They heaved a sigh. “Do you want the truth or something to make you feel better?”
“The truth.”
“There’s no telling if you’ll be able to perform magie until you try. The doctors think it might be like not practicing for a while. The skill isn’t gone. You just need to brush off the dust.”
Elara turned her cheek to the window as another tear slid down her face.
It had taken her whole life to own her magie, and Lafontaine had destroyed it in a matter of seconds.
Blai got up and returned with a glass of water that Elara downed before asking for more. At three glasses, she felt sick, not sated. What the hell had the serum done to her?
“What happened to the Restes?” she asked.
Outside the window, the skies were blue with an encouraging lack of smoke. Birds called from the gardens and there were voices chattering below.
No bullets.
No screams.
“You did it,” Blai answered.
“Did what?”
“Oh, you know.” They waved their palm dismissively. “Stopped a war, caused governmental reform. Nothing special.”
The words wouldn’t sink in.
“I’m tired of this room.” Blai laid a dress on the bed. “Do you feel up to a walk?”
“Please.” Elara gingerly crawled from the bed. She had to lean heavily against the posts to remain upright, but she was standing. “Where to?”
Belleplace was the same. The Joyaux was the same. But The Market was entirely new.
Given the lack of blood and bodies, the finale had been some time ago. Days? Weeks?
The stations had been cleared away, the horrendous execution device dismantled, and new opportunities had taken their places. A red tent had a fleet of doctors to tend to the wounded and sick. They changed bandages, checked on coughs, and provided medicines.
Not a single som was paid.
Beneath a green tent, families collected baskets of food and clothing.
A purple tent offered official paperwork many had gone decades without: birth certificates and work orders.
A silver tent sent out shipments of wood, nails, and metal. People brought barrels to fill with bricks only to wheel them away down the street toward the collapsed buildings.
The beige Arts Culinaires tent offered hot meals. Berina and Hectorwere among the chefs ladling out food and talking with the Restes people.
“How long have I been out?” she asked.
“Two weeks.” Blai shrugged. “Fernand thinks the progress is slow, but he’ll learn to temper his expectations if he wants to remain on the new Assembly.”
“Assembly?”
“Assembly of Peoples.” Blai grimaced. “The name is wretched, but apparently that’s unimportant right now.”
They turned to her. “Want to see?”
Elara was shocked when they arrived at Gaetan’s Boulangerie.
