Night had fallen; as they walked through the hallways of the Chateau, the light from the chandeliers glittered off the glass windows. Shadowy rabbits raced beside their feet, and translucent flowers sprouted from the picture frames. The air was thick with the Forest’s longing.
The Midsummer Night festival was in the Garden of the Four Fountains: a wide, square lawn, enclosed by trees, with a great fountain at each corner. Lanterns hung on every tree, and candles sat around the rims of the fountains, setting the water alight as it leaped into the air. In one corner, a score of musicians played; in another were tables nearly buried under food and wine; and in the center, almost the whole court milled about, talking and laughing and dancing.
“Is it not glorious?” said Erec into her ear. His arm was tucked into the crook of hers. “Like peacocks, rounded up for slaughter.”
“Peacocks aren’t raised for meat,” said Rachelle. Her heart was beating fast but steady. She felt the vast magical power gathering in the air the same way she felt the exact space between Erec’s body and hers. But she was, for now, not overpowered by either feeling.
“They’ve appeared on the King’s table a time or two. Besides, it’s for their feathers they are killed.” Erec surveyed the glittering crowd. They did look like peacocks, Rachelle had to admit: they wore dresses and coats of crimson, emerald, and lazuli, with feathers in their hair and jewels at their necks. The little heeled shoes that men and women alike wore gave most of them a delicate, mincing gait quite like birds picking their way through grass.
“They’re so very human,” said Erec. “Laughing and dancing and civilized only because of their ignorance. If they knew what was coming, they would tear each other to pieces to escape. But that’s the human way, I suppose.”
“Too bad you’re killing them all,” said Rachelle. “When night falls, to whom will you feel superior?”
“Oh, they won’t all die. We shall keep them as our King keeps peacocks on his lawn. And hunt them as we please, like foxes.”
“Hardly challenging prey, in those shoes and without claws,” said Rachelle, scanning the crowd. “Did you drag Armand out for a final show, or is he staying somewhere safe?”
“Quite safe,” Erec began, but just then the King called out merrily, “D’Anjou!”
They turned, and there was the King bearing down upon them, dressed in cloth of gold, curls waving in the breeze. A step behind him, face solemn and still, came Armand.
Rachelle’s heart slammed against her ribs. His face was pale and grim, but he was alive. He was alive, and he was not harmed, and he met her eyes.
“Your Majesty,” said Erec, and bowed. Rachelle curtsied awkwardly a moment after.
“I thought it well for appearances if my son were here, this final night,” said the King. “After all, the announcement we make tonight closely concerns him, does it not?”
“Of course,” said Erec, and Rachelle knew that she was the only one who could hear the suppressed annoyance in his voice.
“I’ll leave him in your care and Mademoiselle Brinon’s,” said the King, giving Armand’s shoulder a light slap, and then returned to the dancing.
“Well, well, well,” said Erec. “Monsieur Vareilles, whatever shall we do with you?”
“Let him dance with me,” said Rachelle.
“You’ll plot,” said Erec.
“Yes,” she said, “but what can we do? You have your forestborn everywhere in the crowd.”
“That does not explain why I should let you.”
“Because you’ll take me away again at the end of the dance,” she said. “And you would love to show how you can give me and take me away.”
He bowed to her. “You have answered my riddle. Dance, then, while you still can.”
Armand didn’t move, so Rachelle stepped forward, took his hands, and drew them into the dance.
“Are you real?” he asked softly once they were dancing.
“What?” said Rachelle.
“Ever since I let them raise the Forest, the visions are worse. Everything feels like a dream.”
“I’m real,” said Rachelle. “I’m real. I promise.” She wondered what had happened in the past few hours; he looked nearly at the edge of his endurance. If only she had been able to get him out instead of running straight into Erec’s trap.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You?” He laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry. I’ve done everything wrong. First the coup, then giving in when they wanted to raise the Forest. Now everyone’s trapped—”
“I forgive you,” she said. “And it’s all the same once the Devourer returns.”
His gaze flickered from side to side, probably checking for spies. “Did you see my candle?” he asked finally.
“Yes,” she said. “And I told the Bishop you were praying. So don’t worry. Just—when the time comes, say no for as long as you can.”
“How will that help end things?”
“I have a plan,” she said. “But I can’t tell you the rest.”
“Because I wouldn’t like it or because it wouldn’t be safe for me to know?”