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If anything, it makes Treila more afraid.

“Yours?” Treila breathes.No, mine, she thinks.

And at that, the dark cloud on Phosyne’s brow breaks. It doesn’t disperse, though, merely fractures. Pain flashes through. Cautiously, Treila comes closer. Holds out a hand.

“Yours?” she repeats, a question now instead of an argument.

And slowly, Phosyne kneels before her. Covers her face with her hands. Her shoulders spasm.

Treila rests one blood-stained hand on top of her head.

“Before,” Phosyne confesses. “I found her in the throne room. She was trapped.”

Trapped, where Treila knows the Lady found Jacynde. Where the sound of a blade parting flesh had rung out. Had Voyne been there, too? No, the Loving Saint would have used that if he could have.

“I took the throne,” Phosyne says, voice muffled by her palms.“And she came to me on bended knee. No. Imadeher come to me on bended knee. And I didn’t feel bad about it for a second. You... I think you should have left me to die on the floor.”

Treila lets out a jagged little laugh at that. Her fingers tighten, tangle in Phosyne’s hair. “And I should have let the Loving Saint eat me.”

Phosyne’s surprised inhale is rough. It catches in her throat like a blade has pierced there, too. But she lifts her head. Treila lets her hand fall back to her side. They stare at each other, at their failures, their weaknesses.

“It’s all a mess,” Treila whispers, when she can hold it in no longer. “Every bit of it. We should leave. For real, this time. It will cost us, though.”

“It will cost us either way,” Phosyne says. She scowls and wipes at her mouth, climbs back up to her feet. She looks at Voyne. “There are things the Lady wants. That She finds valuable. If I can find the right combination, strike the right bargain—I could still fix this.”

“Could you?” Treila asks. She’s not so certain.

“I could,” Phosyne says.

Treila does not ask how she knows.

Phosyne stares down at the knight for a long, silent moment, then shakes her head, plucks at her robes. Steps back. “Take her,” she says. “Take her, down to the tunnels. Hide her there. But don’t leave.”

“Can we even hide, now?” Treila asks. “There are so many of them.”

Phosyne holds up a hand, closes her eyes. A faint note thrums upon the air. It sets the bees back to buzzing. Treila shivers, falls back a step instinctively.

Then Phosyne opens her eyes once more, and all is as it was. “It’s safe, there. The same force that kept Voyne from following us in will keep the Lady and Her creatures out.”

“And the distance from here to there?”

“Will not be easily crossed. But I think I can distract them. They want me at least as much as they want her. I will use that.”

“What has happened to you?” Treila asks, even as she edges closer to Voyne’s body. “Whatareyou?”

Phosyne’s smile is hollow. She does not answer.

Instead, she goes to stand before the pallbearers. She is every inchthe saint now, in this aspect, in this place. She has the clothing, the bearing, the command. She could be carried about the wall on a litter, and not look out of place.

“I know you have drunk of my water,” Phosyne tells them. They lift their heads at that. “I know that you reside, the smallest fraction, in my domain. You will help Treila bear this body a little farther, and then you will find a quiet, shady place to rest.”

Treila covers her mouth, then turns away. She does not want to see this.

But she can still hear it. The rustle of clothing, the creak of joints. There is no answering speech. No acknowledgment, or gratitude, or hatred. Only bodies, coming to lift Voyne up once more.

And the sound of Phosyne leaving.

Treila stands motionless for a long time. Too long, she is certain, but she is so tired. She hurts so much, and there is still work to be done.