Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gideon smiled to herself as she leaned back in her desk chair, rereading her latest letter from Harrow, which arrived just that morning with the weekly shuttle.

‘Griddle,

No, I will not send you any of my underthings!’

Gideon snorted. She hadn’t been serious, but she wouldn’t have objected either. She hadn’t seen her little Lugubrious Lady in three months, a beggar couldn’t be a chooser. 

‘I often wonder how I wound up entangled romantically with a lech like you… Luckily for you, I am reminded shortly after of your finer qualities and decide they vastly outweigh the less desirable ones.’

Gideon rolled her eyes at that. For Harrow, that was nearly tantamount to a declaration of love. She certainly hadn't heard any complaints the last time she was 'being a lech' and Harrow was hanging on the posts of her bed in the Ninth for dear life and muttering Gideon's name like she was possessed by a revenant. Something she was very much going to remind her of when she wrote her reply.

‘ And before you attempt it, I do not want any of yours either!’

“Spoilsport,” Gideon huffed and read through the rest of the three-page letter detailing how things on the Ninth had been fairing with the tentative new programs she and Pal had been putting in place, such as allowing some of the more senior archivists and scholars to visit the Ninth in return for certain kinds of supplies, which had allowed them to do some tentative trading with the Fifth and Fourth. 

‘There has been an amount of relief lately as the programs Sextus and I have been working on finally are coming to fruition. It is still by no means enough to truly aid me in my goal for my House, but the limits on food have been raised and the support systems overhauled to great reception….’

Gideon flipped over to another page, reading through it before getting to her favorite part near the letter’s end. 

'I’m pleased to hear your dueling tournament on the Second went well. Sextus expressed his own pride in your victory. I’m also glad to know you managed to remain uninjured this time. 

I hope you’ll continue to take care of yourself and keep all your blood in your body where it belongs till I can see you again, beloved.   

~ Yours, Harrowhark.’

Emperor Undying, Gideon missed that little witch and wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around her and bury her face in thick black hair that smelled of old parchment and bone dust with a hint of dried blood. A wild concept to most people and she could imagine the look that Cam would give her but that was love for you. It made no fucking sense at all.

She was just about to flip the pages back over and read it again when her door suddenly flew open and she jumped, the pages of flimsy shot into the air and fluttered to the ground around her and she spun around to look at Cam, standing there in the open doorway.

“What the fuc-” she stopped upon seeing the look on Cam’s face. “What is it?” she jumped up, Harrow’s letter left lying on the floor.

“We’re summoned to the Warden’s room,” she said and Gideon hurried after her. They didn’t bother to knock but Pal seemed to be expecting them as he stood in the middle of his room, paper in hand. 

“Ah, good, you’re both here,” he said looking up from whatever he had. “We’ve received a summons…,” he said gravely and Gideon blinked. 

“A summons? From who?” Cam frowned at her necromancer’s serious face.

“The Emperor,” he said and Gideon nearly choked on her own spit. 

“What?!”

He held the paper - real paper! - out to Gideon, who looked at the official summons bearing the Imperial seal. Cam leaned over her shoulder to read it as well. 

“ADDRESSING THE HOUSE OF THE SIXTH, AND IT’S LADY JUNO ZETA: “Salutations to the House of the Sixth, and blessings upon it's many tomes, its scholars, and its manifold collections of knowledge. “His Celestial Kindliness, the First Reborn, begs this house to honor its love for the Creator, as set in the contract of tenderness made on the day of the Resurrection, and humbly asks for the first fruits of your household, Master Warden Palamedes Sextus and Cavalier Primary Camilla Hect. For in need now are the Emperor’s Hands, the most blessed and beloved of the King Undying, the faithful, and the everlasting! The Emperor calls now for postulants to the position of Lyctor, heirs to the eight stalwarts who have served these ten thousand years: as many of them now lie waiting for the rivers to rise on the day they wake to their King, those lonely Guard remaining petition for their numbers to be renewed and their Lord above Lords to find eight new liegemen. “To this end, we beg the first of your House and their cavalier to kneel in glory and attend the finest study, that of being the Emperor’s bones and joints, his fists and gestures … “Eight we hope will meditate and ascend to the Emperor in glory in the temple of the First House, eight new Lyctors joined with their cavaliers; and if the Necrolord Highest blesses but does not take, they shall return home in full honor, with trump and timbrel. “There is no dutiful gift so perfect, nor so lovely in his eyes.”

“We are being summoned to the First House, to study the trials to attain Lyctorhood and serve the King undying as his new Saints,” Pal said to both his Cavalier’s “The enormity of this!” Pal said, throwing up his hands before he began to pace around the room, muttering to himself at a fast rate. Beside her, Cam hummed, still studying the paper and she got the feeling that Gideon had noticed the same thing she herself had found in the words, glaring at her. 

She looked up and caught Cam’s eyes and knew she had.

“It’s just you and Cam,” she said and Pal stopped his pacing to look at her. “It’s only asking for the heir and the Primary, that’s you and Cam,” she said and at least Pal didn’t add salt to the wound by insisting that she and Cam were his co Primary’s. She was and she knew it and maybe they could force other houses to accept that but Pal sure as hell couldn’t say that to the Emperor.

