“Were you sent to acquire an apprenticeship?” Elara asked.
Blai grabbed a mug and helped themselves to a pastry. “No. I sent myself.”
People coming from other countries to be trained by one of the famed seven Sociétés was becoming more common by the month. Anespérerwas an isolated city-state, which meant the Counseil and their Directeurs could only claim so much power and money onshore. Offshore? They could entice new talent, train them, and send them back to their countries to open businesses in the name of their Souverain. It gave them status and money, which were just as good as power.
“Then why are you both here helping me?” Elara asked.
They glanced at each other before Blai replied, “Chantal will help you survive elite society, and I’ll ensure you look the part.”
She perked up. “A new wardrobe?”
“Among other things.” They pulled a sketch pad from a random shelf and a bit of charcoal from a cluttered drawer and went to work. “Picture this.”
Oh, she could. Blai had been one of the most fashionable guests last night. What would they dream up for her? Lace collars? Tall boots? Embroidered corsets?
Elara leaned forward, eagerly following every swoop and mark.
No angular shoulder pads. No gravity-defying trains. No scandalous breasts clad in gauzy material.
It was her exact dress, except cleaner and with a brown vest.
It was… disgustingly plain.
Blai’s charcoal moved to the top of her head.
“If you so much as add a bonnet, I’ll poison your next meal,” she threatened. “What is this?”
“A costume,” they declared, as if it weren’t obvious. “You’re playing a part. The Exposé was all about the Souverains’ choice. From here on out, you’ll be performing for larger crowds eager for a good story.”
“Win the crowd,” Chantal added, “win the Souverains. Even if you slip up, they’d have to think twice about getting rid of you if the audience loves you.”
“And that means looking like this? Like a fool? This isexactlyhow they picture people from the Restes looking.”
“Less dingy, I’d say,” Blai shot back.
“More humiliating.”
Blai turned to Chantal. “Help me.”
“I refuse.” Her nose wrinkled as she pushed the drawing aside. “This is wretched.”
“The point isn’t to be glamorous.” Blai leaned back with a huff. “After last night’s performance, all eyes will be on you. The Counseil want you around as entertainment, so we’ll give them that. If you show up dressed to kill with the kind of magie you can perform, that makes you a… a…”
“A threat,” Chantal said.
“Exactly! Thank you!”
Elara glowered at the mockery of a design.
She’d thought becoming Elouise Auclair would free her from her past, but she would always be a Reste.
“What’s your plan?” she mumbled.
“Present you as a humble, demure Reste orphan,” Blai answered, “skilled with a whisk and highly impressionable.”
“A pawn,” Chantal added, though her tone hinted at more than disgust.
“I’m not exactly a delicate flower.” Elara motioned to her flour-coated apron.
