Voyne flinches and looks away.

“I doubt anybody heard me. The feast had gotten loud,” Phosyne adds, as if trying to placate her. And that makes sense. Voyne has just hauled her bodily to the Constant Lady’s table, and before that nearly strangled her. Has been her minder and her jailer. Of course she fears Voyne.

Freeing her mind, however she did it with the water, is only a tactic to stop Voyne from pursuing her further. Nothing more. It is not—it is not kindness.

Voyne takes a few deep breaths, makes herself focus. Phosyne is right; the feast has gotten loud, with raucous singing, squeals of laughter. It sounds like they’ve been rescued, but Voyne knows Etrebia still waits beyond the gates. She’s known that all along, but for the last day, it hasn’t mattered at all.

“There’s no ladder,” Phosyne says, drawing her back to the cistern.

“It’s kept out of the water,” Voyne replies automatically. Logistics steady her. “And there’s only one left. Not here.”

“Then how do we get out?”

Voyne hazards a glance at her. She looks weaker than she did a day ago. Her eyes appear sunken. Her hair is dry now, but it’s plastered to her forehead. “How did you intend to get out, when you jumped in?”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Voyne thinks she blushes. “I hadn’t thought that far,” she admits. “Was more focused on testing a hypothesis.”

Voyne looks down at the water.

“Yes,” Phosyne confirms.

“Later. Explain it to me later.” She wants to know now, but the longer they stay here, the weaker Phosyne will get, and the greater the chance of the Lady coming to look for them. Voyne steps back, looks around. The walls are hewn stone, not even blocks that might have toeholds, but slippery, undulating, unbroken rock.

She should have suggested steps be worked into the sides, back when Etrebia first cut them off here, and they’d set about improving the cisterns. More fool her.

Water sloshes as Phosyne leaves her side and goes up to the wall itself, just outside where the tarp covers, no doubt so she can see up to the rim. She places both hands flat on the stone and stares forward, bullheaded, then looks up. Voyne watches as she touches the top of her head, slides her hand against the stone level with it. She steps back, regarding it and the empty space above.

She looks at Ser Voyne.

“Come here,” she says.

Ser Voyne jerks into motion.