She stays perfectly still as the Lady slides Her hand up Phosyne’s wrists to the sleeves of her robe, fingering the fabric. She makes herself watch the progression of those pollen-stained fingertips, and as she does, she realizes these robes are familiar. They are very much like Jacynde’s. They are very much like the Lady’s.

When did she do that? Did she do that, or did they change when she wasn’t looking, the way the painted faces watching them move whenever her gaze slips off them?

Phosyne doesn’t remember. The trembling is getting worse. She must be stronger than this, if she is going to walk out of here in one piece.

“Do you fancy yourself Jacynde’s replacement?” the Lady asks.

She flinches. She can’t help it. “No.”

“And yet she is dead behind this throne you’ve taken for your own, with Ser Voyne’s sword straight through her.”

“I didn’t place her there.”

“But you had taken her into your care. Did you abandon her, little mouse, to fend for herself? That is a cruel thing to do. You surprise me.”

“I needed to build my walls,” Phosyne whispers.

“And you did not want to take on an obligation to somebody else.” Quiet, a moment. Even the bees seem to go still. The Lady touches Phosyne’s jaw, still featherlight, and applies just a little pressure. An indication, a request.

Phosyne looks at her once more. They are of a height.

“Tell me, little mouse—would you go into your room, that pretty, sheltered world of yours, and leave all of this behind, if you knew it would sustain you?”

A night ago, she would have said yes.

Now, though, the world has gotten a little bigger. Her desires have grown teeth. “No,” she says. “No, I want freedom.”

“An understandable want. I can fulfill it.”

Phosyne bares her teeth in something that is not a smile. “And what would you require in return?”

“There are many things you could give me,” the Lady says. Her hand has not moved. “The exchange, I think, could benefit us both. We are not so different.”

Phosyne closes her eyes for just a moment, for just long enough to see that the Lady blazes before her, but that she burns with nearly the same intensity.

She reaches out, touches the Lady’s cheek, mirroring perfectly. Her eyes are open again. Her mind is racing.

“Were you like me once?” she asks.

The Lady cants Her head. Considers. Drops Her hand and steps back so that She can regard the full length of Phosyne.

“Do you mean, was I earthbound? Was I born of a womb, and did I drink milk as a babe? No.” Her gaze flicks up. “But could you be like me, one day? I think that is the far more interesting question, little mouse, and I think it is the one you mean to ask.”