It pulls a mad little laugh from Phosyne, and she’s already pushing up, getting her free foot against the wall, her free hand extended. Without help from Voyne, she sinks in again. She starts to drop, as if the earth remembers to clutch at her, but when she’s got the original hand and foot free, the stone firms up once more. She’s suspended from the wall. She is part of the wall.

Voyne thinks she’s going to be sick.

Phosyne does it again, and again, then stops halfway up the wall, looking back over her shoulder. She’s grinning. Voyne can’t look away.

The part of her that is all logistics and tactics, however, can still speak. She hears herself say, “This has the same problem as before. You’ll be exposed up there. Alone.”

But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe all that matters is Phosyne gets out, and all the rest will fall into place.

Phosyne purses her lips. “Go up first,” Phosyne says. “Use me as—as a handhold. A ladder.”

And there’s that compulsion. She grits her teeth. “Don’t,” she snaps. “I can’t—” Because now all she can hear is use me use me use me and that is not useful in the slightest.

“I’m sorry,” Phosyne says, but she doesn’t look it.

Voyne grimaces, steps closer. She can’t help it, so she tries to channel it. Tries to think. If she climbs up now, she’ll just dislocate Phosyne’s shoulder. So instead, she presses her hand to Phosyne’s calf. “Get in deeper,” she says. “So the rock is holding more of your weight.”

“You’ll have to push me, or I’ll just fall,” Phosyne says.

“I have you,” Voyne murmurs. She places her other hand on Phosyne’s hip. It’s warm through the clammy fabric.

She feels when the rock releases its hold on Phosyne, and in return, she heaves upward. Phosyne melts into the rock, a little bit at a time. Voyne shifts her hold, braces her feet against the floor, and tilts Phosyne forward. Forward, until her nose is just brushing the wall. It’s not like pushing somebody into sand or mud or anything but air. It’s hard to keep her balance.

And then the weight is gone. The rock is taking it.

“Quickly,” Phosyne gasps, and maybe this time it’s hurting her.

Voyne doesn’t hesitate. She adjusts her hold on Phosyne and hauls herself up, feet pushing against the wall beneath them. Her arms slide around Phosyne’s waist, her hands clutch at Phosyne’s shoulders. Phosyne feels too delicate beneath her, and she is shaking mightily. But she holds. The wall holds.