“Yes,” he said with a heavy sigh. Gideon pressed her lips together. “They are calling only for the heirs and Cavalier Primary’s. Two representatives from every house and two alone,” he said. Gideon's jaw worked soundlessly. She already knew that even if it hadn’t been Cam’s name on the paper, she was not going to let Pal go off world without her. They could fight about that till Dominicus went supernova and incinerated the library in a blast of scorching hot plasma that left only space dust behind.

She handed the paper back to Pal. 

“I still need to send back my reply. I was considering adding a letter that addressed my need to bring you as well,” he said and Gideon shook her head.

“There's no way. This came straight from the big boy up top. Do we really think he’s going to bend for us?” she asked, looking between Cam and Pal. They shared a look and Gideon knew they agreed with her. 

Pal sighed and stroked his beard, staring down at the letter before looking back up at Gideon. 

“I hate to leave you here when I need you as much as Cam,” he said and Gideon waved a hand.

“No, you don’t. Cam can do anything I can,” she said and Pal and Cam both frowned at her. 

‘Yes, I do,” he insisted, glaring heatedly at her for a moment before sighing. “But you are right about one thing. I can not entreat the Emperor about this. The King Undying’s declaration was clear.” 

Cam crossed her arms, not looking any happier then Pal. She could do anything Gideon could, but they had spent years learning how to complement and work together as Pal’s dual hands. 

“I will think of a suitable position for you to occupy while we’re away, Gideon,” The Master Warden promised and Gideon nodded, eyes turned downward. Then a hand laid itself on her shoulder, making her look up into Pal’s limpid gray eyes, shining behind his glasses. 

“I would take you with us if I could. You are a Cavalier Primary,” he said, as though willing her to believe it. Her eyes flickered to Cam, who gave a resolute tip of her chin and she sighed. 

“Yeah… I know,” she said and Pal nodded, giving her shoulder another pat before turning to Cam. “Well, we’re going to have to address the whole of the Sixth for this,” he said and she nodded. “Best go and round up my mother for that.” 

The next few hours were a rush of gathering the Sixth and reading the summons from the Emperor. The whole house broke out into not-so-hushed whispers and debate about it. Gideon remained quiet, letting it all pass by. 

She felt useless. Worse than useless. What was a cavalier without a necromancer? Sure, she was still Pal’s Cav… but here he and Cam were going off to do what would probably be the most important thing they ever did for the Sixth and Gideon was being left behind.

It wasn’t until later, when she returned to her room to find Harrow’s letter still lying on the floor in her rush that another thought struck her. 

If all the House heirs and their Cavaliers were being summoned to the First House, Harrow would certainly be among them. She would be there, with Cam and Pal…

Hell, with Jeannemary and Issac, Abigail and Magnus. Even the stuffed shirts of the Second House! 

Gideon ‘s fists clenched, feeling her mood turn sour the more she thought about it. None so much though as her mind turned back to Harrow. How long would they be there? Were they ever even coming back? Cam and Pal probably would… but Harrow…

Gideon's jaw clenched. Harrow, who wanted so desperately to do right by her House and make right the enormous life cost her parents had forced upon her shoulders before her birth, she wouldn't. She would crack the code of lyctorhood. Between her and Palamedes, they would do it and Harrow would throw herself at the Emperor's feet and beg for him to restore the Ninth to its former glory.

Not that Gideon could blame her. She knew very well how the knowledge of Harrow's conception pained her. Haunted her. 

No. It would hurt, she could admit to herself that it would break her heart for Harrow to never return to the Ninth, much less the Sixth. But she would understand the reasons and would never begrudge it. She knew she would never truly understand how her girlfriend felt about it all. 

She'd still miss her like all hell though. She doubted there was anyone else in the Empire, maybe the whole galaxy like Harrowhark Nonagesimus.

With that depressing thought, she kneeled down I started picking up the scattered pieces of flimsy, flipping them into the right order and carefully storing them back in the envelope they had come out of before laying it carefully upon the tall stack sitting in its rightful place of honor at the top corner of her desk. 

Some nights when she couldn't sleep, she would get out of bed, sit at her desk, and read through old letters. Letting Harrow's dry humor and scathing tongue lull her back into exhaustion.

Tonight, she left them where they were and kicked off her boots before sprawling back onto her bed, arms thrown out, and sighed. Then, another thought came to her and she frowned, glaring at nothing.

"I can't fucking believe that Ortus is going to the First as a Cavalier Primary and I'm going to be here babysitting the books!" She growled, slapping a hand against the bed in frustration. 

~ ~

She continued to sulk for the better part of two weeks. She trained with Cam, she ate and she attended to her duties but it all felt rather hollow knowing that in just under three months, Cam and Pal would be on the First with the Scion and Cavalier Primary's of the other Eight houses. 

Cam and Pal tried to cheer her up in their own ways and Gideon would admit to loving Scholar Hexa's presentation on the death of stars she'd been dragged to by Pal. She found all that shit fascinating to be honest. Had always been a bit of a side project besides her scholarly study of the muscles of the body.

She and Cam had even done some hardcore training, and at the moment, when her adrenaline was pumping through her veins, she forgot all about why she was a little depressed.

It always came back to her after the high wore off.

She also hadn't responded to Harrow's last letter. 

