She flipped to the next page.
My dearest,
If you’re reading this, then you’ve come to the same place all great artists must: a crossroads. Or I wasted twenty soms on a magied book some dog shredded. If that’s the case, may the pages be delicious and filling.
I hope you know it’s okay to have made mistakes. Maybetearing this book apart feels like one, but it’s not. This is what true art is all about. It’s creation and exploration. It’s taking the tools you are given, like a few recipes, and breaking them down to create something new.
This is my gift to you—space to make something all your own.
A recipe is more than just perfectly measured ingredients and accurate cook times.
It’s a way of connecting people. Of sharing truths with the world.
What will your truths be?
With all my heart.
Elara read the words a dozen times over before she trusted they wouldn’t disappear.
Creation and exploration.
Her mother had known she’d reach a point of frustration big enough to destroy the book because she too had been an artist. Magie was, after all, the intersection of powerful intentions and powerful emotions. With that knowledge, her mother had given her freedom to let go of the past and move forward, to take only what she wanted into the future.
She kissed the words. “Thank you.”
Then she got up, snatched the fountain pen, and got to work.
First, she made her list of clothes for tonight.
Lafontaine would never own her soul. Even when the Counseil crowned her Souverain. Even when they named him Grand Souverain, he wouldneverhave as much sway in the Restes as she did. Elara didn’t deserve it, but she would try to be worthy of their support.
She’d start tonight, where she’d give the Restes more than a grand finale; she’d give them the strength to keep fighting.
38ELARA
This time, Elara rode alone in the carriage.
She went over her plan again.
Fernand had warned her to stay away from the finale, which meant he had something catastrophic planned.
If he and his people had escaped…
Elara needed to remain alert. If he was there, she’d know, and she could stop him.
Her only goal was to win over the Restes crowd, and she could do that by proving she’d defend them as Souverain. Tonight, Lafontaine would learn he couldn’t control her every move. Only some of them.
Whatever happened, only one thing remained true.
Whoever won the people’s support was the real victor.
The carriage rumbled to a stop around the corner from The Market. Outside, Hector and Berina were already waiting, their Patrons out of sight.
“There she is,” Hector said. “Our final finalist. Everything changes for one of us tonight.”
Berina rubbed her palms against her coat, fingers tracing the embroidered hems. Was it the finest thing she owned as well? Did touching every fiber remind her how another Objet d’Art for Arts Culinaires would never happen in her lifetime? They’d have to wait until the winner croaked in fifty years or so and that’s if medicine didn’t advance to keep them alive longer.
Elara snorted. When Berina looked at her, she asked, “Why doesit take becoming Souverain for people to accept your recipes?” She looked to Hector. “To deem you worthy of remembering? Does it have to be this way?”
