BooksBarbecue
Back The Starving Saints Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. Acknowledgments
  54. About the Author
  55. Also by Caitlin Starling
  56. Copyright
  57. About the Publisher

“I know,” Voyne snaps. She’s up on her feet, pacing. “I know that, I could hear you, but there was just unbroken rock. There wasn’t a way through. I shouldn’t have been able to hear you through that, I don’t—I don’t understand—”

She doesn’t understand any of this. Her brain is on fire, her limbs do not always obey her, and she wishes more than anything that she could wring the Lady’s throat, the way she’s killed a hundred others.

The nothingness of their companion enters the room, and Voyne snarls, turns away, slams a fist into the wall because if she doesn’t, she might lash out at the woman she cannot see or at Phosyne, and that will only make everything worse.

Phosyne doesn’t speak. Voyne supposes that means she’s listening. Voyne hopes that means the nothing has a plan.

But then Phosyne shakes her head, says, “No, no, we’ll just try again—”

“There’s no point,” Ser Voyne says. “There was a wall—”

“We’ll give it some time, Ser Voyne and I can go in together, I can try to see what’s stopping her—”

Nothing. Nothing fills the room. Ser Voyne breathes hard through her nose, fights the urge to flee.

And then nothing is gone again. It’s just the two of them left, Phosyne looking between Voyne and the hole, the hole and Voyne.

“Well?” Voyne asks, when she can speak again.

“She’s leaving without us,” Phosyne says. She clutches the bundle of her robes to her, fingers tight. All of her is tight. Every muscle in her narrow body is tense.

And Voyne realizes then that if Phosyne goes back into the tunnel, Voyne will not be able to pursue her.

Time stretches. Voyne almost kneels, almost begs, because she doesn’t want to be left here alone. She makes herself wait instead. Wait, and hope that perhaps Phosyne will credit duty more than survival.

It is a stupid choice to make, but Voyne hopes that she makes it.

When Phosyne unrolls her robe and drags it back on over her head, Voyne weeps.

26

26

Halfway between the keep and the grotto, Treila curls up against the stone and laughs.

It’s not sane laughter. She knows very well it isn’t. It’s the laughter of the absurd, of the tragicomic, and she is shaking apart with it. Not only can Ser Voyne not see her, not hear her, not conceive of the concept of her, but the very earth spits her back out when Treila tries to draw her into this grotto she now thinks of as her own. There are more than a few glistening jokes in that, and she wishes she could tell the Loving Saint, because she knows he would laugh against her skin.