I snorted. “To my benefit, you say?”

“Hm. Perhaps to your instincts, then.”

“All right, so let’s say this is true.” I let out a slow breath and opened my eyes again. “Which means I’m apparently unusually good at ball games. Why should anyone care?”

Rhyanon gave me a sad look.

“Because the Renewer is a queenmaker,” she said. “I said you held an unusual concentration of lace in your body? That power, historically, has been enough to completely reshape Aytrium. Each time the Order’s lace begins to wane, the Renewer appears. She restores the Sisterhood. She ushers in a new golden age.”

“But I’m not powerful,” I said in exasperation. “My lacework skills are average at best, so I can’t be this—this mythical lace wielder.”

“It’s not about your abilities.” Rhyanon studied her hands, avoiding my gaze. “It’s your body that matters.”

Like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place, I understood her.

“Oh,” I said, suddenly cold. “So it’s about who martyrs me.”

Who eats me.

“Yes,” said Rhyanon.

I drew the covers of the bed up over my shoulders, pulling my knees in.

“Elfreda, this wasn’t—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “You knew! All this time, you knew—”

“I didn’t!” Rhyanon got up and sat on the bed, but I shrank backwards from her. “I had no idea, not until Saskia mentioned that game of Tryst, and even then, it seemed like such a remote possibility. Why should it be you, out of everyone in the Order? We only realised the truth at Geise’s Crown.”

I pressed my lips together. Rhyanon hesitated, then laid her hand on my shoulder. I flinched, but she did not draw away.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “And I’m sorry that I haven’t been more open with you before now. That was a mistake.”

“I thought I was going mad.” My voice came out hoarse. “For a year. And now you tell me that the visions are just some symptom, some indication that I’m … I’m meant to…”

“No one is going to hurt you again,” she said. “You’ll see—we’ll get you out of Ceyrun and away from the Order. Everything is under control.”

“They’re going to martyr me,” I whispered. “Every Reverend in the Order must be searching the city. And when they find me—”

Rhyanon shook her head. All of a sudden, she looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Saskia faked your death,” she said.

I stared at her. “She … what?”

“This is going to take some explaining.” She reached over and picked up the plate of bread. “Here. Eat, it might help.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Eat,” she said firmly.

I stared at Rhyanon a moment longer, then slowly lowered my knees and straightened up. I took the plate. The bread was toasted, and the butter glistened, yellow and melting. I broke off a corner.

“It might be a bit dense,” she said, watching me. “I was distracted while baking.”