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“We don’t know what they are,” Phosyne says. “What they want. What the limits of their powers might be.”

“Then we study them.” Voyne’s stern expression is turning into a scowl. “We have a duty, Phosyne.”

“To martyr ourselves?” Phosyne asks. There’s a part of her that doesn’t want to leave, not yet, but that part is curiosity, and her curiosity has taken her nowhere good. It certainly isn’t any feeling of obligation. She lost that the moment the Lady said She was not summoned.

“To serve. We have protected those people from Etrebia, and we will protect them now, as well.”

“Did we? Protect them from Etrebia, I mean. Because from up here it has looked as though we have only prolonged death.”

Ser Voyne’s jaw clenches. Phosyne realizes she’s made yet another mistake. The fragile peace between them is about to crack, and either Voyne is going to bear down on her again (and she’ll probably like it again), or Phosyne’s going to tug on the leash, command her tostop, even though she keeps promising she won’t do it again, because she’s scared and because she wants to see the power work once more.

But neither happens, because the tower door opens and Treila slips inside.

Ser Voyne’s reaction is—confusing. She wheels toward the door, as Phosyne would expect, and Phosyne is already up off the floor to get herself between the two women before Voyne can threaten or lunge, but as soon as Voyne can see Treila she goes limp.

Treila stares up at her, eyes wide at first, then narrowing to slits.

Voyne’s gaze slips away.

Phosyne wants to ask, but she has more important questions. More urgent ones, at any rate, now that she has a better sense of just how powerful the food being served down belowis. She turns to Treila.

“Did you eat the food? Any of it?”

Treila screws up her face, turning her attention to Phosyne. “No, of course not.” Her voice is just the same. Her posture’s a little different, more tightly wound, perhaps, but all in all, she isTreilain a way that Voyne was not Voyne before the cistern. “Are you ready?”

Impatient, more than before. What happened to her, down in the revels? There are lurid suck-marks on her throat that weren’t there earlier.

A brush with the chaos, then. A seduction. Phosyne only hopes she’s kept her head.

“I—yes, of course.” She looks back at Voyne reflexively.

Voyne’s brow is clouded with confusion.

At first, Phosyne thinks she’s hit a wall. That the water only lasts a certain amount of time, and everything is about to change again. But then Voyne blinks once, twice, and asks:

“Who are you talking to?”

Phosyne takes a step back, as if her body could be hiding Treila from sight. Voyne watches her, of course, but then glances at the door. Doesn’t react to Treila standing right there. Just like she hadn’t reacted to Treila down by the tunnel.

“She can’t see you,” Phosyne realizes.

“What?”

“No, shecan,” Phosyne amends, because Ser Voyne is looking at Treila’s edges, perfectly avoiding the substance of her. “She can’tnoticeyou.”

“Phosyne—” Voyne tries, but Treila talks over her:

“It’s the Lady’s fault.”

Phosyne holds up a hand, and Voyne goes silent, watching her warily now. “The Lady?” Phosyne asks.

“Yes. She saw me with Ser Voyne earlier. For some reason, Ser Voyne thought I wasHer, though I didn’t... realize it at first.” She doesn’t look pleased at the memory. “I thought the Lady would kill me, but Ser Voyne went to Her obediently, and...” She gestures. Pauses, looks like she is going to stay something else. She rubs at the shell of her ear and doesn’t say it.

But Phosyne thinks she understands. “The Lady has made sure Voyne won’t confuse you with Her again.”

“Exactly.” Her gaze returns to Voyne. “It’s irritating, but not insurmountable. Probably a blessing. She’s docile, now?”

“Yes, and coherent. I—”