“I don’t delude myself with fantasies,” she replied flatly.
“Then think of the reality.” He went to the bar cart and poured two tumblers with an inch of amber liquid. “You and I both know the contests are a sham. The Favored are hand-selected by Directeurs only because they can give their Société something if they win: a territory to move into, a business connection, anything for them to claim morepower. If a Favored were chosen in the Restes, it’d be a bone thrown to starving dogs.”
He held out a drink.
She took it, cautious of that dangerous, hopeful spark in his eyes.
“What if,” he continued, “we took that bone, sharpened it into a knife, and struck back?”
The parcel loomed larger. “What have you done?”
Fernand brushed the embossed top, fingers dipping into the grooves of the Arts Culinaires crest: a crossed whisk and rolling pin wreathed in herbs.
Whatever waited inside was official. Important. Valuable.
And he’d stolen it.
“What is that?” she practically whispered.
“Your ticket in.”
She should have told him where to shove this ticket and climbed up the stairs to start her job search anew. But there was nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. And she was deeply,horriblycurious.
She winced as he removed the lid, expecting it to explode as some treacherous trap, but nothing happened. It was a normal parcel filled with tissue paper that peeled away like petals to reveal the cleanest chef’s coat she’d ever seen.
It was inlaid with golden thread around the collar and down the front line of buttons. Across the breast pocket shimmered a name she almost recognized.
Elouise Auclair.
Elara stared at the first name, the drink burning against the nerves in her belly.
A blank envelope sat atop it all.
“I present to you,” Fernand declared, “the invitation of the Favoredfor this year’s Object d’Art. Only twenty in existence, and this one is yours.”
She stared at the shimmering thread, desperate to find a way out, to stop even the first spark of hope before it turned into a rolling boil.
“No,” she protested. “It’sElouise Auclair’s.”
“Semantics. I figured Elara Rousseau, who should be Professionnelle by now, would never be welcome in the contest, but Elouise Auclair? Well, she’s just a lowly Aspirant with no history. A blank slate, if you will.”
Fernand always painted everything in the simplest shades.I found this key from a friend who swears the owner is away on holiday. Don’t worry. It’ll be just a small detour.
The owner happened to be one of the most powerful Directeurs in Arts Visuels, and they hadnotbeen away on holiday.
If the coat was real, it meant he had to be in contact with a Directeur in Arts Culinaires and somehow bribed them to put her name—no,Elouise Auclair’sname onto the list of Favored. No one would do that. And if they had, this was much bigger than anything Elara wanted any part of.
Elara tentatively reached for the envelope. Again, nothing happened. Not even as she unfolded the crisp paper to read the brief inside:
CONGRATULATIONS, ELOUISEAUCLAIR!
You have been chosen as one of the twenty Favored for Objet d’Art. On this week’s end, you will prepare and present a singular dish to the Counseil des Sept, who will determine if you are truly Souverain material.
You will have one hour to create something with spectacular magie, bold flavors, and unique textures. More than that,your dish should tell a story of who you are and why you’re destined to become Souverain. If you are lucky, you will be one of the seven finalists chosen to officially enter the Objet d’Art!
All the best,
THECOUNSEIL DESSEPT
