Authors: Rosamund Hodge
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Love & Romance, #Family, #General
Crimson Bound (41 page)
“It was a reasonable suspicion,” said Rachelle.
“And then I let them raise the Forest when they threatened you. And then I killed you. I’m sorry.”
“You do realize,” said Rachelle, “that you just apologized for saving my life
and
for ending it?”
His mouth curved wryly.
She took a step closer. “It’s true. You did wrong, and you should have died first. But I forgive you for it. I’ve heard that God will too.”
He laughed then, sudden and raw and real. “You’re not going to let me forget anything I said, are you?”
“Never.” Her mouth curved up as her eyes met his, and it felt
right
, it felt like—
Why did she feel as if they had a long history of easy happiness between them? They had never been anything but enemies or else uneasy allies. Jailer and prisoner, sinner and saint. The kisses in between had hardly changed a thing.
“I’m not sorry I lied to you about the offering,” she said.
“That’s good,” said Armand, “because I still don’t forgive you for it.” Abruptly his lips pressed together in a flat line. After a moment he went, his voice expressionless, “But that doesn’t matter anymore. If you feel like you owe me something . . . you don’t. You can leave.”
She’d expected the words, but they still hit her like a kick to the chest. Armand wasn’t looking at her anymore; he’d started to angle his body away, his head bent down to stare at the grass. As if he didn’t want to be any closer to her than he had to be.
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 thought about 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. “Mind you, I am biased.”
“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.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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There are a lot of ways that this book was nearly never finished, and so there are a lot of people to thank for its existence.
My agent, Hannah Bowman, has been an unfailing source of support from the first moment I said, “Wouldn’t it be cool to combine
Little Red Riding Hood
and
The Girl With No Hands
?” It’s difficult to imagine what this book would have been like without her. Thank you!
I would also like to thank my two editors: Sara Sargent, who worked with me on the difficult early stages, and Kristin Daly Rens, who helped bring the project to completion. The entire HarperCollins team has continued to be great, and once again, thanks to Erin Fitzsimmons for an astounding cover.
Bethany Powell, Natalie Parker, Brendan Hodge, and Marieke Nijkamp all read various drafts of the novel and provided valuable feedback.
There are many people whom I asked for advice or help of various kinds while writing this book, and any attempt to name them will surely miss somebody—but Sherwood Smith, Stephen Maddux, Adam Posadas, Stephanie Oakes, Mindy Rhiger, and Corinne Duyvis all responded very kindly to a very desperate author.
Gévaudan is almost entirely unlike seventeenth-century France (and I can only beg the forgiveness of any historians who have read this far), but I do owe the period a debt of inspiration, and I would like to acknowledge
The Splendid Century
by W. H. Lewis,
Princesse of Versailles
by Charles Elliott, and
Versailles: A Biography of a Palace
by Tony Spawforth as being particularly helpful. (Also: the letters of Liselotte von der Pfalz.)
Two major artistic inspirations were Tim Powers’s short story “The Hour of Babel” and Patricia A. McKillip’s novel
The Alphabet of Thorn
. Less major, but no less delectable, was the Old Norse poem
Völundarkviða.
All three works are marvelous, and you should try them.
I suspect it is not easy to be friends with a writer under deadline. Sasha Decker, Tia Corrales, and Megan Lorance all deserve ten thousand thanks for the best friends that any writer could hope to have.
Finally, I would like to thank everyone who read my first novel,
Cruel Beauty.
Writing has always been my dream, and you helped it come true. Thanks!
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
ROSAMUND HODGE
is also the author of
Cruel Beauty
. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with seven toy cats and a plush Cthulhu. Visit her online at www.rosamundhodge.net.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Cruel Beauty
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
CRIMSON BOUND
. Copyright © 2015 by Rosamund Hodge. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ISBN 978-0-06-222476-7
EPub Edition November 2014 ISBN 9780062384546
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