He bowed to her. “You have answered my riddle. Dance, then, while you still can.”

Armand didn’t move, so Rachelle stepped forward, took his hands, and drew them into the dance.

“Are you real?” he asked softly once they were dancing.

“What?” said Rachelle.

“Ever since I let them raise the Forest, the visions are worse. Everything feels like a dream.”

“I’m real,” said Rachelle. “I’m real. I promise.” She wondered what had happened in the past few hours; he looked nearly at the edge of his endurance. If only she had been able to get him out instead of running straight into Erec’s trap.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You?” He laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry. I’ve done everything wrong. First the coup, then giving in when they wanted to raise the Forest. Now everyone’s trapped—”

“I forgive you,” she said. “And it’s all the same once the Devourer returns.”

His gaze flickered from side to side, probably checking for spies. “Did you see my candle?” he asked finally.

“Yes,” she said. “And I told the Bishop you were praying. So don’t worry. Just—when the time comes, say no for as long as you can.”

“How will that help end things?”

“I have a plan,” she said. “But I can’t tell you the rest.”

“Because I wouldn’t like it or because it wouldn’t be safe for me to know?”

“Because I need you to trust me,” said Rachelle, her stomach knotting. She knew this was a betrayal, but he would accept the Devourer this instant before he let her take his place. “Can you trust me?”

“I do,” he said. “If we somehow live through this—”

“Armand.” Her voice felt thick and sticky in her throat. She couldn’t tell him, but she couldn’t let him believe— “You have to understand. Whatever happens tonight—I don’t think you’ll get to keep me.”

He pressed his lips together. When he spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled. “You said you had a plan. Is there a chance we could survive?”

“Yes,” she lied helplessly. “But have you forgotten already that I’m a forestborn? When we defeat the Devourer . . . I don’t know what that will mean for me.”

It was as close as she dared come to the truth.

“We don’t know what that will mean for me either. Rachelle, I’m just saying—”

“And even if I live through it, you can’t just take a demon home and keep house with her! Didn’t you ever hear the story about the Duke of Anjou and Mélusine?”

“Yes,” said Armand. “But he let go of her when she transformed, didn’t he? Whatever creature you turn into, whatever form you take, I won’t let go of you.”

“You think that holding hands can make me human? That’s idiotic. You don’t even have human hands.”

She regretted the words a moment after, but his lips only sliced into a grin. “All the better to hold you with. Since, as you keep reminding me, you aren’t even human.”

There was no reply she could make to that. So they danced. The music swayed and rocked back and forth, dragging them around in minor-key circles as light as leaves in air, as ponderous as the planets. The other dancers swirled around them, lovely and heedless as peacock feathers. Armand’s silver hand rested in hers, and that insignificant touch sent a thrill up her arms.

This is the human way, she thought. On the edge of destruction, at the end of all things, we still dance. And hope.

The music wound down to a pause. Rachelle looked around and didn’t see Erec anywhere nearby, and she wondered for a moment if they might get a second dance.

“Come,” said a calm voice that made her skin crawl. It was the dark-haired woman who had held the knife to Rachelle’s throat. She laid a hand on Armand’s shoulder.

Swiftly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rachelle’s lips. Then he let himself be drawn away.

“I love you,” Rachelle whispered, staring after him as he vanished into the crowd.

“So he has another darling?” asked la Fontaine. “Or is she one of your friends?”

Rachelle started and turned to the left. La Fontaine stood beside her, dressed in shimmering, pure white silk; the only bit of color on her figure was the ruby at her neck and the bloodred fan that she fluttered in front of her face.

“She’s not my friend,” said Rachelle.

“Indeed? She’s friendly enough with your beloved d’Anjou.” La Fontaine gave her a glance that seemed to divine all her secrets. “I’m not so ignorant as you might think. Nor yet so merciful, if you are planning to harm my cousin.”

Did she know something? Or suspect? Rachelle opened her mouth, but she had no idea what she was going to say, and then a voice called out, “Silence for the King!”

The crowd parted in the center of the lawn, and there stood the King, resplendent in gold and white, with Erec at his side.

“Dearly beloved children of my realm,” said the King. “On this night, I proclaim to you a new future for our kingdom. Many of you have feared what will happen to Gévaudan without a legitimate heir. But I tell you now that you will need no heir.”

There had been silence for the King’s speech, but now a nervous mutter was rising, and in another moment, Rachelle saw why: behind the King, men were marching through the trees in lines. Their eyes shimmered in the dark with reflected lamplight, like a great horde of hungry rats, and then they grew closer, and Rachelle realized that each one bore a bloodred star on his forehead.

“I am your King and your King I shall remain forever, through the offices of my dear friends.” The King gestured at the forestborn gathered behind him. “Too long we have feared the Forest—”

“Too long, O King, you have made your peace with sin!”

The Bishop’s voice cracked across the garden as he came striding out of the trees, Justine at his side, and a troop of soldiers behind him.

“King Auguste-Philippe II, I accuse you of betraying your kingly consecration by making an abominable covenant with our enemies, the forestborn. Kneel down and beg God for mercy before this accursed foolishness goes any further.”

“Such idealism,” said the King. “But I think you’ll find it comes too late. D’Anjou?” He turned to Erec. “Tell them.”