Crimson Bound - Rosamund Hodge Page 0,118

it made sense. The Devourer did not seem like a creature that could create anything, much less the terrible beauty of the Great Forest.

Uncounted ages ago—not just before the daylight, but before the Devourer swallowed the sun and moon to begin with, before it enmeshed itself in the human world at all—the Great Forest had been standing. How it must have delighted the people who lived then. And then the Devourer took it from them.

Now, perhaps, they would have it back.

Erec, you fool, she thought. There was a whole world waiting for us.

And there, surrounded by the shadow of the Forest that could have been, that would be now—dark but no longer so dreadful—she cried for Erec.

Eventually she dried her eyes. She stood and walked back toward the Château, out of the trees.

Back toward Armand. He stood by one of the fountains, staring at the falling water that glittered in the sunset light.

Her heart thudded. She meant to slip past him silently, but then he looked up at her and said, “Rachelle.”

And she couldn’t move. She could only stare at him, drinking in the curve of his cheek, the line of his mouth, wishing that he was still hers to touch.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Well. I’m human. And nobody seems to want me executed.”

He wasn’t happy. She could tell that from the way he had planted himself, shoulders braced, but she couldn’t read anything on his face. That was what hurt most of all, that he was hiding from her.

“I killed you,” he said suddenly. “I’m—really very sorry.”

It was the last thing she had expected him to say.

“You didn’t kill me, you killed the Devourer inside of me,” she said after a moment. “Isn’t that what you said at the salon?”

He choked out a small laugh, his face coming alive again. “I did. But. That was when I thought I couldn’t possibly be the one holding the blade. I spent so much time pretending to be a saint, I think I fooled myself as well.”

“It’s true now, isn’t it?” said Rachelle. “You were ready to die twice to stop the Devourer. You helped save Gévaudan.”

“I did everything wrong,” he said. “Those men who helped in the coup, they trusted me to lead them, and I ruined our chances—”

“I was the one who killed them. Some of them.” Rachelle’s heart thudded when she said the words, and for a moment she couldn’t look at him.

When she dared a glance, he was looking annoyed. “You thought we were planning to slaughter you,” he said. “Because I didn’t tell you, because I couldn’t make up my mind if you knew what the forestborn were planning or not.”

“It was a reasonable suspicion,” said Rachelle.

“And then I let them raise the Forest when they threatened you. And then I killed you. I’m sorry.”

“You do realize,” said Rachelle, “that you just apologized for saving my life and for ending it?”

His mouth curved wryly.

She took a step closer. “It’s true. You did wrong, and you should have died first. But I forgive you for it. I’ve heard that God will too.”

He laughed then, sudden and raw and real. “You’re not going to let me forget anything I said, are you?”

“Never.” Her mouth curved up as her eyes met his, and it felt right, it felt like—

Why did she feel as if they had a long history of easy happiness between them? They had never been anything but enemies or else uneasy allies. Jailer and prisoner, sinner and saint. The kisses in between had hardly changed a thing.

“I’m not sorry I lied to you about the offering,” she said.

“That’s good,” said Armand, “because I still don’t forgive you for it.” Abruptly his lips pressed together in a flat line. After a moment he went, his voice expressionless, “But that doesn’t matter anymore. If you feel like you owe me something . . . you don’t. You can leave.”

She’d expected the words, but they still hit her like a kick to the chest. Armand wasn’t looking at her anymore; he’d started to angle his body away, his head bent down to stare at the grass. As if he didn’t want to be any closer to her than he had to be.

Then she realized how utterly lonely he looked.

“What are you doing now?” she asked.

He did look up at her then, and smiled faintly. “Do you know, I haven’t the faintest idea. For six months, I was a dead man walking. I don’t remember what it was like to have a future.”

“I don’t either,” said Rachelle.

There was another moment of silence, but this one wasn’t quite so awkward. Then Armand drew a breath. “Rachelle,” he said. “I know—what was between us—we were about to die. We didn’t make any promises. If you want to leave, you have every right. And I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself now. But I would like you to be there while I find out.”

The words were exactly what she’d wanted to hear him say, ever since she’d woken up in his arms. And yet now—

“The Forest’s still alive,” she said. “I saw it, just now.”

Armand didn’t even blink at the change of subject. “I know.”

“Do you still see it all the time?” She was horrified to realize that she hadn’t even thought about him.

He shook his head. “Just sometimes. But enough.” He paused. “It’s different now. I almost don’t hate it.”

“Oh.” She stared at the water. “I saw it for a moment today. I missed it so much. And then I cried for Erec.”

Armand was silent. She didn’t dare look at him.

“I haven’t told anyone else this, but I think you deserve to know.” Rachelle drew a breath. “Erec isn’t just dead. He’s worse than dead. He went with me into the stomach of the Devourer, and he chose to stay there for all eternity.” She paused. “I tried to save him. I am sorry for all I did with him, you have no idea how much—and you have no idea how much I hate him, either—but I did want to save him. I still wish I could have.”

“I guessed as much,” said Armand after a moment.

She finally looked at him. “You’re not angry?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Well, I did ask you not to kill him.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sighed. “For the last six months, every moment of every day, I could feel the Devourer sleeping in the back of my mind. There were some mornings I woke up and I could barely breathe for his hunger and despair. I know what fate d’Anjou chose. I can’t wish that on anyone. Other, very painful fates, maybe. But not that one.”

“I wished it on myself, sometimes,” she said. “It doesn’t seem fair that I was spared.”

“It seems perfectly fair to me,” he said. “Mind you, I am biased.”

“What I’m trying to tell you,” said Rachelle, “is that I’m not . . . I haven’t stopped being . . . I don’t know what I am.”

“I wake up some mornings and for a moment I can’t tell if I’m the only one inside my head,” said Armand. “I don’t think either of us knows what we are.”

Rachelle looked at him. She knew she could leave. She could go back to Rocamadour and live with Amélie and maybe find some peace.

She had never, in her whole life, been satisfied with peace.

The back of his neck was warm under her fingers as she pulled him into a kiss.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll stay. As long as you hold on to me. Yes.”