Elara glanced at Blai, who, despite their previous exchange, looked nonplussed about the whole situation. They shrugged as if to say,What else are we going to do?
“Fine,” Elara said. “What do you want?”
“Meet me here in four days. I’ll have a solution and a request.”
Elara mentally checked the timer at the bottom of the letter.
Six days, six hours, fifteen minutes.
That only left two days to determine if his solution worked.
“Deal.” And she spun on her heel right out of the club.
To their credit, Blai didn’t say a word until they were across the bridge. The air was too heavy, the memory of Colin’s battered body too fresh.
“Talk about old flames. I thought you two would end up burning that place to the ground.”
Fernand was right. The Restes was dying, and she was playing pretend in a contest she didn’t even want to win. He was doing the real work. But it was dangerous and the consequences were immeasurable. Just like with her mother.
There had to be another way.
“If it helps, he makes it easy to believe they have a chance,” Blai said. “Even for me.”
Elara stopped just before they headed back into the dark alleys.
“Please, don’t tell Nik about this. If he knew that I…”
“Went to the leader of a burgeoning rebellion for help over him, he’d self-combust into a pile of tiny, furious particles?”
Elara nodded.
Blai hooked their elbow in hers and continued down the street. “Your secret is safe with me. Besides, I wouldn’t survive all his insufferable jealousy.”
17NIK
Of all the antiques in Lafontaine’s study, the bone cutter was the most terrifying. A row of jagged little teeth attached to an industrial-shaped handle made it more torture device than medical instrument. Doctors used to believe it was the best way to open a patient up to relieve their internal pain. In reality, the splintered bones never grew back properly, and the victim suffered all the more for it.
Medical science had come a long way since then. Modern bone cutters operated with a push of a button and near-invisible blades. Plus, they were rarely needed. People like Lafontaine ensured most surgeries could be prevented entirely or, at the very least, completed in noninvasive ways.
But the original tool had a place of pride on the mantel behind his father’s desk.
Why?
To remind him of where Arts Humains had come from?
To remind him of where it could go?
Nik continued his tour, examining every object he’d grown familiar with while standing in this very spot, memorizing lessons beat into him by more than words alone.
Nik had arranged this meeting to avoid one of his father’s more… invasive lessons.
Lafontaine wouldn’t be angry if Nik handed him a rebel’s daughter on a platter.
Last night with Elara had been… confusing. Wonderful, but still confusing.
When he’d awoken to the smell of sugar on his skin and the memory of her hands in his, he’d wanted to sprint down to the kitchen and confirm that last night had been real and that she was just as lost as he was. Worse, she’d revived a longing in him, one he satisfied by sketching an outline of Café Divin from memory. He knew the abandoned building. Everyone in the Restes did.
It contained magie, quarter legend said. If you stood on the street after midnight and stared up into the broken windows, you would see your heart’s desire.
