She and Gaetan presented their chocolate domes, which weredecent. They were identical, shiny, and sat perfectly upon a sprinkle of crumble.
“What is it called?” Souverain Faucher asked.
Elara threw a glare back at Fiona. “Un Instant de Force.” A Moment of Strength.
“If you would.” Lafontaine motioned to the seventh plate.
Elara tucked in, cracking the chocolate shell to reveal the calmante mousse and raspberry, vanilla center. She took a bite with the root crumble. Flavors and sensations burst through her mouth—none of them pain. The texture was delicately smooth, the magie warm and inviting. The calmante amplified her vision again, but this time it wasn’t unpleasant. It was soothing and made way for the burst of power in her veins from the root.
“Enjoy,” she said, voice soft.
The Counseil tucked in quicker than they had any other dish.
At first, nothing happened.
Then Faucher stood, head bowed as if in pain.
If Elara hurt the Counseil, there’d be no recovering. The police would put a bullet straight through her and Gaetan’s hearts.
Suddenly, Faucher threw her head back and… sang.
The notes trilled high into the blue sky. From nowhere, ash and smoke burst in great plumes that descended upon the crowd, plummeting everything into darkness.
Then there was chaos.
Strangled shouts echoed all around her, followed by piercing, wet screams. Metal sang against metal like swords and armor clashing.
“Gaetan!” Elara reached for him only to find air.
A light burst upon the horizon, clearing the area in an aftershock of wind.
The arena was gone, and Elara stood in the center of a battlefieldsurrounded by soldiers. Faucher, no longer dressed in white, raised a broadsword high as more soldiers cascaded over a hill.
“Watch out!” someone shouted too late.
Pain ripped through Elara’s arm. She screamed and clamped down on the wound. Blood wept between her fingers, warm and sticky. Too real to be magie. Her boots slipped against the mud, and she crashed onto the ground just as a sword raised above her head.
Hands grabbed her, pulling her back to reality.
The battlefield was gone. The sky clear. The chefs were huddled with their mentors, and the crowd beyond the hedge cowered for their lives.
Gaetan grabbed both her shoulders. “What was that?”
“No idea,” she whispered.
It was supposed to amplify their magie, but only by a fraction thanks to the calmante seed. Unless she’d been wrong or… put too much emotion into it. Shit.
The gash in her arm ached. The gash. In her arm. It was bleeding… it was real.
Faucher collapsed into her chair, face bloomed with manic delight. “Absolutely wonderful! That was the final battle ofElizabeta the Brave! More real than any stage production could conjure. Bravo!”
The Counseil were silent.
No one said a word. Not about the flavor. Not about the magie.
“Dismissed,” Lafontaine said.
Elara looked back to Nikolas, whose scowl hadn’t shifted.
