Phosyne hesitates, then approaches cautiously. “I said stay out,” she says, for lack of any better idea.

Treila glances at her, but she doesn’t apologize.

“How do you untangle madness from reality?” she asks instead.

And isn’t that right at the heart of things? “I wish I knew,” Phosyne says. “What happened? You look . . .” She waves a hand, as if that will define the exact mixture of broken looking back at her.

Treila purses her lips, then shakes herself, and that vulnerability falls off like dead leaves. “You seem marginally more coherent,” she says, thumbing at her upper lip, not meeting Phosyne’s eyes. “I still need your help. More, really.”

“Escaping.”

“Exactly.” Treila rolls her next thought around in her mouth. Phosyne waits, wringing the fabric of her robe between her fingers. She can’t help herself; she keeps darting looks at the door. Pneio and Ornuo out on their own is bad, but so is everything else. Treila has the right idea. Running is the easiest, and maybe best, answer.

“Your candle worked,” Treila says, drawing her attention back. “I took it down to the cave I found, it lit just fine.”

So it wasn’t her blood that did it. Good to know.

“It didn’t show me anything I hadn’t seen before, though.”

Phosyne grimaces, then takes a step back, wrapping her arms around her waist defensively. It won’t do much to protect her if Treila is angry, but Treila doesn’t seem angry.

“So you need something else,” Phosyne says. “I’m not sure I have anything left to give.” Another step back, just in case.

“It didn’t show me anything,” Treila says, getting up off the ground and dusting off her skirts. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t find anything. You remember the crack I told you of? The one I wanted to widen?”

Phosyne nods.

“It spoke to me.”

Oh.

Now that is interesting.

Phosyne cocks her head. “What did it say?”

“I’ve missed you,” Treila breathes, then shudders, a whole-body thing accompanied by a look of pure disgust. “Among other things. I—it spoke the first time I went down, as well. I assumed I’d imagined it.”

“You say it,” Phosyne points out.

“Well, it can’t be human.”

“Can’t it?”

Treila shakes her head, curls bouncing. “It sounds like a boy,” she admits, “but the crack faces the cliff. Even if there are other tunnels beyond it—which the candle illuminated, actually, so there is space back there, thank you—they don’t lead back to the Etrebian camp.”

“They could lead farther down,” Phosyne says. “To the base of the cliff.”

“Why would anybody climb all the way up?”

“To offer rescue?” Phosyne suggests. “There are farms down in the valley. It’s not impossible.”

“It’s not human,” Treila snaps.

Phosyne holds up her hands, backs away again. “Why not?” she presses.