She nearly snarled, Do you think one prayer is all it would take to save me? But then she realized that he was still looking at her with terrifying intensity.
Armand knew that hearing about his prayers wouldn’t change her mind. And there was no reason to be so specific about where he had lit a candle—
Unless he was trying to tell her where he had hidden Joyeuse.
He was the worst fool in all creation. He knew she was turning into a forestborn. He knew that if the forestborn could get hold of Joyeuse, they would destroy it, and then there would be no more hope of stopping the Devourer, not ever. And he was wagering everything on the chance that she would do what no forestborn had ever done and keep her soul.
It wasn’t just a wager. It was a bribe, threat, and prayer all at once. If she wanted revenge, if she wanted to save anyone, if she wanted to save her own soul, then she couldn’t refuse a chance at Joyeuse. He was the most ruthlessly clever fool in all creation, and she had never loved him so much.
“Maybe you’ll forget,” Armand went on. “Tonight I’ll become the Devourer, most likely, and God alone knows how much of my soul will be left. But you don’t have to lose yourself now. Do you think Amélie would thank you for it?”
Amélie wouldn’t thank her for becoming a forestborn either. But as soon as she imagined Amélie seeing her now, she knew what Amélie would tell her to do: repent and confess your sins.
She let out a rickety laugh as she imagined what they would all think if she suddenly called for a priest. And she realized that she wasn’t going to kill Erec. Not while Armand was watching her and wagering everything on her. And not while the memory of Amélie was still in her heart.
She threw aside her sword. She stood up, because a thousand leaves were rustling against her skin, and she knew that she didn’t have much longer. She wanted to say good-bye to Armand. She wanted to tell him that she loved him while it still had a chance of being true.
But she’d used up all her strength laying down the sword. The leaves on her skin caught fire, and then her legs gave out.
“Rachelle!” Armand shouted, and she thought, I love you. I love you. I will try.
The last thing she saw was Erec leaning over her. “Sweet dreams, my lady. Your human heart has beat its last.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Rachelle was in the dead forest, walking toward the cottage thatched with bones.
Her eyes burned and stung with tears. Her throat ached like she had been screaming. She knew there was a reason she had fought to avoid this house, but her heart was a lump of meat in her chest and her agony had all been spent.
This is all, she thought as she stepped forward. This is all.
She raised her hand; she saw memories peeling away from it in translucent, gauze-like little scraps that fluttered away in the breeze. She could feel them sloughing off her hands, off her face; they were fluttering in her hair and tearing free.
Her foot landed on the wooden doorstep. The wood shifted with a creak, and she knew that the sound should send a bolt of terror through her, but there were no feelings left in her.
The door handle was cold beneath her hand.
The door swung in.
Inside was a bare wooden room spattered with blood. Rachelle saw herself lying dead at the center, bleeding from wound after wound.
And she saw herself kneeling over the body with a knife.
The other Rachelle raised her head, and now at last her heart was able to thud with terror again, but it was too late, too late, too late—
“You came home at last,” said her other self. She rose and gripped Rachelle’s wrists, and there was nothing but her dark eyes and cold and dark and cold.
Then she woke.
And she knew her heart was gone.
Rich afternoon sunlight shone on her face. She was lying in a bed hung with lacy golden curtains.
The Great Forest whispered in her mind, an endless, susurrating song. And yet her mind felt more clear and strong than it ever had before.
She could feel the little sweet-salt absence inside her, where her heart used to be. She could feel the gap, but it wasn’t real. Nothing she had ever felt as a human, none of her guilt and grief, had ever been real. She was free of it all now, and it was wonderful.
There was nothing but the absence where her heart had been. Nothing but the tiny, beautiful, infinite absence that would make her weep and scream if she had any tears or screaming left.
No. It was only humans who wanted meaning and hope. She was a forestborn, and she did not need those illusions.
Rachelle got out of bed and stretched, ready to run, and dance, and kill, and sing.