Rachelle tried to break free, but the last strength was leaving her body. The woman clasped her tight and sat down, laying Rachelle’s head in her lap so that she could see Armand.

And then she pressed a knife against Rachelle’s throat.

“I can’t have my lady escaping,” said Erec to Armand, “and none of us can allow you to escape. So here is what will happen. You have carried the shadow of our lord for six months. You already hold a little of his power, and I know you’ve learned how to use it enough to raise an image of the Forest. You are going to let one of us borrow that power to summon the Forest itself in a ring around the Château, so that nobody can get in or out.”

Rachelle’s mouth was numb and sluggish, but she managed to say, “Don’t—”

And then the tip of the blade dug deeper. The power that held her in place dampened most of the pain, but she could still feel the stomach-turning intrusion of metal into her throat, and the blood dribbling down her neck.

“She’ll heal from this much,” said Erec. “And from a bit more. But not if we take her head off.”

Armand’s eyes had gotten very wide. “You’re bluffing.”

“I believe you thought that when I said what would happen to anyone you told. Your mother discovered you were wrong.”

“You love her—”

“And therefore I will not let her be taken from me.”

Armand said nothing. His expression was unreadable. He won’t, thought Rachelle, he can’t, he won’t—

“Such a pity,” said Erec, turning away.

“Wait!” Armand’s voice was raw and desperate. “Wait. I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt her.”

“Oh?” Erec turned back to him. “And where was this compliance when your dear mother’s life was at stake?”

Armand’s mouth pressed together.

Rachelle tried to shout, Stop, but between the knife and the paralysis, all she could do was make a soft choking noise. Armand shuddered and met her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

One of the other forestborn stepped forward: she had the face and the form of a fourteen-year-old girl, but an awful sense of age and power clung to her face.

“Grant me your power for this deed,” she said.

“I do,” he whispered.

And she sang, if it could be called singing: one low note, haunting and unearthly, that made Rachelle’s skin burn and shudder. She did not exactly see, but she more than felt the Forest growing up in a ring around the Château, shadows unfolding, dark flowers blossoming, ready to trick and maze and kill anyone who attempted to pass through it.

Slow the vision faded. She realized that the forestborn had stopped singing. The knife was gone from her neck; and she lay by herself on the floor. She blinked. Armand had gone.

That made her bolt upright. Erec caught her by the shoulder; he was the only one in the room now.

“Careful,” he said. “Our little song seems to have taken you quite strongly.”

Rachelle tried to speak, choked, and then hacked up a giant clot of blood.

“I think the knife had something to do with it,” she said afterward.

“You’ll need to take less heed of such things, if you’re going to survive as a forestborn,” he said, kneeling beside her.

“Who says I’m going to survive?” asked Rachelle.

The Forest had been summoned so quickly. The Bishop and Justine couldn’t have gotten out fast enough. Were they still hiding somewhere in the grounds of the Château, or had they been lost in the Forest itself?

“It’s true,” said Erec. “I remember somebody telling me she would be dead and damned first. But she seems to have been mistaken about a lot of things. The same way our Monsieur Vareilles was mistaken when he told me over and over and over that he would never help us in the slightest.”

“What happened to him?” asked Rachelle.

“He will be watched every moment from now until the offering,” said Erec. “He’s not essential to us, but he is precious. To be a vessel, there’s a certain idiot abnegation required, and he is very good at it. Do remember, though, that we only need him alive. Not anything more. You know in what condition I can keep him alive if I please.”

Rachelle swallowed.

“And I will please,” he went on quietly, “if you ever rebel against me again.”

“Erec,” she said desperately, “you love me, don’t you?”

His finger traced her lip. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then don’t do this.”

“Why? Because I love you so very much?” His voice turned the words into a mockery.

“Because then you’ll have me. We’ll go away together, and I swear, I’ll do everything you want. I’ll be everything you want, forever and ever. I’ll love you. I’ll forget I ever loved anyone else but you. I will live and die and breathe for you. Just don’t help them. Don’t let them bring back the Devourer.”

“Oh, my lady.” He kissed her forehead. “I wouldn’t love you so much if you weren’t so brave. But you’ve forgotten one thing. If the Devourer returns, I will still have you, and all the kingdoms of this world besides.”

“I’ll fight you,” said Rachelle. “Threatening Armand won’t work past tonight. Threatening Amélie won’t work for more than three days, because I know she’ll never take your covenant. And then I’ll fight you forever.”

“There will always be another innocent life or twelve to threaten. Besides, then you will have nothing left but the Devourer and me.” Erec put his arm around her. “And you are marvelously skilled at surviving. You’ll learn to love us both.”

Rachelle didn’t fight the embrace. “Maybe I’ll just learn to kill you.”

He grinned. “I’m willing to take that wager.”

31

When Rachelle was able to stand again, Erec took her by the hand and led her back to her room.

“I’m leaving you here,” he said, “only because I trust you to imagine what I will do to your favorite saint if you disobey.”

“I know,” said Rachelle, and sat down on one of the chairs. She would fight him again that evening. She knew she would find the strength to fight him then, but for now she felt empty and exhausted.

Afternoon sunlight blazed through the window; it glittered off the embroidery on Erec’s jacket as he bowed to her and left.