Crimson Bound (32 page)

With a sigh, Erec let go of her. “It’s never ending,” he said, and went to the door. The person outside spoke in low tones she couldn’t make out, and Erec answered just as softly.

Rachelle wasn’t listening very carefully anyway. She gripped the edges of the desk and stared at the floor. She felt like a bubble, a tiny gleam wrapped around nothingness.

“Alas, duty calls,” said Erec, returning to her. “But first—I have a present for you. Something to keep you busy tonight, and console you for all eternity. Come.”

Rachelle slid off the desk.
Tomorrow
, she thought numbly.
And forever.
If she didn’t find a way to stop the Devourer, she would become a forestborn, and she would live forever with nothing but this. Pleasure and despair.

“Don’t look so mournful,” said Erec. “You’re about to have all you ever wanted.”

As Rachelle followed him through the corridors, she tried to think of a way out. If she could just talk to Armand again he could tell her where he’d hidden Joyeuse. But she didn’t know where he was, and even if she did, he was under guard. She’d never been strong enough to defeat Erec, which made sense now that she knew he was a full forestborn, and the forestborn guarding Armand now were probably even stronger.

At least she hadn’t had to sleep with Erec again. Tonight. If the Devourer returned and night fell forever—

No. She wouldn’t live that way. If Endless Night fell, then Armand would be dead and Erec would have nothing left to use against her. She’d fight him with every breath in her body, she would
force
him to kill her, and before she died, at least she would make him bleed.

Erec took her to a little-used corner of the Château. He opened the door of a small storeroom, and suddenly Rachelle couldn’t move.

Because Amélie was crouched in the corner.

She lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were swollen and she had a bruise on one cheek. On her other cheek was an ink-black star.

No
, thought Rachelle,
no.

“Are you real?” Amélie asked in a low, hoarse voice. Her cheeks were flushed.

It was the fever, Rachelle realized: it struck some bloodbound when they were first marked. Fever, cramps, delirium, as if mind and body alike were rebelling against what had happened. It hadn’t happened to her, but she’d heard about it.

“Yes,” Rachelle whispered. The word was barely more than a catch in her breath, but it broke her paralysis; she lunged forward and gripped Amélie’s shoulders.

A present.

“I don’t feel well,” Amélie whispered.

“It’s all right,” Rachelle said, but nothing was going to be all right again.

“Father, I don’t feel well.” Amélie squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “It’s all wrong. The flowers. They’re all wrong.”

Delirium, or was she starting to see the Forest?

“Lie down,” Rachelle whispered, and eased her down to lie with her head in Rachelle’s lap.

“She was braver than some, when she was marked,” said Erec. “I think she’ll do well as one of us. Make sure she kills somebody right away tomorrow—there’s no telling what our lord’s return will do to the mark—and if she’s reluctant, help her along as I did for you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” said Rachelle, her voice low and rough.

“When darkness has fallen and our lord rules all the world, you will thank me for preserving your friend, my lady.” She felt him press a kiss to the back of her head. “Until tomorrow,” he said, and then he was gone.

“Don’t go,” Amélie whispered. “It hurts.”

“I know,” said Rachelle. “I’m sorry. I know.”

Amélie clung to Rachelle’s fingers, and she squeezed back. If she hadn’t let Amélie befriend her—if she hadn’t let her come to the Château—none of this would ever have happened.

“I’m sorry,” Rachelle said again, when the delirium got worse and Amélie started whimpering. “I’m sorry.”

All she could think, all night through, was:
Erec will die for this.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

A
little after dawn, Amélie finally fell all the way asleep. Rachelle gently eased her off her lap and onto the ground, then smoothed her hair out of her face. The mark squatted atop Amélie’s cheek like a big black spider.

Rachelle had been angry when she found out what they did to Armand. But she’d always known him as part of her world. When she thought he was a liar and when she knew he was a martyr, he’d always been somebody who belonged in this tangle of death and shadows and terrible prices.

Amélie was a simple human girl who’d been kind and brave enough to befriend a bloodbound. And for that she was going to become one of them. She’d talked so happily of how her art made her feel that she was obeying God, and now she would have to become a murderer or die. Rachelle’s throat closed up in fury.

Her eyes felt gritty and swollen. There was a pitcher in a corner of the room; she splashed water on her eyes, then realized that the remnants of the makeup Amélie had put on her last night were still smeared across her face. Her stomach twisted, and she scrubbed furiously until her face felt clean.

She buckled on her sword. She checked all her knives.

And then she went to kill Erec.

She didn’t know where he was, but that didn’t matter. She simply followed the red string, and it led her through the passages of the Château, down to the practice room for the guards. She heard laughter, and the clash of steel on steel. She walked through the door, and there was Erec. He had just finished sparring against two guardsmen at once, and now he was laughing and looking smug as he clapped them on the shoulders.

“Erec d’Anjou.” Her voice ripped out of her, loud and clear.

His eyes met hers and he bowed slightly. “My lady. Did you like your present?”

He knew she was angry. He found it amusing. For the first time, she didn’t care. Her feet carried her across the wide space of the practice room; she heard her boots thud against the floor, but she felt like she was floating.

