As much as it hurt, she closed her eyes and forced herself to think of home. Not just her cramped Arts Culinaires tenement, but the broken apartment her mother had rented on the south end. Where her motherhad pulled herself from ruin as a Reste with no Société to become one of the most celebrated people in the quarter. All while raising a baby alone because the father had been a tourist, someone here and then gone. Everything her mother did had been on her own.
Until she met others like herself. People who were trying for a better life.
Long ago, the Counseil had deemed the poor as Restes: leftovers. They were scraps to be thrown away.
Except a Reste knew the best part of a stew was the end, the bit you could cook down into a thickened mixture and wrap in flaky crust for tomorrow’s meal.
Nothing went to waste because survival depended upon it.
A Reste understood the value of simple ingredients. Of each other.
With a clear heart, she added oil, salt, and herbs to the saucepan and let her mind drift to the magie that would make this truly special.
She added the warmth of her mother’s smile, followed by a pinch of those passionate rallies behind closed doors. Fists thrown in the air. Elara’s first crusty baguette.
A Senate on fire.
“TIME!”
Elara set her finished meal to the side and slumped against the counter. The mirrors were empty, and she was alone in a crowded arena that was now eerily silent. Eager faces peered over the ledges, and in their eyes, she saw what Nik had promised: a hunger to see her fall.
The Counseil visited her station last. This time, they were surrounded by a dozen guards. Two shuffled Elara away from the station, making her well aware they wouldn’t hesitate to end her if she so much as flinched.
“This is ridiculous!” Gabriel waved a silver-gloved hand at the guards. “Take her away.”
“You do not make the decisions for the rest of us!” Faucher snapped. “Back away from her this instant.”
“She is a war criminal!” Cormier cried.
“Her mother was,” Tremblay added. “What would become of this city if we were to arrest everyone based on their lineage?”
“We’d be more civilized,” Gabriel snarled.
Elara felt the hair rise on her neck, but she remained rooted to the spot.
It was Faucher and Tremblay who stepped toward her station first. They both considered the food Elara had prepared.
“We allowed you to finish cooking because we believe in a full performance,” Faucher said. “And perform you did.”
“While lying about your identity is clearly a violation of the Objet d’Art,” Tremblay added, meeting Elara’s gaze with more kindness than she expected, “it is understandable in this circumstance.”
The crowd whispered feverishly, but Elara stared ahead, unable to believe she wasn’t being carted away already.
Faucher continued, “The Restes has long been neglected, and we cannot let one incident in history allow us to bite the hand that feeds.”
The crowdhatedthat.
It was Lafontaine who addressed her next, his face full of rage. “We are currently looking into your background to determine if you yourself were or are privy to illegal activities.”
“I’m not,” she managed to say.
“If that is true, you will be permitted to continue.Ifyou are worthy of it.”
They stepped back into a line, six Souverains surrounded by a dozen guards.
Elara cautiously stepped forward. “I present Une Ville Divisée.”
Cormier rolled his eyes. “A Divided City. How precious.”