Every time she sat down at her desk to try she just thought about how it might be the last letter they ever shared because really, how often would Harrow find the time to write after she became a hallowed saint of the King Undying? How much leisure time did one really have as a fist and gesture of his Celestial Kindliness?

Probably not much.

The same piece of flimsy had been sitting on her desk the entire two weeks with. 'My dear Twilight Princess -' and that was it written at the top.

Hell, even if she found the gumption to write it, would Harrow even write back? Surely she and Ortus must be too busy preparing for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to even think about Gideon or the mail.

That thought, more than any other really killed her desire to sit down and write a letter, no matter how much she wanted to, wanted to go down to the landing dock in a few days and have a fresh new letter with her lover's name penned in blood across the front like the little bone witch she was.

It wasn't going to happen though, and she knew it.

It didn't.

No, instead, three days later, when the shuttle arrived with its normal packages and parcels for the Sixth House residents, no new letter awaited Gideon Sise as she stood there, ready to receive any mail for Palamedes. 

Instead, the shuttle doors opened and the normal shuttle pilot went scrambling out of the shuttle doors with his sack of letters.

"Hey, where the hell are you going?!" She turned and called after him.

"I believe he was eager to be away from me," a familiar voice said and Gideon whipped around, eyes wide and mouth ajar as the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth stepped out of the shuttle's cargo bay and into the Library's bright lights.

Chapter Text

“Harrow!” Gideon balked at the Ninth House necromancer as she descended the ramp of the shuttle and stepped out onto the docks, her black cloak draped off her shoulders, the hood pulled up, letting only the barest glimpse of that familiar skull-painted face be seen. 

Harrow looked at her and a familiar little smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. 

“Hello, Griddle," she said, then her eyes widened. “Do not-!” Harrow had barely started before Gideon darted forward and scooped the necromancer up into her arms. “Gideon!” she hissed but didn't fight it nearly as hard as Gideon knew she was capable of. 

The fact that there was no one else on the docks now that the shuttle pilot had taken his leave probably had a lot to do with it. Still, she grumbled and squirmed. 

"I missed you," Gideon said softly against the short, black hair of the Reverend Daughter. Harrow's struggling all but ceased at that and her arms wrapped around Gideon's shoulders in a firm squeeze.

"And I you," she muttered softly and with a tenderness that made a shiver zip through Gideon. She turned her head and Harrow indulged a quick kiss -lest she smear her paint- before setting the necromancer back onto her feet. “There isn’t anyone else around and for that, consider yourself lucky,” she said primly and Gideon grinned. 

“I always do in your presence, Night boss.” She winked and Harrow huffed. “What are you doing here? I figured you would be getting ready to head to the First with Ortus.” 

At that Harrow’s face turned hard, eyes narrowed and dark. Darker than usual anyway. “Yes, well. I came to talk to Sextus.”

“What’s wrong?” Gideon asked, she’d learned that face. Harrow was unhappy, to say the least. The necromancer glanced around the empty dock but still, she shook her head before turning her gaze back up to Gideon. 

“I will explain it all to you in a more private setting. Where’s Sextus?” 

“Uh, probably in his study, come on.” She nodded in the direction of the library’s main entrance. No one hardly even looked at them twice as they walked through the halls of the Sixth. Harrow had been to the library a handful of times over the last two years since her first visit and it wasn’t that unusual to see those dusty black robes sweeping down the halls amongst the sea of grays. 

Gideon glanced at Harrow several times from the corner of her eyes as they made their way up the lift to the Library’s upper levels. Harrow’s shoulders were tense and her brows furrowed. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on the small of Harrow’s back.

“Are you okay?” she asked, drawing that black gaze. Harrow’s jaw twitched for a moment and Gideon waited. 

“Physically, yes,” she said with a nod. 

“But something is definitely wrong,” Gideon grunted and Harrow made a noncommittal sound in return. Which was as good as a yes. Gideon frowned as she realized something. 

“Does it have to do with why Ortus isn’t with you?” she asked, having quickly realized the portly Ninth Cavalier was missing from his mistress’ side. 

Harrow let out a ragged breath. “Yes. I’ll explain everything when we have Sextus,” she said and Gideon nodded. The lift stopped and opened and Gideon led the way to Pal’s study.

“Hey, Pal?” she knocked.

“Come in,” her necromancer called and Gideon opened the door. Cam looked up as she entered and then her eyes widened at the sight of Harrow. 

“Did the mail shuttle come already, Gid- Harrow?!” He jerked when he noticed the Ninth House necromancer.

“Sextus,” Harrow said with a nod as she stepped into the room. Gideon shut the door behind them.

“What are you doing here? Based on our last communication, I assumed I wouldn’t see you again till we arrived at the First.” He stood and moved around his desk to stand in front of his fellow necromancer. 

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” she said and Pal watched her curiously and patiently, waving a hand for her to continue. “I hardly think I need to say it but what I’m to tell you must remain a secret,” she said, and Pal nodded, quite used to Harrow extracting promises of secrecy out of him. At his nod, she sighed, eyes turning to the floor.

“In regards to the Emperor’s summons, Sister Glaurica, Ortus’ mother decided she could not chance losing him on the First in the noble service of his house… They absconded with a shuttle and returned to her home on the Eighth… or attempted to. It malfunctioned and blew up mid-flight…”

“Ortus is dead?” Gideon blinked, jaw hanging open and Harrow nodded. 

