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

“What a beautiful creature,” the Lady says. “Honed to such a sharp edge. So loyal. So brave. So ready to leap into the fray.” Yes, Voyne thinks, and then frowns as she recalls the weight of a blade in her hand. Recently. So recently she can still feel the vibration of a blow up to her shoulder, the faint echo of collision. But she doesn’t remember lifting a blade.

“Your king is not as good to you as he should be, perhaps. Does he not know what he has in you? The passion. The strength. You would break yourself open against every weapon Etrebia could bring to bear on you, and still push forward. You’d spear yourself on the blade and keep walking, until you could wring the life from their necks. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Ser Voyne says, and she can see it. Taste it. She wants to be outside of the walls, riding down hard against the enemy. She wants to push them back. She wants to free them all.

But there is a leash around her neck, and she can’t go beyond the wall. Voyne cannot stop the animal whine that builds in her throat at the thought, but the Lady is there to soothe her, press cool lips to her brow.

“He wastes you. I can see how you strain.”

“Yes,” she gasps.

“I would cultivate you,” the Lady breathes into her skin. “Only say that you will be my champion, and I will loose you upon the world.”

Something twists in the back of Ser Voyne’s head. Something howls. But this is all Ser Voyne has wanted for five years now, and she tilts her head up. She doesn’t look at Leodegardis, or her king, or anybody else in the room.

She looks up at her Lady, at Treila de Batrolin, at the rising sun, and smiles. “It would be my honor,” she says.

Her Lady rewards her with a kiss. Voyne tastes honey on Her lips.

15

15

The night cools around Phosyne as she rocks on the wall of Aymar castle.

She has called the Constant Lady and Her saints. She has done the impossible. The divine does not walk upon the earth like humans, like dogs, like creeping bugs. If it were that simple, there would be no wars, no disorder in the world. And yet her prayer, her desperation . . .

Perhaps it was only coincidence. Perhaps it is the Priory that has done something unprecedented. But she knows that can’t be true; she knew it when she saw Jacynde absent from that room. Knew it even when she spoke with Jacynde the other day, when she realized that any success of hers would be something beyond what mortals were meant for.

Magic. Intercession. A summoning.

Will it even matter that she has called their Lady?

A miracle so profound may be indistinguishable from horror. Phosyne certainly feels horrified.