Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge

been one of her strengths. It was a strange, sideways movement that used none of her body. For the first six months of her training, all that had happened when she tried was that she wiggled her ears. Even after she learned how to do it right, the skin on her scalp still twitched whenever she woke a charm.
    Now she concentrated until her head ached, but she felt no answering power in the wall beneath her fingertips.
    With a sigh, she opened her eyes and looked around the dim room. Charms had to be touched to be awoken; just standing near them was not enough. It wasn’t a large room, but it would take her a long time to lay hands on every part of the wall.
    She had to try. What could she lose?
    Rachelle took one step forward and pressed her hand to the wall again. And again. And again. Awakening a charm was such a little thing—she wasn’t even really drawing any power—and yet the effort was starting to make her dizzy. Still she kept trying, moving slowly around the room. She had to find the door, even if it meant crawling through every room in the Château.
    In the hallway outside, somebody was singing—probably drunken courtiers staggering back to their rooms—but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding the door.
    The ragged singing stopped, which was a relief; the caterwauling made it hard to concentrate—
    Then she realized that the people were still in the corridor, chattering and laughing just outside the door.
    And the door was opening.
    Rachelle whirled around. Light dazzled her: the corridor was lit outside, and the people carried several lamps. La Fontaine stood in the doorway, pale blue crystals glistening in her hair and on her dress. To either side of her, a small crowd of nobles stood, swayed, and leaned on each other, cheeks flushed and wigs slightly askew. They seemed to have all been laughing over a common joke a moment before.
    They were all staring at her now.
    La Fontaine arched one pale eyebrow. “I hope I do not intrude,” she said.
    Rachelle couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t tell them what she was doing, but if she didn’t tell, would they think she was trying to assassinate the King? Would the King consider her to have disobeyed orders by leaving Armand asleep in his room? If she wasn’t executed, she could be sent home to Rocamadour, and then how would she find Joyeuse—
    “I don’t mind if you want to try your luck with him,” said la Fontaine, “but you must know that I will win. Though you will find you get further if you actually enter the bedroom.”
    —and Rachelle’s face heated as she realized that nobody in the room suspected her of any kind of violence.
    “I’m here to patrol,” she said, her voice absurdly harsh and rustic in her ears. “I needed to see if the King’s rooms were safe.”
    “I promise I am taking good care of him,” said la Fontaine, which set everyone snickering.
    Rachelle wanted to snarl, I have no interest in kissing a sick old man , but she knew that if she showed anger, la Fontaine would arch an eyebrow and make a joke of that as well.
    She wondered if she could simply bolt across the room and throw herself out the window. It could hardly make things worse.
    La Fontaine stepped closer. “But I really do wonder,” she said more softly, the idle amusement gone from her voice, “what are you doing here?”
    Then the door behind her opened, and there stood King Auguste-Philippe, wrapped in a dark red robe.
    She bowed stiffly, along with everyone else. Her body was numb with embarrassment.
    The King ignored everyone to look at la Fontaine. “My dear little friend,” he said, “what keeps you out so late at night?”
    There was an odd shift to la Fontaine. She lost none of her poise, but she looked suddenly younger and more fragile.
    “My duty to your subjects,” she said, extending a hand for him to kiss. “How could I leave them lonely?”
    He kissed the hand and drew her close to him. The crowd at the door he continued to