He was afraid. She could see it in the way his eyes widened, his breath quickened. She could feel it with the hot, deadly instinct that throbbed in her veins. He was prey and he knew it. She was a monster, and he knew it.
“Rachelle,” he said quietly, gently. As if he had ever really loved her. As if he thought he could keep on making a fool of her.
“Where is Joyeuse?” she demanded. She didn’t need to ask if he had taken it: she knew he must have.
He met her eyes, his face bloodless and resolute. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Don’t imagine I won’t hurt you. Don’t imagine for a moment that all your pretty kisses are going to make me spare you.” She raised her bloody sword and pressed the blade against his throat. “You’re only alive because the King has use for you. When the time comes, I will help him destroy you.”
Whatever hope he’d had of beguiling her seemed to go out of him. “You were always loyal to them, weren’t you?” he asked, his voice lifeless.
“Yes,” she said, because she knew it would hurt him. “I told you I was still a bloodbound. What did you expect?”
“Well, then go ahead. Kill me whenever you want.” His voice was quietly contemptuous. “It’s the only thing you know how to do. Kill to please the forestborn and kill to please the King and kill for your beloved d’Anjou.”
“At least I’ve never pretended otherwise,” she snapped.
“Oh yes.” His mouth curved in a thin, ferocious smile. “Your sad little lost soul that you can’t stop talking about. Forgive me if I feel more pity for the people you killed.”
It felt like there were fishhooks sliding under her ribs. “I never asked for your pity.”
“Oh no, of course not. That would make you less special, wouldn’t it, if you were just another sinner needing pity. No, you have to be the daughter of the devil himself before you’re satisfied. You cry and you cry about your lost innocence, but the truth is, you love being this way. You love believing that you’re damned because then you can do anything you want. Because you’re too much of a coward to face what you’ve done and live with it.”
She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him, and for a moment she imagined pressing the blade home, imagined the blood spurting everywhere, slippery and then sticky between her fingers. It was so real, she could almost taste it. And she could taste the black despair sliding down her throat afterward.
She knew that if she killed him, the next thing she would do was turn the sword on herself.
Her heart pounded with longing for destruction, with terror that she wanted it so much.
She lowered the blade. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
“Don’t say another word.” She grabbed his wrist. “If you want to live a moment longer, don’t say another word.”
He must have believed her. Because he didn’t say anything as she dragged him away.
She took him back to Erec. By then the uprising had already been put down: it wasn’t a true rebellion, just an attempt to snatch Armand out of the Château. Half the soldiers involved had already fled; the rest were dead or captured.
Erec babbled something smug and smiled at Armand. Rachelle didn’t listen. She just shoved Armand at Erec and said, “Lock him up.” The words scraped at her throat.
“I’ll put him somewhere safe,” said Erec. “We’ll discuss this in my study.”
Rachelle turned and fled back to her rooms. She had to check, in case Armand had been lying about that too, but she already knew what she would find.
Joyeuse was gone.
Her only hope of stopping the Devourer. Everyone’s only hope. It was all gone, because she had been stupid enough to trust Armand.
“Rachelle? What happened?”
Amélie stood in the doorway, eyes wide. An hour ago, she had been drinking hot chocolate with Rachelle and Armand, and suddenly Rachelle wanted to weep.
“There was trouble,” she said, and took a step toward her. “Are you—”
Amélie flinched and took a quick little gasping breath. She didn’t move to hug Rachelle the way she always did, she didn’t ask if she was all right.
And then Rachelle realized: Amélie was terrified. Of her.
Finally, after three years, Amélie had woken up and realized what sort of monster she had decided to call a friend.