I Should Die

freak of nature. He must have become a numa by accident, the same way she became a revenant. And now he is doomed to be her partner, at least until she gets bored of him. Which, for Arthur, took about five hundred years.

THIRTY-EIGHT
    A MOMENT LATER, I FEEL ANOTHER PRESENCE IN the room.
    Kate , it says. I am used to hearing a voice inside my head, but for the first time it’s not Vincent’s. I scan the room, searching for the source of the voice, but see nothing.
    “Who is that?” I ask in a freaked-out whisper.
    It’s Gaspard , says the voice. And apparently you don’t have to speak out loud. I heard your words before you spoke them. How terribly convenient.
    I can’t help smiling. He sounds the same in my head as in real life. What are you doing here? I thought you and JB left Paris.
    We did. But Jean-Baptiste saw your aura all of the way from Normandy, and insisted on coming back. Everyone’s been searching for you. Jean-Baptiste followed your light and led them all here. I must say, my dear, you look absolutely ghastly. Dried blood caked all over. You’re practically . . . zombiesque.
    I ignore his remarks on my appearance. How are my grandparents? And Vincent?
    They’re all fine. Ambrose and Charlotte got your grandparents safely out of the Crillon and then went back in and rescued Vincent.
    I breathe a sigh of relief. So where are we?
    The houseboat you are imprisoned within is just outside Paris, moving westward, says Gaspard. The voice disappears for a moment, and then is back. How strong are you?
    I don’t know , I admit . How long have I been here?
    Violette killed you almost four days ago, Gaspard says. I can’t stay for long. She and her men will sense that I am here. Vincent doesn’t want to try a rescue attempt until he knows you’re strong enough to fight on your own. There’s no way to creep up on a boat in the middle of the river, but we don’t want to give Violette the time she needs to destroy you.
    His voice disappears again for a good few minutes, and then he is back. Vincent says, and I quote, “Be strong, mon ange .” He says you should do your best to get free, but stay where you are and pretend you are still bound. I will come back in a few hours to check on you.
    Gaspard? I say.
    Yes.
    I’m a revenant. I realize it’s the understatement of the century, but somehow saying it out loud makes me feel better.
    I know. It seems that you’re actually a bit more than a revenant, dear Kate.
    I inhale sharply. How do you know?
    Well, firstly, your aura is like nothing Jean-Baptiste has ever seen before. It’s like a homing beacon for his Seer capabilities. And then, once confronted, Bran confessed. He’s known this whole time, but was bound by his people’s rules not to pronounce you Champion before you actually became such.
    My hunch was right. Bran had known. I can’t decide whether I am grateful or upset with him for not letting me know. But then again . . . maybe he had tried with all of his little hints. In the only way he could “legally” let me know. I had just been blind to it.
    Just be careful, Kate, Gaspard continues . I’ll be back to check on you.
    So. My state—both revenant and Champion—is now common knowledge among the bardia. They all know. Vincent knows. I’m not sure how I feel about that. There is a pang in my heart as I wonder if this will change the way he sees me now. He told me more than once that he would never wish the revenant destiny for me.
    Well, none of that will matter if I can’t get out of here. My body will be ashes and my spirit absorbed into Violette, strengthening her. Making her unstoppable. Just the thought of being a part of her sets me into action. I work on my bonds, moving my hands back and forth and picking at the ropes. All I manage is rope burn and more bleeding. I feel like screaming, but now that I’m in contact with the others, I don’t want to draw more attention to myself than is necessary. I lie back on the bed and wish I could sleep.
    After what seems like forever, Louis is back with another tray. This time he leaves the door open behind him. Lifting my head to help me drink, he places slices of fruit and nuts in my mouth and waits for me to chew and swallow.
    I sense that he hates this guard work. There’s something about the way his jaw clenches when I occasionally wince in pain. And the way his eyes dart to my face every few seconds to gauge my reactions. I’ve been feeling an emotion from him that I