“No.”
It couldn’t be.
There was no way.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“I made a promise,” Nik replied quietly, “and I intend to keep it.”
39NIK
For the span of a heartbeat, Nik feared she’d give him away.
Nik wanted nothing more than to damn the contest and tell her the truth about his father’s lies. But would it make a difference? Did it even matter when so many other lives were at stake?
“You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed.
“I don’t want him here either.” Fernand, disguised as a much older version of himself, leaned against the counter.
Elara’s jaw slackened as she tried to see beyond Blai’s expert makeup. “What the hell is this?”
“Impressive magie,” Fernand replied. “Do you have any idea how useful Lozano could be?”
“They’re not your pawn.” Elara’s gaze darted to the Counseil.
Nik leaned in. “We figured out what the—”
She held up a palm. “Counseil?”
They didn’t move or look.
“Vive la révolution,” she whispered, eyes focused on the caravan. “Lafontaine killed Lisette Plouffe.”
She was testing them. Of course. The other rounds had been amplified one way or another for the crowd. He doubted his father would wanteverydetail as transparent tonight.
When she was sure they couldn’t hear, she nodded for him to go on.
“We figured out what the serum does,” he said. “Do you remember the scorpion root? It can never be mixed with a sedative of any kind.”
“Why?”
“The reaction reverses the scorpion root’s magie and doubles the potency. Meaning it has the opposite effect than what you accomplished during the first round.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “It dampens magie.”
Fernand nodded. “We’re not sure if it’s permanent.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one should be able to take another person’s magie.”
“Or prevent them from having it.” Nik surveyed the crowd. Only a small percentage of them likely had magie to begin with, but the others would have it removed before they could even have a hope to learn.
“He only has one syringe on him,” she said. “A threat to keep me in my place, but it’s not enough to do anything tonight.”
“Unless he injected it somewhere else.” Fernand nodded to the table laden with ingredients.
Elara’s knuckles turned white. “He wouldn’t.”
“He already has.”
