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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

Ser Voyne squeezes harder. Phosyne can barely breathe. But on the gasp she does manage, she smells—

Blood.

And she remembers Jacynde’s empty, bloody mouth, the pieces clicking into place as she realizes why Ser Voyne was standing below the observatory. The eagerness in her flips to pure terror in an instant, and she begins to thrash. The stone is no longer cold against her back, it’s hot with the heat of her body, and she scrabbles against it, eyes closing, lips parting in a silent, airless scream—

And then she’s outside of the chapel, on the narrow walkway that rings the tower. There is a wall in front of her. She hears sobbing coming through it. Voyne’s sobbing. Somehow she’s fallen through the stone and come out whole the other side—and Voyne cannot follow.

Phosyne doesn’t look. She just runs.

18

18

Treila sleeps only fitfully. The heat of the summer makes her sweat and thrash in her sleep. Her workroom would be cooler, but she’s woken from enough nightmares of teeth against her flesh as it is; she doesn’t need to be any closer.

She almost sleeps through the king’s proclamation, but Simmonet drags her from her pallet at the first blast of the trumpets. She stares blankly while she’s summoned to an impossible feast, pats Simmonet’s back as he begins to weep with relief.

All wrong. This is all wrong. She needs to get out, and to get out, she needs to find the madwoman. Now.

But by the time she gets up to the tower, it’s empty. Phosyne isn’t even lying dead up in the loft. There’s nobody in the room at all. She considers ransacking it, taking everything that might even slightly be of use, but aside from the candle still submerged in the bucket of murky water, Treila sees absolutely nothing useful. Rotted meat, ratty blankets, a dried reptile hanging from the ceiling, a bucket of piss. Nothing else. Treila stands another long few moments in the open doorway, and once, she thinks she feels something brush against her leg.

Nothing is there.

So she goes hunting.

She prowls throughout Aymar like she’s looking for rats, checking every crevice. She can’t get into the great hall, where the king is once more cloistered with his guests, or even see through the windows, the crowd is so thick around it. And everywhere else, she doesn’t see Phosyne, or Ser Voyne. They’re not in the keep, not in the yard, and Treila is ready to scream when she thinks, at last, to check the chapel.

She’s not halfway there when she sees Phosyne.