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Harrow.” Pal frowned, crossing his arms and looking solemn. “He may not have been much of a poet, but he certainly deserved better than that.” He shook his head, seemingly in thought. “I assume you came to relay this to me yourself because of our predetermined agreement to see through these trials together?” he asked, and Harrow nodded.

“I can not go to the First without a Cavalier Primary to assist me, especially not in front of the other Houses… but there is no one left on the Ninth that could believably fill this role. I can not answer the Emperor’s summons without a Cavalier and I can not let the opportunity to attain Lyctorhood and the chance to restore my decrepit house pass by…,” she said sharply and Gideon reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. Pal and Cam were frowning. Though they did not know the extent of it as Gideon did, they knew the Ninth was teetering. Harrow glanced at Gideon, who squeezed that bony little shoulder and smiled. Harrow seemed to gather herself and turned back to Palamedes. “It is to this end I came to… beg of you Master Warden, a favor,” she said, though it seemed it pained her to do so. 

“You needn’t beg, Harrow. We’re friends. What can we do for you?” he asked, face open and wanting to help. Harrow’s gaze flickered back to her before settling once more on Pal 

“I came to ask you for Gideon,” she said and Pal’s brows shot above his glasses. Cam’s mirrored his. Gideon stood there, stunned to silence. 

“For Gideon?” he repeated and Harrow nodded. 

“Gideon is, technically on House record, your Cavalier Secondary. She can’t go to the first with you and I find myself in dire need of a Cavalier Primary. One I can trust with my life. Gideon could be my Cavalier on the First.”

The room fell into silence as Pal seemed to be gathering his thoughts.  “This… is a lot to ask of me, Harrowhark,” he said. “You want me to give you Gideon? I realize the two of you are romantically involved but taking my left hand?” He pursed his lips and ran his fingers through his beard, thinking. 

“I realize this is a lot to ask, Sextus…” 

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone turned and looked at her as the words left Gideon’s lips. 

“You want to do it?” Pal asked, looking at her and Gideon nodded. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she countered. “The Ninth are our allies… Harrow is my girlfriend. The two of you were going to do lyctor shit together but you can’t if Harrow doesn’t have a Cavalier to go to the First with her and you said you’d take me if you could but you can’t. Well, Harrow can, and then there's twice as many of us working on the lyctor stuff!” Gideon reasoned. 

Pal stared hard at her, eyes flickering with rapid thought between the people in the room. His eyes lingered on Cam and Gideon could parse out some of their silent conversation. 

“She has a point,” Cam finally said aloud, crossing her arms. 

“I know…,” he grunted, turning and walking back around his desk, more for something to do with his body than anything else. “It would serve many purposes,” he admitted, sitting in his chair. “But Gideon ... for this to work, and I’m sure Harrow has already realized this,” he started, glancing at the Ninth House Scion. “You would need to go and live on the Ninth for the next three months… under the guise of marriage,” he said and Gideon’s whole face turned red.

“What?” she squawked and Cam rolled her eyes while Pal nodded. 

“Yes. We can’t just loan you out. For you to be Harrow’s Cavalier, you need to become Ninth. If you were anyone else, you could just go to the Ninth, but as you’re my Cavalier Secondary and will be Harrow’s Cavalier Primary, it would be suspicious looking for any other reason and Imperial law is quite clear that Necromancers can not marry out of their houses. The easiest and most believable way for this to happen is for you to go to the Ninth with the intention of marrying into it. 

“I can’t just go with her to the First and say we’re married?” she asked and Pal shook his head. 

“You’re very well known among several other House Scions and their Cavaliers,” Harrow cut in. “They, perhaps the Second in particular, would question the legitimacy of your Cavaliership to me without concrete evidence to the contrary and maybe even petition to have me sent home… which could lead into further inquiries the Ninth does not need,” she said with that dour little frown.

“She’s right,” Pal said, leaning back in his seat and steepling his fingers together. “The easiest way to do this is the real way. You marry Harrow, officially become Ninth and then you can travel to the First with her so we may study lyctorhood 

“I thought House heir and Cavalier Primary relationships were against the law except in situations where there was another heir, like with Abigail and Magnus?” she asked and Pal shook his head. 

“It’s just…” he drawled, twirling a finger.

“Taboo,” Harrow said stoically 

“Frowned upon,” Cam said instead and Pal nodded.

“It’s often looked down upon for archaic reasons, but it is not against the law,” he said, “Regardless, If Gideon is amenable to this, I see no reason not to do it. The benefits far outweigh any cons and the more people with us on the First that we can concretely trust, the better,” he said, looking at Gideon, who blinked before turning to Harrow.

Marrying Harrow and becoming Ninth. She turned to look at Harrow, who was watching her back. 

“Is that what you want?” she asked and the necromancer of the Ninth grunted. 

“What I want is hardly relevant, Griddle. You know that. I will do whatever I must for my house,” she said and Gideon frowned, feeling a distinct sting in her chest.

“Congratulations to us, I guess,” she muttered bitterly under her breath and crossed her arms. Harrow frowned, looking up at her. “I guess we’re doing it then,” she said to Pal who nodded and let out a long breath. 

