“In return for this knife, Phosyne was granted dominion over this castle and all the lives inside it that my Lady held. That dominion now resides in you.” He cants his head, considers his next words carefully. Perhaps he did not think to make it this far into his speech. “You want us gone, I am sure, those of us who remain. Though, to be fair, we are not many.”

Treila laughs, darkly.

“But we cannot leave without your releasing us,” he says. “And in exchange for returning this blade, I would have our release, if you were to be so merciful.”

Voyne is not inclined to mercy. “You have destroyed us,” she says, simply. “Turned us against one another, fogged our minds, induced us to indulge in horrors. You have feasted upon us. You have fed our own to us.”

“You had already done it yourselves,” the Absolving Saint counters. “Unknowing in both cases, I am sure.”

She regards him cooly.

He quails, eventually. “It is not the same,” he admits.

“No. You made us delight in it. Gave us false hope, and devoured us to your benefit.”

“Yes.”

“And why should I not keep you here to starve?”

The Absolving Saint hums, and gives every appearance of consideration. But it is not he who speaks, in the end, to argue for clemency.

It is Phosyne, pillowing her cheek once more against Voyne’s thigh.

“The blade,” Phosyne murmurs. “It lets his kind ignore the bonds of iron that have kept him at bay. That keep his kind out of towns and palaces, from doing there what they have done here.”

Voyne shudders at the thought.

And to his credit, the Absolving Saint inclines his head. “Yes. And if you will take it in exchange for our freedom, we will once again be hurt by it.”

“We go back to the way things were,” Treila translates.

“A fair trade,” the Absolving Saint suggests. “More than fair.”

“And are there more of you?” Voyne asks. “More than yourself and what creatures Treila did not set upon one another? Or is this your entire world?”

Phosyne, at her hip, is alert. Judging. Treila, too, at her shoulder.

“There are,” he says. “And when I leave here, the bonds we have made will transfer to all of them.”

“Lying?” Voyne asks.

“No,” Phosyne says. Treila does not reply.

Voyne looks up to her.

“Does it matter?” Treila asks. “There are dark things in the forest always. Something will eat regardless. Better not to risk making their teeth any sharper.”

Voyne considers, then nods. She gestures. “Lay down your knife, then, hungry thing. But before you go—”

He hesitates, half-bowed.

“Phosyne,” Voyne continues, “please word this for me. I want everybody in this castle who has unknowingly suffered to remain unknowing. They are stirring, even now. I would not visit this horror upon them, if it is within my power.”