“It’s not the Counseil you must convince, Dupont.” Lafontaine leaned forward, a warning, a message. “It is your Favored.”
On the surface, he meant Elouise. Patrons had to prove they were perfect for their desired chef by flaunting their money and status.
Underneath, Lafontaine meant himself. He was Nik’s true favored.
If—when—Elouise won, Nik would become part of Lafontaine’s inner circle, and he would be that much closer to proving he was capable, that he could be trusted.
He faced Elouise and spoke the wordshewould want to hear, the same Lafontaine wanted to hear.
“This room doesn’t see you for what you really are,” he said.
“And what is that?” she asked quietly.
“Opportunity knocking,” Nik answered. “You and I both know these people don’t know real work.”
She flashed a brief smile amid the offended scoffs.
Reminding himself it was all an act, he took her hands and turned them over. They were small, so much smaller than his own, but they were scarred from a life she’d probably fought hard to escape, a life Nik never wanted to know again. “You’re covered in burns and cuts, there’sflour in your hair, and I saw the way you watched the Counseil as they ate. It didn’t matter if they accepted you or not. All you cared about was the art.”
Passion. Desire. Drive. All the things that would make Lafontaine the perfect person to save this city. All the traits Nik would prove he had as well. Someday.
Warm air brushed his cheeks as Elouise exhaled. On the outside, they were likely a vision of intimacy only Restes orphans could re-create. For Nik, it was a jarring contradiction between wanting to pull away and wipe his sweaty palms or clench her tighter to convince her of his lies.
Elouise stared at their palms, and she trembled like a leaf. Blai was right about her. The story would tell itself, and she would be the perfect pawn.
“Let me help them see you.” He dipped his chin to meet her eyes. “See us.”
It stole his breath when she finally looked at him. Nik had grown so used to staring into lifeless pupils, milk white and empty. It was the only part of the dead he found comforting—they couldn’t look back. They couldn’t see through him.
Elouise was living, breathing, and responsible for his future, and she was looking at him for a lifeline. This girl, as weak as an ill-carved stitch, held his future in her warm hands.
“Fine.”
Her voice was hard as she pulled away.
Nik didn’t have a moment to rejoice before Lafontaine barked orders.
“Then it’s settled,” he declared. “Elouise Auclair will be entered into the Objet d’Art under the Patronage of Nikolas Dupont, Aspirant of Arts Humains.” He faced Nik, eyes cold and detached. “Favored are to be kept sequestered from the public eye for the duration of the contest.During this time, you are to offer any support you can in the form of lodgings, practice, presentations, and other requirements set forth by the Counseil.”
The rest happened so cleanly, so quickly it was damn near medical. A servant rushed forward with a silver domed tray. He removed the lid to reveal one of the black envelopes reserved for the Patrons. It was heavy and crisp and his name appeared upon the front in delicate white cursive. Beneath it, Elouise’s name followed with brilliant loops, threads of letters overlapping.
“This magied parchment will reveal information to you and your chef throughout the contest.”
Two officers broke through the crowd, ready to escort them out. Elara flinched, drawing close enough that her skirts brushed his trousers.
Nik stepped between them.
“Expect guidelines for the first round in the morning. For better or worse, Dupont,” Lafontaine said, fingers steepled beneath his chin, “your fates are tied.”
It was the final warning before the police herded them through the crowd and into the empty foyer.
Elouise jerked away from their touch, then buried her hands in her apron, making herself as small as possible, though the effect was more like a child throwing a temper tantrum.
“They’re taking us to a carriage,” he explained.
She didn’t respond as they were guided down a short hallway to a section of wall. If Nik were here on his own, he would’ve pulled the sconce himself, but the less she and anyone else knew of his ties to Lafontaine, the better.
The wall parted, shifting aside noiselessly to reveal the darkened hallway of a servants’ passage. Nik followed the first officer down, and he was grateful to hear Elouise’s shuffling steps behind.
