Slowly, cautiously, Phosyne stands. Her robes cling to her thighs, sweat-stuck to the skin below, but a twitch of her hand sets them right. She doesn’t know if she actually touches the silk to do it.

“An improvement, to be sure,” the Lady says with a smile. “Look at you. So imperious. I expected it would take you far longer to find a throne, little mouse.”

I only took it because—

The protest dies in her throat. Because why? Because Voyne needed her to? No. Because Phosyne wanted to see what would happen? Closer, and she feels horrible for it.

She says nothing, tamping down the swirl of questions. She can’t afford weakness, not in front of the Lady.

“Are you going to flee back to your room?” the Lady asks. “I saw your work. Very nicely done. Your beautiful little world has strong walls of its own now.”

She is leading up to something. Phosyne knows it, but can’t divine what it is. “I am not fleeing,” she says, meeting the Lady’s gaze. Her eyes remain those unnerving rings upon rings of color. “But I am leaving.” Phosyne steels herself, goes to step past Her.

The Lady reaches out and touches her wrist.

It’s a light touch, not enough to stop her, but it makes Phosyne falter all the same.

“Stay a moment,” the Lady says, voice quiet, for her ears only. “You and I, we have much to discuss.”

“I want no more lessons.”

The Lady makes a small, doubting sound, but doesn’t push. “Are you afraid, little mouse?”

“Of course.” She sees no point in lying. The windows are full of shifting impossibilities. Her stomach remains all but empty. She thinks she hears screaming from the yard, though it’s hard to tell; it might be singing. “I’ve seen your hunger.”

“I sup on flesh and bone, petal and root, the same as you, but more rarified things besides: lust and longing, fear and ecstasy.”

The madness in the yard below. The dancing of the people of Aymar, their hedonistic dissolution. All of it to feed Her and Her creatures.

“You play with your food,” Phosyne says.

“I season my meat, and keep it occupied. I give it fertile fields to fat itself. You will see soon, little mouse. You will come to understand the satisfaction of having everything available to your teeth. I can see your hunger, too.”

And Phosyne is hungry. But it’s not the hunger of an empty stomach. It’s the need to taste. To chew. To consume. She wants to indulge.

She tamps down on the urge. That is what led her to that throne, what led her to command Voyne, to take what she wanted with no thought to their surroundings, the danger they were in.

Phosyne realizes she is trembling.