She was just about ready to get up and investigate and damn etiquette when a blue-coated guardsman arrived and whispered in the King’s ear.
The King sighed. “It seems there’s some sort of rabble approaching the Château. Would you care to play cards inside, while the guard deals with them?”
“How tiresome,” said Erec, rising.
“Deal with them?” said Rachelle.
The King waved his hand. “You’ve heard of the upset five years ago. They’re quite experienced with this sort of thing.”
Rachelle’s stomach turned cold. Five years ago, a drought had caused food shortages and a crowd of hungry people had marched all the way to Château de Lune to demand the traditional midwinter alms. Whether the guardsmen had fired unprovoked or whether the crowd had been preparing to riot depended on whom you asked, but nine people lay dead at the end of it.
“What are they here for?” asked Rachelle.
“The same sort of foolery,” said the King, rising from his chair. “They miss their saint, because they imagine that groveling before him will keep the woodspawn from their doors. And they think they have the right to make demands of their King. Come, the cards await.”
Erec gave her an amused, superior look, as if to say, I could have told you this would happen.
He didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about what might happen next.
“Sire,” Rachelle began desperately, “don’t you think—”
Erec’s hand pressed over her mouth as one of his arms wrapped around her waist. “Yes, my thought exactly. Your Majesty, would you mind if we joined you in a moment? My darling has some words for my ears alone.”
The King grinned. He clearly knew that Rachelle had been about to beg him to intervene and that Erec was intervening against her.
“Of course,” he said. “Take all the time your lady needs.”
When he had left, Erec released her mouth but maintained his grip on her waist. “Now, please don’t hit me, my lady? You know as well as I what would happen if you gainsaid him.”
Rachelle knew he was expecting her to yell at him. But she was silent, her mind working furiously. There was no point appealing to the King, that much was obvious. The Bishop might have enough influence to calm the crowd, but he probably wouldn’t want to calm them.
“Erec,” she said. “Let me have Armand back, just for this evening.”
“Oh?” His voice showed only polite curiosity, but his grip dug into her arm. “And what were you planning to do with him?”
“Show him to the crowd,” she said. “He’s their saint, isn’t he? He could make them disperse peacefully.”
“You think the King would like that?”
“The King doesn’t have to know until it’s too late. He doesn’t even have to know that I had anything to do with it. Do you honestly not care that there could be a slaughter?”
“Care? Do you forget we’re both murderers?”
“No,” said Rachelle, “but right now, I don’t give a damn. Tell me where you’re keeping Armand and let me take him out and show him to the crowd. I’ll do anything you want after that. Just let me stop this.”
Erec was silent. She wished she could see his face.
“Don’t tell me,” she said scornfully, “that you’re afraid I’ll find him so much more charming than you.”
He laughed low in his throat. “You know too well I can’t resist a challenge. Very well, lady, he’s yours for now and I’ll make your excuses to the King. But you must let me win you back tonight.”
As he said the last words, he shifted, leaning into her, and Rachelle felt her opening. She slumped forward, one arm digging into him, one hand grasping his coat, and a moment later she had thrown him over her shoulder onto the ground.
“Maybe I’ll win you,” she said, and grinned, because she knew that he hadn’t let her throw him; she had genuinely surprised him.
Erec rolled to his feet lightly and gracefully, but there was a sulky set to his mouth. He never liked being taken by surprise. Rachelle couldn’t ever remember being the one who made him look ridiculous. It felt wonderful.
It suddenly occurred to her that in this situation, Armand would have laughed instead of sulking.
“Well?” she said.
“Would that I had time to spar with you properly.” He sighed. “This way.” He looked her up and down. “Actually, I’ll bring him to you. Unless you’re planning to dazzle the crowd into submission, you might want to change.”
So Rachelle bolted for her room. “Faster, faster,” she muttered over and over, as Sévigné undid buttons and pulled out the laces from the corset.
Finally she was free of her clothes, and in moments was pulling on her hunting gear. “Braid my hair,” she said as she buttoned up her shirt, and Sévigné obeyed. A minute later, she was pulling on her coat. She took a wild glance in the mirror: the makeup was all still on her face, pearl powder, rouge, and burned clove to fill out her eyebrows, which looked bizarre with her patched-up red coat and slightly threadbare trousers, but it would have to do. There was no time, because even now Erec was knocking at the door.
“Here you are,” said Erec, shoving Armand into the room. “When you’re done, be sure to put him back where you found him. Monsieur, obey her and mind that you remember our talk.”
“Thank you,” Rachelle said numbly. Armand wasn’t looking at her; he was very pale and staring at the floor. She felt invisible. She wished she were invisible, so she’d never have to meet his eyes. She’d spent the whole day hunting through the Château for Joyeuse just so she could avoid speaking to him again.
Erec grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her quickly but fiercely. Rachelle couldn’t stop being aware that Armand was just a step away from them.
Then Erec released her. “Until tonight,” he said, and was gone.
Rachelle swallowed the desire to hide and weep, and she turned to Armand instead. “Listen,” she said. “I know what you think of me. And you know what I think of you. But right now, there’s a crowd outside the palace, and since the King doesn’t intend to acknowledge their existence, they’re probably going to riot, and you know how that will end. So you’re going to go out there and talk to them.”
“And say what?” he asked slowly after a moment.