy them.
Elara thought of her mother. Corinne Rousseau. Dark hair. Kind smile. Laugh like a horse. She’d taught her how to make her firstpie crust, and she’d died fighting for the Restes. She died because Lafontaine killed her.
Good. Old and recent memories were still there.
She tried baking next. What did it take to make the perfect crust? Frozen butter. Flour. Water. A dash of salt. Laminated to flaky perfection and baked to a delicate golden brown.
She tried the recipe again, in detail this time.
“Two cups flour… No… One and a half cups…” She squinted hard. “How much butter?”
Fabric gently brushed her cheeks where she must’ve been crying.
“They said it could come back,” Blai said gently. “With time and practice.”
“And my magie?” she whispered.
