It was time.
With a deep breath, she said, “My name is Elara Rousseau.”
The collar of her coat clamped down on her throat like a vise. It tore against her flesh, tightening and tightening until she couldn’t breathe. Something inside her skin popped, and the world spun.
The coat had been made for only one Favored, Elouise Auclair, and it would kill anyone else who tried to steal it.
She staggered, crashing into one of the mirrored walls hard enough for it to crack. No matter how much she scraped, the buttons wouldn’t loosen. The edges of her vision began to darken, but through the haze the fragments of mirror glimmered around her feet like stars. In the shards, her reflection gaped up at her. Her mother’s freckles darkened against her paling cheeks. Her mother’s black hair shadowing her from the light.
The coat hadn’t been made for Elouise Auclair.
It had been made for her. Shewasthe Favored.
Elara had fought her way to the second round despite the odds. She deserved to be here, wearing this coat.
Cool air rushed down her throat and into her lungs. She gulped it greedily. Against her breast, the gilded threads rearranged themselves:Elara Rousseau.
The Counseil were still doubled over in hunger, but they stared. Bewildered.
“What my mother did was unforgivable,” she continued through heavy breaths, “and I can’t take any of it back. Just as whoever orphaned me can’t take back slitting her throat. You punish us, but we’ve already punished ourselves. The Restes just hopes to move forward.”
Elara turned her eyes up to the audience. Loathsome as they were, they were part of this city, part of the people she needed to make amends to. They’d been lied to, manipulated into believing every Reste was as monstrous as the Counseil had made her mother and the rebels out to be.
“The Restes are capable of great things, and we can help make this city something special if we’re given the basic rights the rest of you are afforded. Education. Freedom to discover. Food. We are more than some faceless mob. Restes carry this city on their broken backs, and it’s time you understood that. We are unforgettable.Iam unforgettable.”
No applause this time.
Fuck them.
It didn’t matter.
She turned to the Counseil and pushed the smaller tart forward.
“What is that?” Gabriel spat.
“The cure,” she replied, taking a bite. “It will reverse the effects.”
The Souverains descended upon the tray like snarling dogs. When they staggered back, satiated, their white clothes were ruined, and they didn’t dare look at one another.
“What was the magie?” Lafontaine hissed.
Elara regarded the empty pan with a smile.
“Food. Simple and pure. Food, dear Counseil, is the only antidote to hunger.”
23NIK
The chefs made their way through the maze for a final time, the crimson lights illuminating the paths to their stations. Nik couldn’t tear his eyes away from Elara, who he’d believed would be deep in some dungeon by now.
She walked like a woman headed to the gallows, chin up high and back stiff.
But they hadn’t arrested her.
Not after the thunderous applause from the crowd, not after Faucher and Tremblay both took on Gabriel and Cormier in a heated debate. She’d practically spat in their faces, and they’d loved it. That was the gamble with performing for the rich. There was no telling what they’d take as art or insult.
At least one threat was taken care of. Fiona waved smugly up toward the crowd, gaze lingering on a glass panel depicting a close-up of Elara. She’d gotten what she wanted, and the way was paved for her success.
Nik cowered in a secluded balcony and watched. Elara would never be safe again. His father would’ve kept her as Souverain of Arts Culinaires as long as she obeyed and sided with his every political move.