“The council won’t be happy,” Cam said and Pal nodded. 

“No, losing Gideon’s fresh blood, so to speak, to the Ninth? It could be more complicated,” he said with a little amused chuckle. “Imagine if they had children.”

“The last thing we need is a House war over whether some children were Ninth or Sixth,” Cam huffed. 

Gideon and Harrow both made a face.

“Well, I suppose we best get to work on the paperwork,” he said to Harrow before turning to Gideon. “And you should start packing,” he said with a sad smile and Gideon blinked, then nodded, still a little stunned at the sudden turn of it all. 

“I’ll help you,” Cam offered and Gideon nodded. They left the necromancers to do the logistics while they tracked down containers for Gideon’s things. 

They worked mostly in silence. For Cam, that was normal, for Gideon, less so. There was just so much going through her head right now. She was leaving. Leaving Pal and Cam, even if she’d seen them again in a few months, and becoming Ninth. She was leaving the Sixth and moving to the Ninth. 

To marry Harrow.

Who didn’t seem all that enthused about the prospect. That, on top of everything else bouncing around the inside of her skull had her rattled. She frowned to herself as she carefully packed her books into a shipping container. Cam stood behind her somewhere doing the same with her clothes. She didn’t have all that much and she wouldn’t need to take the bed or any of the other furniture with her, so it didn’t take her more than an hour to have everything squared away. She stood there looking at the boxes sitting in the middle of her empty room, not exactly sure how she should be feeling.

“You okay?” Cam asked and Gideon looked up at her, not really sure how to answer that question. She wanted to do this. She wanted to go to the First to help Harrow and Pal with their trials, and Cam would need all the help she could get to keep the two fed and watered. She had practice doing so with both necromancers. 

“Yeah… I will be, I think,” she said.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked and Gideon nodded, resolute. 

“Yeah, I need to help Harrow, this is… important to her, " she said and Cam watched her, eyes flickering across her face before nodding and clapping a hand on Gideon’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’ll be there with us,” she said and Gideon couldn’t help but smile at that. “Let’s go find them.” She nodded toward the door and Gideon nodded, following. 

They found both necromancers in Pal’s study where they left them, hunched over a pile of papers.  

“Ah, perfect timing!” Pal said when he looked up and saw them. “I was able to quickly get everything pulled together and signed by my mother myself, Harrow. My mother wants to speak to you before you go, Gideon,” he said and she nodded. “Now, all that’s left to do is for you to sign here and here and then you’ll be released from my service and the Sixth.” He pushed a paper across the desk to her and held out a pen. Everything was happening so fast.

Despite that, she reached up and took the pen and glanced between him and Harrow, everyone was watching her and she swallowed, trying to bring some moisture back to her suddenly dry mouth. 

She’d woken up this morning with plans to check the mail shuttle and work out. Now she was signing away her Cavaliership to Palamedes and marrying Harrow. 

She took a breath and then signed her name at the bottom of the paper in both places.

“That’s it,” he said. “I’ll make copies of these for you, Harrow before the two of you leave in the morning.” He picked them up and tapped them against the desk. “Did you get everything packed?” he asked, looking at his current and now, former, cavalier. Cam nodded. 

“I just need to move it all out to the shuttle,” Gideon said. 

“I’ll take care of that,” Harrow offered, digging a few bone chips out of her pocket and throwing them on the floor where they sprung up into a pair of constructs. They hurried off with a nod from Harrow. 

“Well!” Pal clapped his hands together and looked at Gideon, there was a sadness lurking in his eyes. “Shall we go and have dinner then?” 

~ ~ ~

Gideon plopped back on the bed in the guest room they’d given Harrow while the necromancer… soon to be her necromancer, moved about in the bathroom. Her mind was buzzing with things. She was leaving in the morning and there was no telling when or if she would ever come back to the Sixth. 

She wanted to do this, she needed to do this. It was still bittersweet on the back of her tongue. 

She heard the bathroom door click open. 

“Griddle…” Harrow said quietly and Gideon glanced over at her, a single brow cocked in silent question. Harrow stood there at the entrance to the bathroom, her face paint washed away and wearing her night dress. For a twenty-year-old woman, she looked so small and young. “May we talk?” she asked and Gideon shrugged. 

“Sure,” she said, turning her eyes back to the ceiling. She was maybe, still, just a little upset with her, apparently, wife-to-be. 

“If I upset you… I apologize,” she said and Gideon blinked before turning to look at her. 

“Huh?” she said. Harrow sighed. 

“Earlier, when you asked me if this was what I wanted. I will do anything for my House, but you need not worry. I will not force you to go to the lengths I must. When all this is done, Lyctor or no, I can break our marriage bonds and send you back to the Sixth,” she promised. Gideon stared at her.

What?

That was what she wanted to say anyway as she sat up and turned to let her legs hang over the side of the bed.  

“Is this your way of telling me you don’t love me anymore?” She didn’t mean to ask that but it slipped past her lips regardless. Harrow startled, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, a rare sight. She seemed to snap out of it and moved quickly across the room to stand in front of Gideon at the bedside.

“My feelings for you have not changed…”

“But you’d be rid of me just like that?” Gideon asked face contorted at the idea.

