Unless she could get Armand to tell her where Joyeuse was.
The King seemed to have lost interest in her; he spoke to Erec, discussing plans for hunting parties and dancing parties and the grand ball to celebrate the solstice night. What had made Erec think that this dinner was an honor worth sharing with her? But as she watched him, the way he smiled and exchanged little epigrams with the King, she realized that he was glorying in this moment—that while he respected the King no more than she did, being the special guest of King Auguste-Philippe actually meant something to him.
What was it he had said about his half brother? He was legitimate, and heir to everything I lacked. At the time, that seemed very important. Was it still important to him, to steal the glories and honors that his dead brother might have once enjoyed?
If so, it was a very foolish wish. He claimed to be ready and willing to cast all humanity aside, yet he was still trying to satisfy the longings of the child he had once been. But it made her heart soften a little toward him.
And how could she blame him? She was trying to kill the Devourer because she wanted to save Gévaudan and all the people she loved, but in truth, she was also trying to justify the dreams of the headstrong girl who had dared speak to a forestborn.
The sky was deep purple when Rachelle started to hear what sounded like people shouting very far away. She looked at Erec. He looked back at her, shrugged faintly, and went right on talking to the King.
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 Chateau. 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 Chateau 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 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.”