The cane leaning in the corner became clear now. There were good mornings and bad, days when the rain settled in and she leaned upon it more. Her Société had done that to her.
“I’m so sorry, Chantal.”
“Don’t be.” She lowered the makeup brush. “It took me a long time to realize I’m not broken. They are. Maybe my new powerful Souverain friend will help me make a ballet studio that caters toallneeds.”
“Chantal, I…”
“Being Souverain isn’t just about running Arts Culinaires and baking pretty things. You can make a difference.”
A knot bruised her throat. “How?”
Chantal nudged her chin to the side, forcing Elara to look at her face in the mirror. Chantal hadn’t covered her freckles but she’d applied a dark red lip. It was as if she’d highlighted all the aspects of her face that Elara loved—her nose, her dark brows, and her full cheeks.
“Think of why you started in the first place.”
The black carriage rounded the circular drive of Château des Visages, Souverain Faucher’s home. Ribbons representing every Société waved along the road leading to the front gardens, where the other carriages were parked. The trees sparkled with shimmering garlands, and flowers burst from glass spheres that floated through the air. Magie, Elara realized, was everywhere.
Outside was a world of wonderment.
Inside, Nikolas was a storm cloud. An antsy one that couldn’t stop fidgeting.
Was he nervous? Excited?
As soon as the carriage parked, Elara jolted toward the door only to be snagged by a sharply mutteredwait.
“Remember,” he said, “no surprises, no mishaps, and no drawing attention to yourself.”
“And mymentor?” she asked.
He scratched his pant leg again, lips turning up sharply. “Someone I dug up. Pretend to like them.”
She mock saluted before springing from the carriage.
“Fourth or fifth place,” he called after her.
But she was already headed to a tent where little sandwiches and drinks had been prepared. The other chefs gathered in the shade, where they were deep in conversation.
Because they already knew one another.
Elara was an outsider.
A fraud.
No. Shedeservedto be here. Fernand got her the invitation, but her talent secured her place as one of the seven Favored. Elara had earned the right to eat fancy tarts and sip champagne like the rest of them.
She squared her shoulders and approached.
“Are we ready for today?” she asked.
The circle fell quiet. Some found sudden fascination with their drinks while others looked at one another for a hint as to how they should proceed with the Restes filth.
A woman with dark hair cut at the chin eventually said, “We’ll see, won’t we?”
“We were just discussing what we’d do if we made Souverain,” a man with a cloud of curly blond hair said. “What about you? What would be your first order of business?”
“Oh.” Her stomach tightened, but she passed it with a laugh. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Free bread for the day?”
Some of them laughed, releasing the tension in her shoulders.
