He had been human once. But his eyes were filled with the same sightless madness as the woman she’d killed in Rocamadour.
Then time was moving normally again. The soldiers were trying to pull the nobles into a group that could be protected. Justine was fighting two bloodbound at once, her sword whirling—the Bishop was fighting too, wielding Joyeuse, and his childhood must have included fencing lessons at some point because he had the stance of an aristocrat—
But there were still too many of the mad bloodbound. There were far too many.
“Stop,” she said, as she whirled to slice another bloodbound across the face. But none of them seemed to hear. Then she thought of the Forest and she filled her lungs with the cold, sweet air, and she said, “Stop.”
And they stopped. They dropped their weapons and straightened to attention, glazed eyes staring blindly ahead of them.
She felt them, a vast, dragging presence like a thousand dull little pebbles in her head. How could Erec have controlled them so easily?
“Kneel,” Rachelle said, and they knelt.
She could hardly breathe.
“Sleep,” she whispered, and they fell to the ground and her mind was free again.
From the other side of the garden, Justine looked at her with a pale face of raw surprise.
Something cold burned against the back of Rachelle’s neck. She whirled and staggered, falling to her knees in the grass. There behind her stood la Fontaine, her makeup smudged. In her hands, she held three roses, their stems plaited together in a knot that looked vaguely familiar.
“I grow more and more curious,” said la Fontaine, “whether I should call you Mélusine or Zisette.”
Rachelle realized that there were three more roses lying on the lawn around her in a triangle.
“Where is Armand?” asked la Fontaine.
“D’Anjou took him,” said Rachelle. “I have to stop him.”
“And what are you?”
“I’m a forestborn,” said Rachelle. “What are you?”
“Did I not tell you?” said la Fontaine. “I am an almighty goddess.”
Rachelle stared at the flower she held, and remembered how charms were worked in the south. “You’re . . . a woodwife?”
“Why do you think I filled my Tendre with roses? My mother and I are the only reason this Chateau wasn’t overrun by woodspawn years ago.”
“The whole Chateau is surrounded by the Great Forest now,” said Rachelle. “If we get the people inside, can you protect them?”
“A little,” said Fontaine. “I am still not sure if I should kill you first, though.”
“I’ll vouch for her,” said Justine, arriving from behind Rachelle. “And the Bishop will vouch for me.”
“I am not sure I trust your bishop either,” said la Fontaine, but she lowered the plaited roses and Rachelle was able to scramble back to her feet.
Beneath the simple nighttime rustlings, the air shivered with a not-quite-audible breath.
“They’ve started,” said Rachelle. “Where’s Joyeuse?”
“Here,” said the Bishop, also arriving. Behind him, Rachelle could see the courtiers still huddled together behind the line of soldiers, looking unable to believe the danger was over.
The danger was just beginning.
Rachelle turned to the Bishop. “You carry the sword. Justine, come with us to help hold the forestborn back. La Fontaine, get the people into the palace and keep them as safe as you can.”
“Bring my cousin back,” said la Fontaine. “And tell me this tale in my salon.”
“I’ll try,” said Rachelle, though dread curdled in her stomach. She would have to fail at one of those charges.
Then the three of them raced into the dark. Rachelle didn’t try to find her way in the dark; she simply followed the glowing red trail of the thread that bound her to Erec. As they ran through the trees, the darkness between the trunks thickened and roughened until it was no longer air but dark, damp stone, and they were walking down a tunnel.
At the end of the tunnel was a door made of metal flowers, and it hummed with a power that forbade humans to open it.
Luckily, only one of them was human.
“I’m going inside first,” she said softly. “I’ll leave the door ajar. When I call, charge inside. Or when you hear screams and fighting.” She took a deep breath and realized that despite everything, she was still afraid.
Justine smacked her shoulder lightly. “Be careful.”
“Go with God,” said the Bishop.
Rachelle nodded. “Stand back,” she said, and touched the door.
The petals licked her fingers with soft affection, and the door swung open, and she slipped inside.
Her first thought was to worship.