Page 61 of The Starving Saints

She’s cut off by Voyne seizing her by the upper arm, hauling her away from the door.

“Phosyne,” she murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me, right this instant, what you see. Who you’re talking to about me.”

“A friend,” Phosyne says.

Treila quirks a brow. “She can’t hear me, either?”

“Apparently not.”

“Phosyne.” Voyne’s fingers tighten.

“It’s another facet of your bewitchment,” Phosyne says, looking up at the knight, wishing that what she’s about to say isn’t going to make everything worse. “The Lady is preventing you from seeing somebody. Her name is Treila.”

Voyne’s face goes blank for just a second. “What?” she asks, and she’s a little breathless.

Phosyne glances at Treila. Treila huffs a small laugh.

This is far more extensive than Phosyne could have imagined. Simple, in its comprehensiveness. She clears her throat, tries again. “Tell me what you hear. Are you ready?”

Voyne nods.

“Treila.”

Again, blankness. Then she comes back to herself; she doesn’t say anything, but Phosyne can see it as a quickening behind her eyes. A few seconds pass, then Voyne goes, “Well?”

“I said it.”

“You—” Voyne chokes a little, lets go of Phosyne, backs away.

“Tell me what you’ve heard me say,” Phosyne asks. She shouldn’t feel this fascinated. She should probably be far more afraid.

Voyne concentrates. “That the Lady is preventing me from... something. I didn’t hear the rest.”

“Then I can’t explain it. You will have to trust me. Do you trust me, Ser Voyne?”

No, she very clearly does not. But that doesn’t mean she won’t.Her throat bobs. “Whoever you’re talking to,” she says, slowly, “is a friend. And is not them.”

“No. I promise you that. Do you recall, I said we may have a way out?”

Voyne nods.

Treila makes a displeased sound.

“This is our way out.”

“We will stay.” Her gaze is blade-sharp again. The tension between them crackles, shifts, back to the way it was before Treila’s arrival. But then Voyne falters. She glances toward what she cannot look at, and her eyes slide off, and it looks like it hurts. She can tell it’s wrong. “Unless—unless we can return, after. Perhaps some distance will help break whatever is influencing my mind.”

Phosyne looks to Treila.

“Is it one way?” she asks.

“I don’t care,” Treila says.

And that is a good point. Once they’re out, they’re out.

“No,” Phosyne translates, lies to Voyne. “So we’re going to take the chance.”

Voyne shifts uneasily, as if she wants to argue, and Phosyne prepares herself to command, but it isn’t necessary. Voyne nods, then gestures for Phosyne to precede her. “Clear the way for me?” she asks.

---