Crimson Bound
Page 82
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 wondered how much had changed for 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. “But I am hardly impartial.”
“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.”
“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 wondered how much had changed for 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. “But I am hardly impartial.”
“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.”
