She wasn’t sure if she could step even a foot inside after… after everything.
“They chose this place for ease of access, and because Tremblay needed to be reminded of all this quarter has lost.”
Blai opened the door and stepped in.
The dining area was filled with life. The tables had been shoved together in the center to serve as a massive meeting desk in which all participants could see one another.
People, some she recognized, crowded together, shoulders pressed tight as they argued.
“We don’t want your handouts,” Fernand snarled. “We want equal share and support like the rest of your damned citizens!”
“And what does that look like on our part?” shouted Tremblay. She was surrounded by a small host of people who exuded money. “The factories can’t run without workers, and without the factories, Anespérer will be ruined!”
“The people want to work,” Nicollette hissed. “But they’ll only work for a fair wage.”
“Which Gabriel oversaw! Not me!”
“Which is why we created this Assembly. We make new rules!” Fernand shouted louder. “Why have we gone round and round on this?”
“Because you’re impatient, hero.” Blai touched his shoulder like a lover, then pushed him down into a seat. “Everyone. We have a guest.”
They all turned. Who was everyone—
A blur of saffron yellow smacked into her, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Chantal whispered. “These people are insufferable. Even I don’t have the patience.”
Elara laughed. “If you can’t do it, no one can.”
“We’ve met every day for two weeks, but we’d make more progress ifsomeonecould open his mouth without insulting people.”
“I’ll play nice when these crooks pay up,” Fernand shot back. “I need a break.” He got up and approached, elbow out for Elara to take. “Come with me?”
Blai mouthedplease.
Elara nodded. “Of course.”
As they walked, Fernand explained all that had happened while she’d been out. Nik had magied the flyers and Plouffe’s banner to reveal copies of Lafontaine’s formula, which doctors later verified as the poison in the food as well as the syringe he’d plunged into her heart.
Lafontaine had been arrested. Souverain Gabriel had fled.
Now they were beginning reparations, starting with the formation of the Assembly of Peoples. Equal representation from all quarters.
According to Fernand, it was taking forever.
“You’ve done more for the Restes in two weeks than anyone has in a century,” she said. “Art takes patience.”
“I’m not an artist.”
“That’s not true.” She motioned to the construction around them.People who waved and cheered him—not her. In fact, the words she’d shouted at the second contest were beginning to melt away. Soon, she would be a footnote in the greater changes of this city. Fernand was the kind of person who would carry them forward. “Art isn’t always something you can hang in a gallery or a shop window. It’s the ability to look inward, to wrestle with the darkest parts of yourself, then express those feelings in the hopes others resonate with them.”
Pain of what she’d lost flickered in her chest, but she shoved it away.
“You have a gift with people. You make them listen.”
“I make them heard,” he corrected her.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’ll change this city, Fernand. Just be patient with the process.”
