All the joy of the fight was instantly gone. She stared at Justine. “You were the one who set him after me?”
Probably she should have expected it. Of all the bloodbound, Justine was the only one to take the name Royal Order of Penitents seriously: she lived in a garret worse than Rachelle’s, she wore a hair shirt at all times, and she was in the chapel on her knees almost every day. Naturally, as soon as Bishop Guillaume turned up saying she was damned, she had demanded to serve him. The King had given in, since the people were enraptured with their new Bishop and it was easier to deny his requests if he’d been treated generously once already. Ever since, the Bishop had flaunted his triumph by having his lone bloodbound attend him at ceremonies.
“Yes,” Justine said quietly. “Do you really prefer d’Anjou for your keeper?”
Rachelle surged to her feet, forgetting about all the people watching. “He’s not my keeper. And yes, I do prefer him. At least he’s not a liar.”
Except when he was flirting, but Rachelle would take that sort of liar any day over the kind who preached that all the bloodbound should face judgment, then tried to hide them from the King’s justice.
Justine stood, her mouth pressing into a line.
“Ladies,” Erec called from behind them. “I hope you weren’t fighting over me.”
Justine ignored him. “Think about it,” she said to Rachelle, and strode out of the room.
“She didn’t even look at me,” said Erec, his voice mock sad. “I wonder what I’ve done to offend her?”
“Breathing, I think,” said Rachelle. “But also wearing that jacket.” The black velvet construction, stiff with silver embroidery, was by no means the gaudiest thing she’d ever seen Erec wear, but it was still painful to look upon.
“It baffles me why you don’t hate her as much as her master,” said Erec. “Or has that changed?”
Rachelle sighed. “I can’t hate her when she’s always willing to spar.”
More importantly, when Endless Night returned, Justine would die fighting the forestborn. She might take orders from the Bishop, but nothing would ever make her stop trying to protect people from the Great Forest.
“You could fight me, you know,” said Erec.
She rolled her eyes. “And listen to your epigrams about my every mistake? I think not.”
That was why she sparred only with Justine. She didn’t care about demonstrating that she was more elegant or clever than Rachelle. She didn’t even really care about demonstrating that she was the better fighter. She understood that sometimes fighting in a white-hot blur was the only way to make the memories stop.
“Well, don’t get too attached to her.” Erec draped a hand easily over her shoulder and drew her out one of the side doors into a paved courtyard. “We need to talk about your charge.”
For a wonderful hour, Rachelle had forgotten that she had a charge. At least she wouldn’t have him after tonight, when she vanished into the city for her last attempt to find Joyeuse.
Right now she needed to pretend to care about him. “What is it?” she asked. “Do you know who sent the assassins?”
“Oh, that isn’t so important. One of the other possible heirs, I’m sure. Probably Vincent Angevin—he’s stupid enough.” Erec sighed. “It’s a pity that I got all the cleverness in the family.”
“You’d hardly like it if he were better at something than you,” said Rachelle. Erec was an illegitimate son of the Angevin family, and he never lost an opportunity to mention how much he outclassed his second cousin Vincent. And all the rest his family. And the whole world.
“It’s a pity for them, just not for me. Anyway, I doubt Vincent will suffer for this escapade, since you know how much our King likes him.”
“You do realize,” said Rachelle, “that most of these problems would go away if the King would just name an heir?”
The death of King Auguste-Philippe’s one legitimate son had left him without a clear successor. Several generations of peculiar treaties and marriage-contracts meant that among his nearest five nephews and cousins, none was unambiguously next in line. And there was also precedent for legitimizing a bastard as heir—and the King had eight. Needless to say, all the possible heirs were ready to cut one another’s throats. The rumors of the King’s ailing health had only made the conflict worse.
“Yes, but that would entail admitting that he’s not immortal.” Erec’s mouth quirked. “What I have to tell you is far more important. You have already realized, I hope, that your true mission is not to protect Armand Vareilles.”
Rachelle had realized no such thing, but she was long used to pretending that she had kept up with Erec’s labyrinthine thoughts. “You mean our King would lie to us? How shocking.”