All of this was too much drama for Nik’s taste. The Counseil sat upon six gilded ornate chairs behind a table overflowing with fresh flowers and wine. They’d each dressed in their best finery, which meant long lace trains upon which Perrault of Arts Littéraires allowed her poetry to flow; a wide-brimmed hat that rained dollops of cobalt paint upon Souverain Tremblay of Arts Visuel’s flowing pantsuit, and so much more. Other than their jeweled ornaments, the Counseil were a beacon of white amid the vibrant room. A reminder of their so-calledperfection.
Nik set his napkin aside, eyes narrowed on the chef.
“Easy.” Blai touched his wrist. “Not this one.”
“Why not?” Nik muttered.
“Because he won’t make it.”
They’d been at this all evening; Nik would jump to place his bid, and Blai would pull him back. The Souverains had filled up four of the seven spots already, which meant there were only three more opportunities to find someone—no. Not just someone. The perfect puppet to obey his father and vote him in as Grand Souverain, a role that could destroy the rebels forever and restore order to Anespérer. His father would use this power to create a new system whereeveryonewould have a chance to learn an art. No one would ever be orphaned and overshadowed like Nik ever again.
And Blai was wasting every opportunity.
“He’s perfect.” Nik motioned to the chef eagerly awaiting his fate. “The Counseil liked the meal and the magie was strong.”
“You and I both know the Counseil is after more than skill in the kitchen.”
“They want connections,” Nik agreed. “Favored Sixteen has worked in some of the best kitchens, and he’s the son of one of the wealthiest families in—”
Blai waved an impatient hand. “Apprenticeships, wealth, family. Blah, blah, blah. Sure, that delectable meal of a chef has connections, but not therightconnections.”
On cue, Lafontaine shouted, “Next!”
Favored Sixteen gawked, blinking rapidly before being tugged out of the dining hall and back into the kitchen along with all the other rejected contestants. If the Souverains couldn’t find three more candidates by the time they reached the end of the Favored, the chef would get a second chance.
“Told you.” Blai winked, then returned to flirting with the other guests nearby.
Nik watched, envious of how easily they could change their shape to fit right in. Blai was resplendent in a yellow suit that also served as a dramatic, billowing dress with a long train they swirled at every opportunity. The mustard yellow sang against their rich brown skin, but nothing could distract from their smile and the way they wielded a fan in conversation.
Annoying as Blai could be, this was why Nik had invited them. They could work a room, glean information from a simple chat that would take Nik days of sneaking around to figure out.
When he’d told Blai about his real purpose tonight, they’d still jumped at the opportunity. It didn’t matter to them if Lafontaine had plans to uproot the Counseil. Blai wanted connections and a chance to tell a good story.
That’s all this is, Nik, Blai had said as they laid out their outfits.You need a chef people will root for.
“Dupont.” Blai tapped a long, canary-yellow nail against Nik’s cheek. “No one will want to work with you if you keep scowling like that.”
“I don’t understand these rules,” he grumbled.
“Social rules or those of the Counseil?”
“Both.”
“Four have already been accepted, right? Where did they come from?”
Nik hadn’t thought of that. All evening, he’d been trying to figure out what made someone worthy of competing in Objet d’Art? They had varying levels of experience, their dishes were all unique, and their family names ranged from Anespérer fame to unremarkable nobodies.
Blai smiled. “Not a single one of them comes from the richest districts. They’ve come from Le Cœur, the Fumée Quarter, even across the seas in Cael.”
Nik puzzled it out for a moment. “Places they still need control in.”
In Le Cœur, for example, Visuels took up most of the shops with their painting, architecture, and furniture stores. If Souverain Faucher of Arts Spectacle made the right move, she could open new theatres furnished by Arts Visuels and fed by Arts Culinaires.
“Expansion opportunities,” he muttered. “Places the other disciplines don’t have as much control.”
“Points for the smart boy.” Blai pinched his cheek.
Nik batted them off.
