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Back The Starving Saints
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

“You do so enjoy your suffering,” the monster says. Her nails scrape over Voyne’s scalp, sharp enough to make her gasp. “I thought death your art, but now I find myself reconsidering. You have learned the many gradations of pain, I think, receiving and giving, and you still search for yourself within it all. I thought to give you a life free of pain, but that was never what you wished for, was it? Even gentleness is pain for you.”

Her words slide home, a misericord between the ribs. It galls her, drives her to argue, but she fights the urge. Another trick; this is another way to bring her defenses down. She would not be so focused on her if She were not frightened, if Voyne did not pose some threat.

(Or perhaps She only plays with Her food, the same way the shadows on the stairs did.)

The beast moves beneath Voyne, rolls her. A slip and blink and then Voyne is on the floor. The False Lady hauls her up to her knees, and Voyne can see now that she is within reach of the throne. Behind it must be her sword. A little farther; she has passed the test. She is so close.

“Stay here,” the Lady says into her ear, hands sliding along Voyne’s shoulders and then disappearing entirely. “Stay, and hope the little mouse remembers you exist. She has so many new and lovely worlds to explore—for you must know, I have shown her such wondrous sights.”

And then She is gone, and Voyne can hear nothing but the waiting breath of painted faces and the buzzing hum of bees.

36

36

There is only one obvious place for Treila to run to. One person:

Phosyne.

Her creature of the tunnel may let her out again, but she refuses to squander the price she paid. Her missing ear sings with aimless noise as she races across the room she used to bed down in, making for the other staircase. But it is blocked with a clot of shadows, faces leering out of the darkness in the suggestion of cheekbones and chins. She doesn’t let herself look closely. Out, instead, into the yard, then down and around toward the kitchens.

Not everybody is sleeping. In the distance, she sees three girls dancing. Their feet, she thinks, are bleeding. Shadows wait to lap at the sodden dirt.

She doesn’t let herself look. Moves instead into the kitchen, because she knows there’s a staircase out the back that will lead to the tower that contains Phosyne.