His heart had rested in the Forest for a very long time now.
“The thing is,” Armand went on, more rapidly, “to become a vessel, you have to consent. My father told me that the forestborn had agreed to heal his sickness if I would do it. He said that it was nothing, just a little pagan mummery to give extra power to their spells, and all for the glory and good of Gévaudan. I had read enough stories to know what the Devourer returning would mean, but he wouldn’t believe me. He begged me. And then commanded me. And then threatened.” He swallowed. “I kept saying no. D’Anjou cut off one hand and then the other. I still said no. Then the night was over, and the sacrifice can only be made on a solstice night.”
Rachelle couldn’t look down. She had thought he was a fraud when she met him, and once she had started to believe him she was used to him, and somehow she had never bothered to think that there had been a moment when he was bleeding and screaming. Or a moment before, when he was helpless as he watched the blade approach.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she asked finally.
“Nobody believes in the Devourer anymore. I told my mother, and she thought I was mad. Before I could change her mind, the forestborn found out and killed her. Then they locked up Raoul in the Chateau and said that if I told anyone again, they would kill me slowly and use Raoul for a sacrifice instead. Or kill me and Raoul slowly, then sacrifice one of the other bastards.”
“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 though 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.”