“So you secretly organized a rebellion.”
“D’Anjou is not as observant as he thinks he is.” Armand’s lips pressed together for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice was fast and miserable. “It was supposed to happen on solstice night, but when I saw you had Joyeuse—I had to try. I thought it was worth the risk. But I just ruined everything. At least d’Anjou hasn’t gloated to me yet, so I think Raoul is still alive.”
“I won’t let him hurt you again,” she said. “And all of this ends tonight. We’ll get Joyeuse right now and get out.”
Armand shook his head. “No. They’ll just try again with somebody else. They don’t need to use someone with the Royal Gift, they just really want to. You have to get Joyeuse, wait until the Devourer is alive in my body, and then kill the two of us together. I was hoping Raoul could do it, but you’d be even better.”
“No,” said Rachelle, remembering the afternoon when they had sat in la Fontaine’s salon discussing murder. “Absolutely not.”
“D’Anjou will let you into the ceremony if he thinks you’re loyal.”
“No,” she said again.
“You have to. Don’t you understand? The Devourer doesn’t have a body; that’s why he needs a vessel to manifest. Why do you think Tyr killed him while he was possessing his sister? It has to be that’s the only way to stop him.” Armand drew a ragged breath. “You have to kill me.”
“Listen to me.” She gripped his shoulders. “I killed somebody I loved once. I can’t do it again.”
“A noble sentiment,” said Erec.
The shock was like ice in her blood and bones. She turned. Erec stood behind them, dressed in his favorite coat of black velvet.
“You,” said Rachelle. She had wanted him, kissed him, made love to him. And he had tortured Armand. “I’m going to kill you.”
“I really doubt that,” said Erec, raising his hand.
Tied to his finger was a crimson thread. It fell to the floor, where it pooled in great circles and spirals.
The other end was tied to her own finger.
We are going to live forever, in darkness and in dancing.
He had always, always been telling her.
Her heart thudded, but it felt like it belonged to someone else; her body seemed to be wrapped in fire or ice or cotton wool. All she could smell was blood. All she could hear were Aunt Léonie’s soft, agonized whimpers.
Erec slowly wrapped his fingers down into a fist. The string seared red-hot around her finger; the strength went out of her legs, and she dropped to her knees.
I never escaped him, she thought dully. I never left the Forest. I never left that house.
Erec strode forward. Forestborn followed him, appearing out of the shadows, as terrible and as glorious as the ones she had seen in the Wild Hunt.
“One tug along the string.” Erec’s hand dropped onto her head, then slid down her cheek in a caress. “And you will always return to me. And now I don’t even need to wear my mask.”
Briefly the strange, memory-tearing vagueness flickered over his face, the same as when she had first met him. Then he smiled and it was gone.
He hauled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your evening, Monsieur Vareilles. It ends now. My darling needs her rest, and you need to prepare yourself for the glory you receive tomorrow night.”
Armand’s face was set in the same stubborn blankness she had seen before. But of course, he’d learned nothing new. He already knew all about Erec and the forestborn and the Devourer. He already knew they were hopeless.
Rachelle closed her eyes and let Erec drag her away.
27
Erec led them through the Château, and it was almost the Forest. Bleeding through the marble hallways, Rachelle saw labyrinthine paths between trees whose branches wove together overhead until they seemed like a single plant. Birds called with warbling, half-human voices. The wind dug its fingers into her hair, burned at her eyes.
Erec’s arm stayed over her shoulders. It felt warm, solid, human. But in all the time she had known him, he had never been human. She felt his hand cupped over her right shoulder. He had given her the knife with that hand, he had wrapped her fingers around the hilt and told her to cut deep.
A month later, he had given her the strength to protect people when he told her to live.
The walk lasted only a few minutes; then they bowed low to pass under an arch in the roots of a monstrous tree, and on the other side was Erec’s study, bizarrely bright and free of the Forest. Suddenly only one of the forestborn was with them, and now he looked like a short, pasty-faced servant who gripped Armand’s arm with chubby fingers.
“Take him to a safe place and keep him there,” said Erec. “My lady and I have some things to discuss.”
She didn’t look at Armand while he was dragged out. She didn’t look because she was terrified of what she would see in his face, but also because she knew that the less Erec thought she cared for him, the better for the both of them.
“So,” she said when the door had swung shut. “Is the King still human?”
Erec laughed. “Oh, he’s human enough. And a very great fool. He thinks we’re going to give him eternal youth and create him a bloodbound army.”
“Are you?”
“We’re building an army,” he said. “You met one of them. Perfect, mindless hunger makes the best servants, you know. But I’m afraid the King won’t live to use them.”
She should have been past surprise by now, but his words still made her breath stutter.
“That woman,” she said. “In the coffeehouse—”
“Escaped from us, yes, and found her way back to those idiot malcontents. But that nest, at least, we cleaned out the next day.”
Rachelle didn’t need to ask what “cleaned out” meant. She remembered the weeping daughter, the husband who had called her a murderer. Erec had killed them. Probably while Amélie had been painting rouge on her face.
“If you’re so powerful,” she asked, “why do you need the King’s permission?”
“Because of the binding that those interfering children laid upon our master. We cannot mark one of the royal house without permission from another who holds the Royal Gift.” He grinned at her. “A problem I did not encounter with you.”
“You killed my aunt,” she said, her voice scraping in her throat like broken glass.