She was so far past damned that it didn’t matter what blasphemy she listened to, but Rachelle still winced. “I’m sure the Bishop would like that,” she said. “A dead God who could never contradict him—that would be his dream come true.”
“And you? Have you seen any sign that the world is governed by something besides hunger and devouring?”
She remembered Aunt Léonie’s futile, gasping prayers as she died.
“No. But I’d rather worship bloody bones than the murderer who makes them.”
“And yet instead of worshipping, you stand here gossiping with a fellow murderer.”
She grinned at him. “When have I ever followed my principles?”
“Never. And far too often.” He took her hand. “I wish you’d reconsider some of them.”
Then she laughed out loud. “If you’re asking me to be your mistress again . . . blasphemy is a terrible way to start.”
“I’m only wondering if you truly regret your choices as much as you claim,” he said.
She remembered his soft voice as he told her about his brother the night before, and her throat tightened.
“Do you?” she asked, and she truly wondered.
“I think it doesn’t matter what either one of us regrets,” said Erec. “We are going to live forever, in darkness and in dancing. Because I know you, my lady, and you don’t have it in you to be a lamb for the slaughter any more than I do. The same wolfish greed beats in your heart: to have what you will, and kill for it. Or why would you be alive? And you are alive, and have your will, so what should you regret?”
It was like when Justine dislocated her arm: something familiar, swinging painfully out of place. Because Rachelle had told herself those same words, or near enough, a thousand times. She had wanted to live. She had gotten her wish. She could not claim to regret. Only minutes ago, she had snarled at Justine: If you were really sorry, you would get out a knife and cut your throat.
But now that she heard Erec say those words to her . . . they sounded wrong.
She thought, I regret.
“Speechless?” asked Erec. “Don’t be ashamed. I bring all ladies to that state sooner or later.”
Rachelle had always thought Erec understood her. No matter how she hated him, she had always loved him a little too, because he knew what she was in the darkest part of her soul. And yet now he really thought that she was speechless with desire for him. He really thought that she did not regret what she had done.
“Too bad for you,” she said, “I’m not a lady.”
He chuckled, clearly thinking that this was only another step in their dance together.
It was the most exquisite kind of freedom to realize that he could be wrong. It was terrifying too.
Talking with Erec had made everything more clear. She did regret. She was willing to die. And that meant there was only one path for her to take: weave a charm and try her best against the lindenworm.
It would have to be a sleep charm. Margot had said, The most terrible charms or the most simple, and sleep charms were the only simple charms she knew that seemed like they might be at all helpful even if they did work. Yet one of the little snowflake-shaped sleep charms she used to hang over baby beds could not possibly be enough, or nobody would have ever feared lindenworms.
She decided to try weaving multiple sleep charms together, and she spent the rest of the day working out the pattern. Luckily Amélie already had a ball of yarn that she could use.
“You’re going to help,” Rachelle told Armand that evening.
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you planning to clamp knitting needles onto my hands? Because I don’t think that will work as well as it does with forks. And it doesn’t work all that well with forks either, though apparently it looks quite impressive. Several ladies have assured me that I’m very brave for managing to eat by myself.”
“Well,” said Rachelle, “I certainly won’t tell you that.”
He laughed.
“And luckily,” she went on, “I don’t need you to tie knots. I just need you to stay still. Here.” She sat him down in a chair and had him hold up his hands. She looped the yarn through his silver fingers and started weaving it together.
It was awkward sitting so close to him—their knees were almost touching, she could hear every breath he