“No, Gideon… not just like that,” Harrow sighed heavily. “Gideon… you are… so bright… and alive,” she said, voice low and soft as she reached up to cup the Cavalier’s face in a gentle hand. “The Ninth… is a tomb. That’s not where you belong,” she said and Gideon reached up to press her hand over Harrow’s on her face, leaning into the touch, eyes closed. Harrow’s thumb brushed across her cheek. “You deserve more than I can give you…”

Gideon sighed and opened her eyes, staring back into the inky depths of Harrow’s. 

“Then you better figure out lyctorhood so you can make the Ninth a place for me,” she said, a smile pulling at her lips. 

Harrow’s eyes seemed to search her face before sighing, resigned. 

“You’re a stubborn fool, Gideon Sise,” she said. 

“This stubborn fool is soon to be your Cavalier Primary and wife, ya know?” She wagged her eyebrows and Harrow rolled her eyes, a smirk pulling at her lips.  

“I know.” Harrow leaned down to kiss her. 

Chapter Text

Saying goodbye was a lot harder than Gideon expected it to be and she’d known it wasn’t going to be easy. At least Harrow quickly said her goodbyes and promised to meet up quickly on the First before disappearing into the shuttle to give Gideon her privacy. 

“I can’t believe you’re really going.” Juno shook her head before pulling Gideon into a tight hug. A lifetime of moving books gave her a grip most people wouldn't expect and Gideon just grinned and squeezed back. 

"Now, we didn't spend all this time teaching you to read and write for nothing, so you had better write to me, girl," she said, leaning back and smiling up at Gideon, who nodded.

"I will. I promise," she said. 

"Make sure you write Palamedes and Camilla as well," she said, voice low. " I know you'll see each other in a few months on the First, but those two are going to miss you something fierce."

"I know…," Gideon said, then Juno patted her chest and moved back in time for Palamedes to wrap her up in a tight hug. 

"I expect to be written to at least once over the next three months. Just because we'll see each other again soon enough is no excuse," he said, leaning back to look at her and Gideon nodded. 

"I know, I know. I promise I'll write, I'll send you any fun, weird Ninth stuff being Reverend Consort and Cavalier Primary gets me access to." She grinned and Pal chuckled.

"That's all I ask," he said, then leaned back in for another hug. Gideon patted his back. Finally, he separated himself from Gideon with a quiet sniff and stood back.

She turned to look at Cam, as always, standing nearby and watching everything with that steady gaze. Always too cool. 

Gideon had barely opened her arms when Cam came barreling into her embrace. She'd only thought Juno's grip was strong. Cam's was crushing but Gideon relished it and squeezed back, her head buried in Cam's shoulders.

"You're Sixth. You'll always be welcome home," she mumbled into Gideon's neck. 

"Love you too, Cam," she mumbled before leaning back with a final pat. Cam stepped back to stand next to Pal and Juno.

"Welp, see ya on the First," she said with a bittersweet smile before turning and walking up the shuttle ramp. It closed behind her and she sat herself in the seat next to Harrow with a tired sigh. 

Soon enough they were taking off and Gideon watched out the window as the only home she had ever known grew smaller and smaller till it vanished in the vast darkness of space.

She was lost in thought till a small, hot hand found hers. She blinked, coming back to her surroundings, and turned to look at Harrow, looking back at her from beneath the hood of her cloak and twineing her fingers between Gideon's.

"I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, beloved,” she said softly and Gideon made a sound before pulling Harrow's hand to her mouth and laying a kiss across the back of her knuckles.

"I said I'd do it, Harrow. If I had said no, Pal would have never let you have me," she said with certainty. "I made a choice. Just let me help you, my Midnight Hagette. I am your sword." 

"Oh? Will you take the Cavalier's vow again?" she asked with a teasing lilt and Gideon blinked. 

"Oh, forgot about that. Actually, I never took the Cavalier's vow. So, you'd be the first person to get it from me."

"You never took it?" Harrow looked surprised. Gideon nodded.

"Even though everyone on the Sixth saw me and Cam as co-Cavalier Primary, there's a bunch of imperial laws about it and only the Primary can take the vow. You're the only one who's getting it from me," she said. 

"...alright… give it to me," Harrow said and Gideon's brows shot up.

"Right now?" she asked. 

"Right now."

"Isn't there supposed to be like, some ceremonial… shit?"

"There doesn't need to be. Simply the blood and the vow," she turned on the bench to face Gideon.

"Of course, simply having a sip of each other's blood in the back of a shuttle," she scoffed. Harrow rolled her eyes.

"You'd rather do it in front of the Ninth congregation, including the Marshal?" she asked and Gideon made a face. "That's what I thought. A knife?" she asked and Gideon reached to her belt, slid her ax out of its case and made a cut across the end of her finger. Bright crimson welled up along the cut and dripped off her finger as she repeated the process across the tip of one of Harrow's thin fingers.

Gideon had seen the vow taken before, read about it, but never taken part. She ran her tongue across her dry lips.

"One flesh." Gideon held out her bloodied finger and watched the tip disappear between Harrow's lips. She felt Harrow's tongue on the cut and had to remind her stupid horny brain this was serious! Her finger slid free of the necromancer's mouth, leaving a drop of blood on her bottom lip.

