He flipped to a blank page, closed his eyes, and imagined the person who’d been haunting his dreams since he’d seen that photograph.
His mother used to have waves like sunset waterfalls, gentle and flowing, and eyes as brown as the soil she nurtured daily. And there was nothing like her red tulip smile that always turned toward the sun.
Even when she hadn’t eaten for days.
Even when she was smeared with grease and reeked of sweat.
Nik’s charcoal swept across the page, dancing through well-rehearsed lines, whisking up coils and coils of hair, chiseling away at the sharp jaw she’d passed on to him. Everything else, his eyes down to his grimace, belonged to Lafontaine.
They’d loved each other in the early days, Lafontaine and his mother. She’d died loving him, but his father barely breathed her name these days.
Someone knocked.
His charcoal snapped, striking an ugly scar across his mother’s beautiful face.
“Go away,” he growled.
It creaked open.
He huffed. “You’ve said enough, Chantal.”
“It’s me.”
His spine went rigid.
“If you know what’s best for you,” he said, “you’ll leave. Now.”
Elara was quiet for a blessed moment. “I know you’re angry, but I had no choice.”
“You wereforcedto make a fool of yourself today?” The words didn’t feel right, but he pushed them out anyway. Shoved every bit of hisembarrassment and weak jealousy into them. “You wereforcedto pick up the wrong ingredients? You wereforcedto present the most powerful magie the Counseil has likely seen in a decade?”
Elara folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “First, I’m sorry I didn’t suspect Fiona of being a two-faced cow. Second, you know those ingredients were stolen the moment Gae—my mentor got up there. Third, ifthat’sthe most powerful magie they’ve seen, why do they deserve to be Souverains?”
He slammed the sketchbook closed. “That’s not the point!”
“Enlighten me, then.”
“The point is that you didn’t listen. You didn’t follow the plan. Now we look like fools.”
He got up and shifted to sit on the front of his desk.
“We?” She snorted. “You weren’t the one spilling your breakfast in front of the most powerful people in the city. You weren’t having to make snap decisions in an impossible situation.”
“No, but my name is tied to yours.” A rebel name. It burned like acid. “If you go down, so do I.”
She was quiet for a moment, watching him with a gaze that pierced right through him.
Instead of fighting, her shoulders softened.
“I’m sorry.” She was gentler now, and it irked him more because it was an act. Had to be. “I shouldn’t have trusted Fiona.”
“No. You can’t trust anyone.”
“Including you?”
He turned, fingers pressed on the sketchbook, and found her studying him again. It wasn’t as sharp as before, more imploring. The kind of look she gave to Chantal and Gaetan, and he wondered what a warm embrace from her would feel like. Would she fit perfectly against his body? Would he feel safe and—
“We’re all getting something out of this arrangement,” he finally said.
