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“Our Constant Lady,” Ser Voyne interjects. “Avert your eyes, you are not worthy to—”

“Hush, Ser Voyne,” her Lady says, and she cannot speak. “What do you think I am, little mouse?”

“Something summoned,” Phosyne says.

Yes, they have called to the Constant Lady for—for a long time, though again Ser Voyne can’t remember the details. Or why they called. But they called, and She has come, a blessing and a salve, and—

“Oh, I was not summoned, little mouse,” her Lady says. She cups Phosyne’s jaw, head tilting like a curious bird’s as She takes her measure. “I go nowhere I do not please. But I do wander everywhere.” Her yellow lips curl. “Come, eat with me. I wonder what you think of my gifts.”

“No,” Phosyne says.

Ser Voyne reaches for her with a voiceless snarl, but her Lady waves her off again. “Sit with me, at least. Perhaps you can tell me of the water.”

Phosyne’s pallid skin goes paler still.

“I have tasted it, and it is sweet,” says the Constant Lady, and at last She rises. She touches Ser Voyne’s throat with one slim finger, and Voyne feels her voice return. Feels herself move once more. “Take a seat at my table, dear knight. Bring with you your little pet.”

Phosyne rolls onto her belly and tries to stand, but Ser Voyne is faster, now that she is freed. She pulls Phosyne, lifts her with one arm below her knees, the other below her shoulders.

“Let me go,” Phosyne begs, even as Voyne passes her Lady and plunges into the heat of the great hall.

At the head of one of the great tables is King Cardimir, Ser Leodegardis at his right hand. The picture of proper order. But Ser Voyne feels nothing, walks past him, for her destination is greater still.

Her Lady’s table sits parallel to the king’s, and in mirror image to him, the Lady’s chair sits, empty and draped in silks to receive Her at the head. To that chair’s right is the Absolving Saint, standing behind his own. He inclines his head as Ser Voyne approaches, and looks down with a silvered smile at Phosyne. Phosyne stills, frowning, staring back with intense curiosity.

Ser Voyne jolts her, breaking her concentration.

“Sit, Ser Voyne,” the Absolving Saint says, and pulls the chair out.

For a moment, she is confused, but then a rush of gratitude fills her. She sits. He tucks her chair in. He looks at Phosyne while he does it, as he traps the skinny woman between Voyne and the table so that escape becomes nearly impossible.

“Our Lady would have you both as her guests tonight,” the Absolving Saint says. He reaches out as if to touch Phosyne’s brow, then hesitates, glances to the door. He pulls his hand smoothly back. He leaves them.

The Loving Saint and the Warding Saint, too, are out of their seats, their chairs remaining empty as they drift between the tables, touch brows, shoulders, backs. They bow to whisper in ears. They fill plates, though nobody yet dares to eat.

“Don’t you see this is all wrong?” Phosyne whispers, glancing up at her, shivering. “This isn’t how people act.”

Before Ser Voyne can question her, or even parse what Phosyne has said, what little noise there was dies away completely.

It leaves only her Lady, speaking out in the yard to all that are gathered there.

“All this bounty, I give to you, who have suffered so terribly,” the Lady says, and though She does not shout and has no criers, Ser Voyne can hear it clear as a bell from where she sits, even with a wall and a hundred bodies between them. “I would mend you where you have broken, nurture you where you have been left to wither. You are my garden, and I shall tend you until you reach your fullest bloom. Eat, and be well.”

And seemingly as one beast, they all descend upon the food.

The great hall echoes not with talks or prayers or cheers, but with chewing, swallowing, gasping, sucking. Ser Voyne and Phosyne alone keep their hands still.

“Ser Voyne?”

She looks down at Phosyne, who is trembling again. Panic lights her eyes. “Let me go,” Phosyne begs. “Let me go, and I swear to you, I will go back to my tower, I will do my work, I will not impose on anybody. I won’t go back to the hole. But don’t keep me here.”

“No,” Ser Voyne says. “We must remain. We must eat. The Lady said—”

“What have they done to you?” Phosyne asks, and she is shaking. “You aren’t in there anymore. They’ve taken you.”

Ser Voyne blinks, frowns.

And then the Lady enters the great hall.