“That was not a dismissal.”
She didn’t let go. “Excuse me?”
But they’d already forgotten her. The Souverains returned to theirhushed conversation, which was some kind of sign for the crowd to begin their own deliberations. Elara spun, foolishly searching for the boy who’d truly acknowledged her presence.
He was gone.
None of this should be happening. It was all wrong.
“Congratulations, Chef Auclair,” Lafontaine declared. “You’ve been selected to move on in the Objet d’Art.”
No one hid their outraged commentary.
Her?
A Restes inourkitchens?
She doesn’t stand a chance.
“I-I’m sorry?” Elara stammered.
“Whatever innovation your previous mentor didn’t see in you isourgain,” Lafontaine said, like it was a secret she was supposed to interpret. “We look forward to more of your creativity.”
“I… I…”
Her chest beneath the tattoo burned, pulling her attention away.
Get out of there, Fernand’s voice warned.Get out.
She knew she should. If she wanted to survive, she should run and run fast.
The other part that wanted to see how long this dream could last longed to stay.
“I am flattered,” she managed to say. “But I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense,” Souverain Tremblay snapped. “You’d bring welcome entertainment to this stuffy affair.”
Souverain Faucher of Arts Spectacle stood, gold chains glimmering as she spread her arms wide to the crowd. “Elouise Auclair will be among our Favored. Let those who wish to bid for Patronage step forward.”
This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening.
No one moved.
No one so much as breathed.
Get out of there! Now!The tattoo burned almost as much as her shame in thinking this could have ever worked.
Elara curtsied, as low as she could this time. “I’m sorry to have wasted your—”
A chair scraped the floor behind her.
“I will be her Patron.”
8NIK
“I will be her Patron.”
Nik repeated the claim if for no other reason than to disrupt the crushing silence.
