Elara opened her mouth to respond.
But it wasn’t there. No name. No details.
All she could remember was, “She baked. And she taught me. Right?”
She looked to Fernand for confirmation.
He was hollow. Extinguished as if she’d doused whatever fire had been lit within him.
“Do you remember the night we met?” he asked.
“Of course I do. It was…” But that was gone too. “I…”
She felt as though she had the information stowed somewhere, she’d just forgotten where she’d placed it.
Fernand staggered backward.
“You got what you wanted,” he spat. “Feel better now? Your mother didn’t deserve—”
“Easy,” Blai warned. “You got what you wanted too. It goes both ways, hero.”
A muscle in Fernand’s jaw feathered, but he addressed her over Blai’s shoulder. “She loved you. She poured everything into you. I got you into the contest, but she’s the reason you’ve made it this far.”
Elara knew she should be angry, but she couldn’t justify why. Shecouldn’t defend herself if she couldn’t remember what she’d done. That might’ve been a blessing if it weren’t for the prickling of guilt.
“I had to do it,” she whispered.
“You’ve never been forced to do a thing in your life.” He snorted. “Don’t forget our deal.”
The door slammed behind him.
“Forget him,” Blai said. “You have to break ties in order to move forward.”
Elara didn’t want it to be true. And something deep inside her, something thicker than blood and memory, told her she’d made a horrible mistake.
Because if she couldn’t even remember meeting Fernand, what else had she forgotten?
19NIK
“Are you sure it’s taken care of?”
“Mhm.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“It will.”
“Elara.”
She tipped her head toward him, eyes vacant. They’d been standing inside Souverain Tremblay’s gaudy château for the better part of an hour now, and all she could do was stare blankly at the ceiling. A painted figure of a woman climbed a rocky cliff, her golden skin bright against the devouring darkness raining down from a man silhouetted in ash. As she neared the precipice, he reached for her. The moment they touched, black claws wrapped around the man’s shoulders and dragged him away into an oncoming storm.
The painting repeated once, twice, a dozen times as they waited.
“It’s fine,” she said.
“What if it’s not?”
“Then I lose.”
