Her face was hot. She took a step back, thinking, He isn’t yours. He will never be yours. He will never, ever want you.

“Even they will figure it out sooner or later,” she said. “When they get a look at you in daylight, for instance. Get up. We’re going.”

He stood. “Mademoiselle Dumont—what did she want to talk about?”

Aunt Léonie could have stopped the Devourer, and Rachelle had killed her, and now nobody would ever find Durendal.

Or maybe her forestborn had already found it and destroyed it. That must have been why he was sniffing around the village to begin with. Maybe if Rachelle had told Aunt Léonie when she first met him, they could have stopped him. They could have saved Durendal. They could have saved the world.

“Nothing important,” she said, and grabbed his arm. “Come on.” She started to drag him toward the edge of the trees.

“Is your family here?” asked Armand. “Aren’t you going to say good-bye to them?”

She didn’t know if the ache in her chest was grief or freedom. Maybe they were the same.

“I did,” said Rachelle.

ZISA CARRIED THE BONES TO A GREAT YEW TREE. Beneath its roots there was a cave, and in the cave there was a forge, and chained to the forge was a man with a smile like dried blood and glowing embers.

This was Volund, the crippled smith. He had once loved a forestborn maiden, and so much did he delight her that for seven years she stayed beside him. But one night she heard the hunting horns of her people and rose to follow them. Before she had taken three steps, he struck her dead.

In recompense, the forestborn hamstrung him, chained him, and made him undying as themselves, an everlasting slave to craft their swords and spears and arrows.

“Old man,” said Zisa, “I must have two swords made out of these bones.”

“Little girl,” said Volund, “I must obey the forestborn, but not you.”

“And when I am one of them, I will remember you said that,” she replied.

He laughed like a rusty hinge. “And much I have left for anyone to take from me. But you, I think, have the whole world to lose.” He looked her up and down. “I will make you a bargain. Give me the delights of your proud body twice, and I will make you two swords such as the world will never see again.”

There was nothing she would not do for her brother.

19

“Do you have a plan?” asked Armand as they walked into the woods. They were not in the Great Forest yet, but the shadows cast by the trees were a little longer and darker than they should be in the daytime.

“Yes,” said Rachelle.

Like a trickle of blood, the thread lay on the ground before her. If she followed it, then she should find her forestborn at the other end.

He wanted her to live. So if she gave him a choice between leading her back to the Château and watching her perish in the Great Forest, surely he would help her.

But if she told Armand that, he might ask her why she was so sure that her forestborn wanted her to live.

“Is the plan ‘walk into the Forest and hope to meet the Wild Hunt again’?” asked Armand. “Because I’m not sure how likely that is to work.”

“Well,” said Rachelle, thinking of the lindenworm, “maybe there will be a miracle to save us. Since those always happen for people who deserve them.”

“I already told you,” Armand said mildly, “I don’t believe that.”

He had, and she couldn’t stop a guilty glance at his hands.

“Then what do you believe?” she asked. “That we should all be martyrs?”

She realized that they were surrounded by darkness and the cold, sweet wind. They were in the Great Forest again. The change had felt so natural, so right, she hadn’t noticed it happen.

“What’s so bad about that?” asked Armand.

“The problem with martyrs is that they’re all dead. What have they got to do with those of us who are sinful enough to still be alive? Should we just give up and want to die, because death is better than dishonor? But suicide is a sin too, so then we really are damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”

“I don’t—” Armand started to say.

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it.” Rachelle strode forward faster, trying not to think about the lindenworm waiting for her, and thinking of it with every step.

The journey seemed to take hours. Days. Forever. There was no keeping track of time in that endless darkness, but they walked on and on, and Rachelle grew wearier and wearier.

All she could think of was the lindenworm. She had to try to defeat it and get Joyeuse. She didn’t see a way she could win.

You deserve as much and more besides.

She didn’t want to be a martyr. She didn’t have a choice.

When sunlight suddenly poured down on them, Rachelle’s head was hanging low. She looked up, and saw Château de Lune glittering before them. They were in the garden, among the rosebushes. Judging by the position of the sun, they had only been walking for a few hours.

“How did you do that?” asked Armand. He was looking at her, his eyes squinted against the sudden sunlight.

“Luck,” said Rachelle. “Maybe.”

Or her forestborn was lurking somewhere near the Château, which was a truly terrifying thought.

When they got back to their rooms, they found both Amélie and Armand’s valets in a state of modified panic.

“Where have you been?” Amélie demanded, hugging Rachelle fiercely. “Monsieur d’Anjou kept asking and asking for you, and we had to keep making up excuses.”

Which was pointless, since the valets would report it all to Erec anyway, but Rachelle was surprised and touched that Amélie had taken the trouble.

“We took a walk,” said Armand. “Got lost in the trees.” His valets were not hugging him, but they had peeled off his coat—exclaiming about the dust—and now seemed to be checking him for injuries.

“He was tired of being cooped up,” said Rachelle. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Armand agreed, with a smile just for her.

Of course, she had to explain herself to Erec. The valets must have sent him a message as soon as she got back, because he turned up not long after and dragged her away for a private audience.

“I hear you went wandering with our saint,” he said. “What happened?”

Rachelle decided that a little bit of the truth couldn’t hurt. “It turns out the protections on the Château are worse than we thought,” she said. “We went walking and ended up in the Great Forest.”