something.
He set down the cup. “If I don’t wear the hands, then they want to kiss the stumps. I’d rather burn.”
“You could just not display yourself for worship,” Rachelle snapped.
His mouth twisted. “Do you think the King would allow me to stop? If I weren’t sitting next to his banner every week, people might start to imagine that His Majesty wasn’t entirely holy.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you became a saint.”
He showed his teeth. “The way you thought things through before you became a bloodbound?”
For a moment she was back in Aunt Léonie’s house, the blood hot and sticky on her hands, and she felt sick and dirty and furious.
“Do not,” said Rachelle, “presume to tell me what it means to be a bloodbound. You haven’t even met a forestborn.”
He tilted his head. “You really think that?” He didn’t look like someone whose secret was threatened. He looked wary but curious.
“You really I’m fool enough to believe you?”
His mouth curved up. “You were fool enough to say yes to a forestborn.”
The next thing she knew, she had slammed him against the wall. “Don’t try me.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “You can’t kill me, and I’m running out of limbs to cut off.”
“I don’t have to kill you to make you sorry” Rachelle snapped, and then her throat closed up as she realized what she’d said.
Her forestborn hadn’t had to kill Aunt Léonie either.
She let go of him and stumbled back a step. She knew there wasn’t any blood pooled across the floor, but she could still smell it. The scar on her right hand ached.
Armand was still watching her. He had to see how off balance she was, but he didn’t mock her. Instead, he went on, musingly, “If you can wait until Château de Lune, you could always have a try at losing me above the sun, below the moon. Though the King and d’Anjou might have something to say about that.”
Her whole body sparked with cold white fire. “What did you say?”
“Well, it’s still—”
She whirled back on him. “‘Above the sun, below the moon.’ Why did you say that? ”
He looked at her as if she were babbling nonsense. “Because it would be a way to get rid of me. Only nobody really believes that story, so I wouldn’t actually advise you to mention it after you hide my body.”
“What story?”
“The story of Prince Hugo and the missing door,” he said. “You don’t know it?”
“Of course I know that story,” said Rachelle. “He found a way into the Forest from the Château and it ate him, and that’s when they put so many protections on the spot.”
Supposedly, those protections hadn’t extended far enough into the gardens of the Château to keep Armand from meeting a forestborn. Actually, he was a liar, so it was probably stupid of her to listen to anything he said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that how they tell it where you come from?”
“Yes, Monsieur Most Educated, that’s how they tell it. Now tell me your version.”
“Well,” he said, drawing out the word as he gave her a dubious look, “long ago, the king of Gévaudan had a son named Hugo, who could never be content unless he was adventuring. He spent so much time wandering the forest that his father began to fearthat he would become a bloodbound. Finally the king forbade him to leave Château de Lune for a month. At first Prince Hugo was much upset, but then he seemed to grow content. And then he started to vanish for days at a time. The king thought he had broken the ban, but when he questioned his son, Prince Hugo laughed and said that he had found his own forest within the Château’s walls. He said it lay beyond a door above the sun and below the moon that would open only to his hands, and it would make him the greatest hunter the world had ever known. After that night, no one ever saw him again.”
“Did they find where he had gone?” asked Rachelle.
“No,” said Armand. “But
He set down the cup. “If I don’t wear the hands, then they want to kiss the stumps. I’d rather burn.”
“You could just not display yourself for worship,” Rachelle snapped.
His mouth twisted. “Do you think the King would allow me to stop? If I weren’t sitting next to his banner every week, people might start to imagine that His Majesty wasn’t entirely holy.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you became a saint.”
He showed his teeth. “The way you thought things through before you became a bloodbound?”
For a moment she was back in Aunt Léonie’s house, the blood hot and sticky on her hands, and she felt sick and dirty and furious.
“Do not,” said Rachelle, “presume to tell me what it means to be a bloodbound. You haven’t even met a forestborn.”
He tilted his head. “You really think that?” He didn’t look like someone whose secret was threatened. He looked wary but curious.
“You really I’m fool enough to believe you?”
His mouth curved up. “You were fool enough to say yes to a forestborn.”
The next thing she knew, she had slammed him against the wall. “Don’t try me.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “You can’t kill me, and I’m running out of limbs to cut off.”
“I don’t have to kill you to make you sorry” Rachelle snapped, and then her throat closed up as she realized what she’d said.
Her forestborn hadn’t had to kill Aunt Léonie either.
She let go of him and stumbled back a step. She knew there wasn’t any blood pooled across the floor, but she could still smell it. The scar on her right hand ached.
Armand was still watching her. He had to see how off balance she was, but he didn’t mock her. Instead, he went on, musingly, “If you can wait until Château de Lune, you could always have a try at losing me above the sun, below the moon. Though the King and d’Anjou might have something to say about that.”
Her whole body sparked with cold white fire. “What did you say?”
“Well, it’s still—”
She whirled back on him. “‘Above the sun, below the moon.’ Why did you say that? ”
He looked at her as if she were babbling nonsense. “Because it would be a way to get rid of me. Only nobody really believes that story, so I wouldn’t actually advise you to mention it after you hide my body.”
“What story?”
“The story of Prince Hugo and the missing door,” he said. “You don’t know it?”
“Of course I know that story,” said Rachelle. “He found a way into the Forest from the Château and it ate him, and that’s when they put so many protections on the spot.”
Supposedly, those protections hadn’t extended far enough into the gardens of the Château to keep Armand from meeting a forestborn. Actually, he was a liar, so it was probably stupid of her to listen to anything he said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that how they tell it where you come from?”
“Yes, Monsieur Most Educated, that’s how they tell it. Now tell me your version.”
“Well,” he said, drawing out the word as he gave her a dubious look, “long ago, the king of Gévaudan had a son named Hugo, who could never be content unless he was adventuring. He spent so much time wandering the forest that his father began to fearthat he would become a bloodbound. Finally the king forbade him to leave Château de Lune for a month. At first Prince Hugo was much upset, but then he seemed to grow content. And then he started to vanish for days at a time. The king thought he had broken the ban, but when he questioned his son, Prince Hugo laughed and said that he had found his own forest within the Château’s walls. He said it lay beyond a door above the sun and below the moon that would open only to his hands, and it would make him the greatest hunter the world had ever known. After that night, no one ever saw him again.”
“Did they find where he had gone?” asked Rachelle.
“No,” said Armand. “But
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