He looked back only once when a spotlight burst on as Tremblay called Elara’s name to the roaring welcome from a crowd that had also fallen for her.
Of course she would never need him. She belonged in the spotlight, waving and smiling upward as Blai and Chantal had taught her.
20ELARA
Two weeks ago, she’d thought agreeing to work with Nik had been the worst mistake of her life, but now her heart ached to see him disappear into the dark.
“Chefs.” Souverain Tremblay’s smoky voice called from everywhere. “You will have four hours to produce a savory dish for the Counseil. Only three of you will move on to the next round, meaning the two chefs who do not meet the Counseil’s standards will be eliminated.”
Elara craned her neck to find the Counseil gilded with light. If this was Tremblay’s attempt at re-creating the painting in the foyer, she’d missed the mark. The Counseil were not the golden lover or her shadowed prince.
They were the claws ripping them apart.
Those monsters had grinned as the chefs had brutalized each other in the last contest. They reveled in flaunting their power over a meaningless contest. Lafontaine wasn’t choosing her because he thought she would make a deserving Souverain. He needed her to help him.
She was a fool if she didn’t believe the others were the same.
The lights shifted from gold to crimson, flooding the entire room with bloodstained light. The darkness disappeared, revealing a mirrored hallway before her. The echo of reflections made her stomach flip.
“Proceed to your stations.”
Elara swallowed the urge to run.
Somewhere in this maze, Fiona was waiting, holding a wretched secret she wouldn’t hesitate to unleash should Elara succeed. It wasn’tthe truth of her hidden identity that frightened her. It’s what Fiona had threatened.
When they realize you’re a liar and a sham, do you think they’ll get rid of just you?
Nikolas. Blai. Chantal.
They would all go down with her.
She had to hope that the tattoo magie would succeed, that Nik would find a way to silence Fiona.
The only way forward was through.
She moved into the hallway, dazed by her pale reflection multiplied in every direction.
With each step, the lights shut off behind her, ushering her forward at a faster and faster pace until she was running, cutting tight corners and nearly slamming into walls. Eventually she collided with a cooking station in the middle of a square, mirrored chamber.
A clock with sapphire hands appeared above the Counseil’s balcony.
“Your time begins now.”
That was it.
No further instructions. No warnings.
There was no way to tell what the other chefs were doing. How they were doing.
Elara took out the recipe book and turned a few pages. Futile. Fiona would get her wish because Elara had lied to Nik. She wasn’t fine.
The tattoo’s magie worked, but it worked too well. It took everything it was supposed to—and then some.
Without any memory of her mother, Elara couldn’t bake anymore.
For the last two days, she’d tried everything from basic breads to extravagant mille-feuille. Nothing worked. Her custards burned, her pastries could crack teeth, and all her cakes sank. It didn’t matter how carefully she followed the recipes, measuring ingredients to perfection;they always failed. Anyone could follow a recipe, but only experience taught you how long to cream sugar with butter or how to test when a cake was perfectly baked.
Elara was nothing without the years of intuition her mother must have given her.
