That’s an issue for later. For now, the Lady is kneeling, reaching out to brush one of the uneven, lank curls out of Phosyne’s face. Her expression has changed. It isn’t generosity, not anymore. Something has sharpened in Her, but it isn’t anger, either.

Her Lady looks . . . excited.

“And are you the little mouse who so unsettled my knight?” She asks, voice low and rich.

Phosyne is no longer shaking. She has gone very still instead, a sighted mouse indeed. A sighted mouse with a voice, however. “What are you?” she asks, voice as steady as her hands.

“Our Constant Lady,” Ser Voyne interjects. “Avert your eyes, you are not worthy to—”

“Hush, Ser Voyne,” her Lady says, and she cannot speak. “What do you think I am, little mouse?”

“Something summoned,” Phosyne says.

Yes, they have called to the Constant Lady for—for a long time, though again Ser Voyne can’t remember the details. Or why they called. But they called, and She has come, a blessing and a salve, and—

“Oh, I was not summoned, little mouse,” her Lady says. She cups Phosyne’s jaw, head tilting like a curious bird’s as She takes her measure. “I go nowhere I do not please. But I do wander everywhere.” Her yellow lips curl. “Come, eat with me. I wonder what you think of my gifts.”

“No,” Phosyne says.

Ser Voyne reaches for her with a voiceless snarl, but her Lady waves her off again. “Sit with me, at least. Perhaps you can tell me of the water.”

Phosyne’s pallid skin goes paler still.

“I have tasted it, and it is sweet,” says the Constant Lady, and at last She rises. She touches Ser Voyne’s throat with one slim finger, and Voyne feels her voice return. Feels herself move once more. “Take a seat at my table, dear knight. Bring with you your little pet.”

Phosyne rolls onto her belly and tries to stand, but Ser Voyne is faster, now that she is freed. She pulls Phosyne, lifts her with one arm below her knees, the other below her shoulders.

“Let me go,” Phosyne begs, even as Voyne passes her Lady and plunges into the heat of the great hall.

At the head of one of the great tables is King Cardimir, Ser Leodegardis at his right hand. The picture of proper order. But Ser Voyne feels nothing, walks past him, for her destination is greater still.

Her Lady’s table sits parallel to the king’s, and in mirror image to him, the Lady’s chair sits, empty and draped in silks to receive Her at the head. To that chair’s right is the Absolving Saint, standing behind his own. He inclines his head as Ser Voyne approaches, and looks down with a silvered smile at Phosyne. Phosyne stills, frowning, staring back with intense curiosity.

Ser Voyne jolts her, breaking her concentration.