Rubbish.
And the spell Elara had cast over him was too.
He’d shoved the sketchbook into his drawer, sent a letter to Lafontaine, and left before he could delude himself any further. Regardless of whatever feelings he had for Elara, they couldn’t get in the way of their plans.
Besides, she’d hate him if she ever learned the truth.
The only option to keep her safe and keep them on track was to tell his father about her past. They could get ahead of the story, and maybe, just maybe, Lafontaine could convince Elara to be a different symbol to the Restes Quarter.
A rebel traitor.
He moved to the only comforting object in the room: a painting, barely the size of a dinner plate. It hung alone on an alabaster wall near the window, where it would catch both the morning and evening light.
An indigo river set beneath an ashen-sapphire city rippled with small white crests of waves. The buildings leaned toward one another, forming a dark cavern at the end of a small, lonely bridge. A singular street light burned, rippling lines of yellow and white across the layered brushstrokes.
The art didn’t match his father’s austere office, but Nik knew why it belonged.
A lone figure entered from the bottom right corner. If it weren’t for the details only Nik and his father might notice, she might’ve been a nameless subject, but his father was nothing if not particular: long black hair, dirt smudged upon her fingertips, a pocket full of herbs. A bundle of lavender in her basket.
Nik’s mother stopped on the bridge, looked left to the south, then right to the north. In the end, she chose north.
She always did.
Nik watched the loop repeat three times before his father entered.
“Sometimes I’m afraid she’ll change her mind.”
Nik had never thought of it as a choice. It was the truth. When it mattered the most, she’d chosen Lafontaine that night, and Nik awoke an orphan, terrified and alone. While Lafontaine grieved, Nik had stayed as long as he could in their shared apartment, only to be kicked out within the week. At fifteen, he should’ve been able to survive on his own in the Restes, but his mother had sheltered him.
He slept beneath bridges, huddling around small fires to keep warm against the winter. He found odd jobs. Ones that allowed him to relieve his anger, using his fists more than his head.
Reminders of who I never want to be again, he’d told Elara last night.It’s taken me a while to learn who I am.
Had he really learned, though? Would his mother be proud?
Did it matter?
“Do you miss her?” he asked.
“I miss her wit,” Lafontaine confessed. “Her passion.”
There was more he wanted to ask, but Nik didn’t press the issue. Instead, he readied himself for why he’d come.
“Father, I need to—”
“Please. Let me go first.” Lafontaine motioned to the window. “I want to talk about the future.”
Nik swallowed the knot bruising his throat. “I know Elouise was too forward in the first round. But I think I know—”
“All in due time. I wanted to discuss another future.”
He reached out a hand.
Nik braced for pain.
“Your future, Nikolas.”
His mind went entirely blank as Lafontaine gripped his shoulder. A fatherly embrace.
