“He took his time. There was blood everywhere.” She could smell it even now, and her stomach roiled. “Do you know, when people are cut up enough, they don’t look human anymore? They look like . . . like dolls that were sewn by a monster. But she was still alive. She saw me, and she whimpered.
“Then the forestborn said he’d found a worthy sacrifice for me. I couldn’t move. He said this was the bargain I had made, and she whimpered again. He said he could make her live for days longer if he wanted. I would die screaming of the mark and her agony would go on and on before he let her die. Or I could kill her quickly and live.
“So I did.” Rachelle clenched her teeth for a moment, then went on, “She still tried to escape. Do you see this scar?” She held up her hand, showing him the tiny white mark in her palm. “She stabbed me in the hand with a needle—he’d found her making charms; there was thread everywhere—but she was so weak. And so horrible. I couldn’t bear to look at her. I hated her the way you hate a spider when you’re killing it. I cut her throat and I hated her for being hurt by me.”
She dared to look at him then. Armand looked steadily back at her, his eyes solemn, and said nothing.
“Well?” she demanded. “What are you going to say? It’s all right because at least I tried to resist? Everyone tries to be good until it stops being convenient!”
“No—”
“Or are you going to tell me it was a kindness to kill her? That it wasn’t so bad, because at least I ended her suffering? I was there. I know exactly how bad it was, and not all the suffering in the world could make it right.”
She realized her eyes were stinging, and she scraped at them with the back of her hand.
“No,” said Armand after a moment. “It’s not all right. You should have died first.”
She had been dreading those words. She had expected they would break her. But instead, she only choked on a laugh as her hand clenched around the scar. “If I ever want to be driven to despair, I’ll go straight to you.”
“If I’d said you’d done right, you would have throttled me,” he said.
“I thought you didn’t have any talent for survival.”
“Maybe you’re teaching me.”
“And what do you want to teach me?” she asked wearily. “I already know I ought to be dead.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” said Armand. “What good would that do?”
“At least then I’d get what I deserved. Like your precious Bishop says.”
“You know,” said Armand, “my mother used to say that if we all got what we deserved, we’d all be dead. And yet somehow God refrains from smiting us. Whatever you ought to have done then, dying won’t undo it now. And I’m glad I got to meet you.”
“You,” said Rachelle, “are insane.”
“You,” he said, “are not the first one to tell me that. And one more thing. I don’t believe you’re damned.”
“Then what am I?”
He let out a breath. “I think . . . you are not content. You have power and beauty and strength that others could only dream of. You could be immortal. But you are never content. Not when you’re at the center of the court and not when you’re riding with the Wild Hunt and not when you’re cutting down your enemies with a sword. So you cannot be damned.”
Her throat tightened. It was unfair—it was absolutely unfair that his voice could make her heart beat with jagged, idiotic hope.
“Pretty words,” she said. “But a bit heretical. I don’t recall hearing that any of the damned were content.”
“They’re content to stay in their sins.” He grinned at her, and it felt like there was no space or barrier at all between them, like his smile was happening inside her heart. Without meaning to at all, she smiled back.
They were both fools, perhaps.
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As soon as the sun set, they slipped back down to the wine cellar. Rachelle laid her hands on the floor, and the door appeared before them.
Armand got to his feet. “So how do we use the charm?”
“Normally we’d hang it over somebody’s bed.” She pulled out the charm, which had been hung like a scarf around her neck. “Or we would if this were a regular sleep charm. I suppose instead we throw it over the lindenworm’s coils.”
“That sounds strangely easy,” said Armand.
“Well . . . this sort of charm needs to be awakened.”
“And that means?”
“A lot of things that I spent years learning. But what it comes down to is that I have to hold the charm in place and concentrate for a moment.” And now that she was saying it out loud, her heart was finally starting to pick up speed.
“While the two heads try to bite you?” Armand asked dubiously.
“Last time it took a moment to wake up. As long as I awaken the charm faster, we’ll be all right.” Rachelle hoped that the words didn’t sound as stupid to him as they did to her.
Armand shrugged. “Well, I don’t suppose it will be the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” He pulled back his sleeve with his teeth. Rachelle shifted the charm to her left hand and drew her sword.