"One end." Harrow's finger slipped between Gideon's lips. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, settling into the space behind her tongue, warm and bitter. She watched Harrow's eyes, fixed on her lips. When she pulled her finger free of Gideon's mouth, the Cavalier jerked forward, slotting her lips against Harrow's.

Harrow made a low sound against her mouth as Gideon reached up with her non-blooded hand to hold Harrow's cheek.

"That isn't part of the vow…," she muttered against Gideon's lips.

"It's part of our vow… 'sides, you said there's no kiss in a Ninth house wedding ceremony. I might as well kiss you now," she said and Harrow hummed before leaning in for another, to which Gideon was happy to oblige.

~ ~

"Home sweet tomb now I guess," Gideon said as she stepped off the shuttle and onto the hard-packed dirt of the Ninth House landing field.

The Marshal and guard captain stood waiting.

"Welcome home, my lady," Aiglamene greeted before nodding to Gideon. "Sise," she said.

"Captain." Gideon saluted the old soldier. "Marshal."

Crux scowled hotly at her. 

"The Sixth house welp returns," he grumbled.

"What a lovely thing to say to the person saving your asses," Gideon grunted. She made it no secret that she hated the Marshal and the feeling was mutual.  He scowled, his wrinkle-lined face turning hot with rage.

"You are a foul bastard child of the Sixth and you taint the Ninth with your very presence!" He snarled. From in front of her, Harrow sighed quietly.

"Gideon…," Harrow mumbled.

"He started it." She crossed her arms. 

"Without Gideon, I would not be able to answer the Emperor's summons," she said to Crux, who frowned all the harder. 

"I take it, the Master Warden agreed then?" Aiglamene asked.

"He most likely would not have had Gideon not volunteered," Harrow said to the captain, who regarded Gideon more carefully now. "We need to prepare as quickly as possible for my new Cavalier Primary and I to be wed," she said to her Marshal and Captain.

"My lady, surely there must be another course..," Crux started, shooting Gideon a baleful glare.

"We have discussed this at length, there is not. The only way for Gideon to become Cavalier primary is to be Ninth, and the only way she could believably be Ninth is to marry into it. The other houses would never believe that one of the Co-Primary's of the Sixth would have suddenly decided to come to the Ninth after the Emperor summoned us otherwise and we cannot afford them sticking their nose into Ninth business," she said with all the solemnity of a tomb. Aiglamene closed her eyes a moment before nodding. Crux continued to a scowl. "We could find ourselves in far more dire straits. We could have no recourse at all and though I would do anything for the Ninth, I am relieved it's Gideon I have at my side for it." She glanced over her shoulder, allowing Gideon a brief glance of black eyes before she turned to look at the Marshal. "I'd ask you to treat her with the same respect you would show me."

Aiglamene nodded while Crux's face was a storm cloud. He did not protest though. Harrow glanced between them before seeming satisfied and threw out some bone chips. The constructs that popped up started grabbing the boxes of Gideon's things and moving them to the lift.

"Marshal, please see to it that Gideon's things are delivered to my quarters," said and the Marshal bobbed his head. "Come, Gideon.,"

Gideon nodded and followed Harrow across the landing field, ignoring Crux's glare as she passed. That was just something she was going to have to get used to. 

"Ignore him," Harrow said once they were far enough away from the two.

"Hard to do when he seeks me out just to be a shit," she grunted, crossing her arms as they stopped on top of the lift. With a loud thunk, it started downward into the depths of Drearburh.

"I know you're not fond of the Marshal…" she started and Gideon snorted but Harrow ignored her. "But he was my nursemaid and the only person in this house who has ever shown me any kind of kindness as a child… so please, beloved, ignore him, for my sake if nothing else." She looked up at Gideon, who knew that look, and sighed. 

"Fine, I won't kick him down the stairs the next time he turns his back on me…," she huffed.

"That's all I ask," Harrow hummed and Gideon couldn't help but laugh. It echoed off the towering stonewalls of the Ninth drill shaft and she caught the tiny smile pulling at Harrow's lips and without warning, ducked down and pressed a lightning-quick kiss to that skull-painted mouth.

Harrow made a surprised noise but did not object when Gideon pulled back. 

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you but you cannot do that when others are around," she mumbled.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, sweet thing…. But no one's around right now…," she drawled and Harrow hummed, eyeballing her from beneath the hood of her cloak before grabbing a fistful of Gideon's gray overcloak and pulling her down to Harrow's height.

By the time the lift settled outside the massive doors of Drearburh, Harrow's paint was smudged beyond recognition around her mouth and Gideon's cheeks, as well as her grinning lips were painted a mottled gray nearly the same shade as her clothes. 

Harrow hurried into the depths of Drearburh, head down and Gideon right behind her, trying to wipe the grease paint off her mouth before an arthritic and ancient parishioner saw her and had a heart attack about it.

Luckily, they didn't run into any as they made their way down the dim halls of the Ninth to Harrow's room. Gideon had been in them a number of times over the last couple of years

They weren't as lush as the guest rooms she had stayed in the first time she visited the Ninth but they were more spacious than the normal anchorite's cell. 

Harrow made a beeline for the vanity to fix her paint while Gideon peeled off her overcloak and plopped herself on the bed.

"Do you really need to fix it? I would prefer to mess it up some more," she said, grinning at Harrow in the mirror's reflection.

