She felt hot and cold at once. Who let him into the Chateau? One glance up at the gallery convinced her that it hadn’t been the King.
Well, who cared? She had never yet been forced to sit through one of his sermons, and she didn’t care to start now. She stood, pushed past the other people in the pew, and walked out of the chapel. Whatever trouble she might get into, she’d rather bear it than the sermon.
Outside, leaning with her back against the wall, she knew she was a fool. It was a man she hated muttering prayers to a God she’d rejected. What did she have to fear? You couldn’t get more damned than damned.
“Shouldn’t you be in the chapel?” said Justine.
Rachelle’s eyes snapped open. “What are you doing here?”
Justine stood a pace away, her arms crossed. Her face was grim, though as that was her usual expression, it meant nothing.
“Never mind that,” Rachelle went on. “What’s your precious Bishop doing here?”
“He came to preach to the King,” said Justine. “I came to speak with you.”
Rachelle’s stomach turned. “I know what you’re going to say. And I’ll die before I join him.”
Justine pursed her lips. “Did I ever tell you,” she said quietly, “that before I was a bloodbound, I was a nun?”
Rachelle stared at her. It was the unspoken rule of the King’s bloodbound that they never, ever talked about their pasts. But Erec had broken it last night, so perhaps she shouldn’t be so surprised at Justine.
“I was pure as an angel and proud as a devil,” Justine went on, frowning slightly as she stared into the distance. “Only, I found that neither purity nor pride was courage, in the end.” Then she looked back at Rachelle. “Your pride won’t be enough for you either. Give up serving the King. Ask to be made the Bishop’s bloodbound.”
“And then what?” Rachelle demanded. “Help put him on the throne? Do you think treason will save your soul?”
“I think I would rather serve him for the last of my days than the King. Why do you think the days grow shorter and the forestborn grow stronger?”
Rachelle threw away her caution. “Because the Devourer is awakening.”
She’d expected nothing else, but it still hurt when Justine’s mouth twisted with disgust. “Do you still cling to your heathen superstitions? The darkness falls because God is judging us for our sins. He has delivered us over to the woodspawn and the forestborn for chastisement.”
“Our sinfulness,” said Rachelle, “is in living and in letting other bloodbound live. If you were truly sorry, you would get out a knife and cut your throat. As for me, I’ve spent more time talking to the forestborn than you ever have, and I much prefer them to the Bishop. At least they don’t pretend they’re holy.”
“Do as you will, then.” Justine stood. “But I will pray for you,” she added imperturbably, and walked into the chapel.
The doors had barely shut behind her when la Fontaine wandered into the hallway, gently fluttering a mother-of-pearl fan. She raised an eyebrow at Rachelle. “Slipped out before the consecration? Perhaps we should call you Mélusine.”
“Shouldn’t you be in there as well?” Rachelle asked sourly. She’d come out into the hallway to be alone, not to chat with every member of the court.
La Fontaine shrugged exquisitely, setting her ruby earrings swinging. “I’ve lived my life for one imaginary kingdom. I’ve no patience left for another.”
Rachelle had not imagined that the court concealed many true believers, but she also hadn’t expected anyone to be so blatant. Then again, if you were the King’s mistress, she supposed you weren’t going to impress anyone with your piety anyway.
“Who’s Mélusine?” she asked.
“You don’t know the story?” said la Fontaine. “And you the beloved of Fleur-du-Mal.”