Chapter 5

“Henri’s got an uncleat courtwho recommendedhim to the apprenticeship.” Chef de Pectu grinned.

“Oh.” André nodded deeply.

The “Oh” felt like a crown of bee stings, puncturing Henri’s heart. Others had been helped with a blood relation or uncle. In fact, the veins of the courts sprang from mostly the same families. The insinuation was unwarranted. Henri was certainly not the worst apprentice. His anger stuttered as he looked up into the face of André. The chef’s face had remained unlined through all his years of celebrity at court. Like a fresh cheesecloth with a pair of sunken, shelled pistachios for eyes. Henri felt crucified upon them. Each one, a green nail driving deeper into his palms.

This wasn’t happening. This was not how he was going to meet André de Quitte-Beauf. Henri watched the chef shift his gaze to the pile of angel wings.

Henri had been wrong. This was not Alix’s nightmare, but his own.