“How will we stay together when we are with the men?” another girl said.
Dacia and Christine shared a look.
It was clear much had changed. The air was thick, and no one really talked, whispering tightly, and moving as if they were being watched. Signs of distress were everywhere—limp hair, ragged dresses. Food left uneaten and forgotten. Even Christine, who was so carefulshe’d look well fed in a famine, appeared pale and thin. Had there been a sickness? Had another one gone missing? I counted the girls. There was no one new, but two missing. Odette and … now who? I wanted them to talk about it more. I wanted to shake them all until they told me.
A sudden tug in my throat yanked my attention. Another followed right away. The cord. The invisible thread to my body. What was happening? I could feel the pull, the demand of it. I wanted to fight it. To stay. But I closed my eyes and allowed him to reel me back.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the floor of the tower in the blackened stone château hidden deep in the forest, back in my healthy body, with my shining black hair. But the pain and fear of the girls had followed me into this new world I’d been living in. I cried and lifted my arms toward Renaud. With a flicker of surprise, he caught me to his chest and held me close.
“Ma petite chou,” he murmured, soothing me. He brushed back my hair and held my face in his bare hands, pulling me back to find my gaze and pin me under the intensity of his own. “What happened? Why your tears? You are here and safe.”
“Buttheyaren’t!” I cried. “Something is wrong.”
“Did something happen to you?”
“No, but—”
He helped me up, pulling me tight to his chest and shushing me like a squalling child. “You need to rest in silence for a bit to recover your strength. Casting yourself apart from your body …” He paused as if thinking about what to say.
It caught me strangely and I looked up at him. “What?” I asked.
“It can be dangerous. To separate yourself like that. With me here, I could keep your body safe. Under control. But with someone lesser, or on your own, there is danger you might lose yourself.”
“The cord between me and my body,” I mused, remembering the tug. I sniffed and wiped my tears on the back of my hands. I felt torn between guilt and comfort, held so safely in his arms.
“I thought you would come back to me exhilarated,” he said. “I had … wanted to give you a gift.”
“Oh!” I reached for him, trying to find his eyes. “It was a beautiful gift. I have never felt that way before, that freedom. I just … I wanted to check on Dacia.”
“Dacia. The one you sent the letter to.”
“She is like a sister to me. Was.” I flinched. “Dacia is the kindest, most purehearted person.” I had never dreamed of marriage, but I’d dreamed of Dacia being married and being able to visit and work alongside each other at chickens and children rather than men.
He pulled away from me and I felt the coldness of his sudden distance. “Would you prefer to go back to her?”
I blanched. “No! Never. That’s not what I meant.”
“Yet I gave you ultimate freedom and what you chose to do was return immediately to the place where you were imprisoned.”
It wasn’t until he said those words—so precise—that I realized my mistake. “No!” I insisted, but it was too late. He pulled away as if I’d hurt him, frustration in every line in his body. Clasping his hands behind his back he turned for the stairs.
XXVII.
Voice from the Void
He was always a step ahead of me, turning just out of reach in the narrow, winding staircase. I tried to go faster and slipped, coming down hard on my arse on the stone steps and nearly sliding off. Even then, he did not turn. Cursing myself, I stood and followed more carefully, hobbling against the growing ache in my spine.
When I finally reached the bottom, I ran after him in the hallway, breathless and sore. “It was just the emotion of seeing her. I wasn’t thinking.”
He ignored me, striding forward as if I weren’t there.
I felt like a pest, like a bothersome gnat, circling but never even swatted. He turned into his chamber and I stopped, deflated, in the middle of the room. “Please, Renaud,” I said. “Please understand.”
He looked at me then, his eyes bright and fierce with hurt. “I must go. I’ve spent too much time here, lingering with you. I have neglected my duties.”
“I did not mean to wound you,” I said, again to that deep, sad place behind his eyes. If only he let me love him. Let me reach into that dark place. But how could he when I did things like this?
“You are the only one who could hurt me. I warned you of that.” He turned his back and took his cloak, and with that he strode away, leaving me alone once again.