“Erec d’Anjou,” she said as she got closer. Her fingers found the ruby’s golden chain and she ripped it off her neck. “I officially resign as your mistress.” The ruby tinkled as it bounced off the floor. “And I challenge you to a duel. You destroyed my dearest friend, and I demand satisfaction.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that how it is?”

She drew her sword. “You can defend yourself. Or you can stand still as I run you through. Three. Two.”

His sword whispered as he whipped it from the sheath. “One.” He saluted. “You break my heart, lady.”

She lunged.

Erec countered her with the same unholy speed and grace he always had. But she was no longer stumbling with fear or anticipated humiliation. Her sword met his, swirled it aside, plunged toward him. He had to give ground. Then he attacked again, and he drove her back; she dropped to the ground, rolled, and came up with a knife that she flung at his back.

He whirled, and his sword lashed out in time to fling it aside. “That’s cheating, my lady.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t care. She pulled out one of her longer knives and attacked again, two-handed. Their swords whirled and clattered against each other, and then her knife snaked forward and sliced open his cheek.

“One point,” she said.

The grin was gone from Erec’s face. He pulled out his own dagger now, and for a few
moments they circled each other. Then he attacked again.

She matched him. It was like breathing. Like dancing, and now that she had found the rhythm, she didn’t know how she hadn’t done it before. Her heart pounded. Her body sang. It felt like the Forest was unfolding inside her, trees sprouting and reaching upward into the night, and the hunt was running through her, the wolf chasing the deer and the hound breaking the rabbit in its jaws.

Her sword stabbed into his shoulder. “Two points,” she said, a wild grin tugging at her mouth, and she understood. This was why he’d always been better. He’d always been the more ruthless. Feed the Forest inside you with blood, and it would feed you in return.

Now she was ready to shed all the blood in the world.

The only sound was their ragged breathing, the thump of their feet, the clash of their swords. Erec managed to get a slice across her cheek, but then she was in close and she rammed her knife into his side.

“Three points,” she said, and wrenched the knife free.

Erec grunted, stumbling back a step. “And yet,” he snarled, “I’m not dead yet. You’ll have to try harder, lady.”

Rachelle twirled her knife. “Come at me, then.”

She could see phantom trees around her. Her body was made of light, her blood was made of fire. The air was wine in her throat. And that was when she realized: she was turning into a forestborn. Right here, right now.

It felt glorious.

Erec attacked. But the duel had changed. He was angry now, and desperate. He was starting to feel afraid. And she knew that she was going to win.

She sliced his face again. And his hand. And his shoulder. He was going to die. She was going to cut him to pieces right here, she was going to lick the blood off her knife, and yes, then she would turn into a forestborn. She remembered swearing she would rather be dead and damned, but she didn’t care anymore. Amélie was going to die and the only thing that mattered was making him pay.

He stumbled back and raised his hand, clenching it around the thread. She felt the answering burn around her finger, but it was barely painful.

“That’s not enough anymore,” she said. “You’ll have to fight me if you want to win.”

She could see it in his face when he decided to stake everything on a final lunge. She ran him through. Then she pulled her sword out again. He was wavering on his feet; she
kicked him to the ground, knelt over him, and pressed her sword to his throat.

He was a forestborn, and he would heal from all the wounds she had given him. But he wouldn’t heal once she had cut off his head.

“Any final words, d’Anjou?”

He spat out blood and said, “You might . . . want to look around.”

She looked up. A few paces away stood two forestborn, one of them the pasty-faced male she had seen last night. But now she could see past the human disguises, to the inhuman faces burning with terrifying power.

And between them they held Armand.

“Let him go,” said the forestborn who had been with them last night. “Or this one dies.”

Last night, that would have been enough to control her.

She grinned. “Go ahead. He already chose to be a martyr.”

“Rachelle.” Armand’s voice was quiet, but it carried across the room and clenched at her heart. “Please stop.”

“He marked Amélie as a bloodbound. You know what that means. And now
you
want me to spare him?”

“There must be fifty forestborn in the Château right now. You kill him, they kill you, and then there’s nobody left to stop them.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “If Amélie isn’t part of this world, I don’t see the point in saving it.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Armand. “You know that you have always wanted to save everyone. And killing him won’t save anyone. It’s just murderous revenge.”

“I’ve been a murderer for three years,” she snarled. “And now I’m a monster. Can’t you see I’m turning into a forestborn right now?”

Shadowy trees were sprouting up from the floor around her, spreading out branches and gnarling up roots. She could feel her hair drifting in the phantom wind.

“Yes,” said Armand.

“You know what that means. When people become forestborn, they lose their hearts. They lose their souls.”

Her head was starting to pound. Her blood was burning. She wouldn’t be strong for much longer; soon the change would overtake her.

“It doesn’t matter what I do now,” she said. “I’ll forget how to love in an hour. I will never save anyone again, do you understand?”

“I don’t believe that,” said Armand. “I don’t believe you don’t have a choice.”

“There are never any choices in the Forest.”

“Rachelle.” He met her eyes. “I lit a candle for you in the Lady Chapel, before the statue of the Lady of Snows. So you can’t possibly lose yourself.”

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.