Per Tremblay’s orders, he was helping to plan the new textile factories. She’d seen his magie at the finale as well as his plans for Rousseau’s bakery, and decided his penance was to design newer, safer workplaces for the city. It was more than he deserved.
His father might be rotting in prison, but it was Nik who carried the weight of all they’d done.
“You’re out late.” Tremblay rounded the corner.
“Souverain.” He cut the word off. It was habit. One he needed to break. There were no ridiculous titles anymore. She was a counselor, one of many. “I finished the designs on the new clinic.”
He held out the folder.
She’d rejected his plans at least a hundred times already. At this rate, they’d open the clinic after he died.
Tremblay flipped through the papers casually as if Nik’s gut wasn’t actively trying to chew through itself. He was told by other apprenticesthat sharing your work got easier. Lies. It never felt good to trust someone else.
“These are good,” she said. “We can talk about a few minor changes in the morning.”
Minor changes.
It was good enough to release the hitch in his chest.
“You’re still holding back. I want the work you did for Rousseau’s bakery. Imagine all we could do if you gave me that kind of innovation.”
He flushed, unsure of what to say. Compliments were still new. Also, there was no way he could explain that his passion for Elara’s shop hadn’t been about the architecture. It had been about the baker.
Maybe that was the purpose of art.
He was still figuring that out.
“Does she like it?” he asked quietly.
Tremblay’s brows rose. “You haven’t been?”
Nik shook his head.
She touched his shoulder, a firm grip. “You must accept every part of who you are, even the pieces that make you ashamed. If you don’t, they’ll eventually eat you alive.”
Tremblay headed for the bridge back to the north, but she stopped near the crest and said, “Café Divin is truly divine. Go get some inspiration.”
With that, she left him at the edge of the bridge alone. No guards. No onlookers.
Nik had a choice to make.
His father would’ve chosen the coward’s route and returned home to lie in the dark.
So Nik practiced his new motto for living: He chose the opposite of Lafontaine.
He headed to The Market, then down a winding alley that ended in a cove filled with music and laughter. People huddled together at outdoor tables despite the cold. Their cheeks were rosy as they told jokes and played games with their shirts covered in pastry flakes.
Nik watched from the shadows.
It was the closest he’d allowed himself to be since Elara woke up.
Gathering his courage, he stepped into the light and was immediately enveloped in warmth. Ah. The heated cobblestones he’d designed worked perfectly.
Nik pulled his collar up higher. Most people didn’t recognize him now. He’d let his hair grow wild, and a dark stubble covered his chin and cheeks. Plus, he’d abandoned his ugly red suits in favor of the new fashion of wearing whatever the hell colors he wanted.
The windows were filled with pastries, pies, and breads. Magnificent, multicolored cakes twirled upon pedestals that allowed every intricate weave of icing to be admired. He searched the signage for any mention of magie.
The front door swung open.