"There will be plenty of time for that later. Your things will arrive soon and I need to attend to some duties.," 

Gideon looked around at Harrow's full shelves.

"Is there anywhere for me to put them?" she asked. Harrow caught her eye before glancing around at all the taken space. "Doesn't look like it but I can put most of them in a storage room…," she started.

"No," Harrow whipped around to look at her face. "This is now your room just as much as mine and I want you to be comfortable. I'll make the space. Many of these books need to be moved into my study regardless."

"Babe, you don't need to…"

Harrow ignored her and suddenly two constructs were hauling books out of the room. Gideon just rolled her eyes. 

"Fine, I'm not going to argue with you about this." She held up her hands and flopped back onto the bed and sighed.

After a few minutes, Harrow's face appeared over her, skull face once again painted to perfection.  

“Gideon…”

“Uh-oh, sounds serious,” Gideon grunted but said nothing else, just cocked a single brow at her soon-to-be bride. Harrow’s brows pinched but otherwise, her face remained unchanged as she peered down at Gideon.

“Are you truly certain you want to do this, Gideon? That you want to stay on the Ninth? I would never hold it against you if you changed your mind…” Maybe her face was disguised with thick layers of grease paint but the slight hitch in her voice betrayed Harrow, no matter how steady she tried to make it. 

Gideon reached up, and with a featherlight touch so as not to smear the paint, pressed her fingertips against Harrow’s cheek. 

“Am I certain about spending the rest of my life in the dark of the Ninth? No,” she said, and Harrow’s face twitched. “But I am certain that I want to be with you… and you are the Ninth Harrow, so I have to be.” 

“You don’t need…”

“I want to,” Gideon cut off whatever she might have been about to say. She was fairly certain she knew what it was going to be. Harrow sighed, looking resigned, and grabbed the hand barely touching her face and turned it to lay a ghost of a kiss against Gideon’s large, calloused palm. 

“I don’t deserve you,” she mumbled and Gideon frowned, pulling her hand out of Harrow’s hold to sit up. The necromancer was looking at her, confused, till Gideon wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. 

“You deserve more than you’d ever let yourself have, Harrow,” she said and Harrow made a face, unable to argue with that. “This isn’t about deserved though. I want to be here for you, so forget about deserving and trust that I’m doing and being, exactly what and where I want, alright?” she asked, looking up at Harrow, who nodded after a long moment, resting her hands on Gideon’s shoulders. The Cavalier could feel the heat of them soaking through her thin gray shirt. 

“Good. So… what do I need to do to be Ninth?” she asked and Harrow drummed her fingers on her shoulder, eyes darting off to the side in thought. 

“First, we must get married. Hopefully, as soon as tomorrow evening if all goes to plan,” she muttered and Gideon nodded along. “It wouldn’t hurt to teach you some Ninth customs before we leave. You're not expected to know them from day one, being married into the Ninth and you'll learn some eventually. I don't think there will be any need for the First, but we still have some months yet before we depart…," she said this all more to herself than to Gideon, but she nodded along regardless. "I'll need to teach you how to do your paint.

"I have to wear the paint all the time?" Gideon frowned, drawing Harrow’s eye back to her. 

“Traditionally, anchorites don the paint every day… You will need to wear it on the First, around others, and during the ceremony tomorrow night… but I will not make you wear it in the halls of Drearburh. 

“Thank goodness…” 

“I still need to teach you how to do it, though. There isn’t time for tomorrow, I’ll simply do it myself. 

“Show me?” Gideon asked

“Now?” Harrow asked and Gideon nodded.  Harrow looked at her for a long moment before nodding and pulling back out of Gideon’s embrace to walk over to the vanity. She rummaged through some things before returning to the bed with two small, metal pots and some brushes.

“Close your eyes,” Harrow commanded and Gideon did so without complaint. The first touch of paint on her face was cool and wet feeling as the brush moved around her face, laying down a canvas of white atop her golden skin. The room was comfortably silent as Gideon gave herself over to her dark mistress’ machinations. After a few minutes, the brush retracted and she could practically feel Harrow’s eyes on her, inspecting her work. “There.”

Gideon took this as her cue to open her eyes. Harrow stepped aside as she stood and moved to look in the mirror. Gideon blinked, staring at the red-haired skull face staring back at her.

“Well?” Harrow asked after a moment. To anyone else, it would have sounded inpatient but Gideon knew her well enough to hear the tinge of insecurity in her voice. 

“You know what… It’s kinda badass. I like it,” she said, nodding and glimpsed Harrow’s shoulders relaxing in the mirror. “Though I’d still like to mess yours up…,” she smirked and Harrow scoffed, turning her head away but Gideon knew better. Before she could call Harrow on it, a knock on the door sounded.

“Enter,” Harrow called, only for the sour puss of Marshal Crux to appear along with Harrow’s constructs and the boxes containing Gideon’s things. “Thank you, Marshal, there is fine.” She nodded to an empty spot on the floor. He nodded and stomped into the room, side-eyeing Gideon as he did, eyes going momentarily wide as he beheld the skull-painted face before scowling harder than before.

Geez, there was just no pleasing this guy!

Once her things were delivered, the Marshal took his leave, as did Harrow.

“I have to see to the arrangements, feel free to put your things where you like, beloved.” Then she was gone in a swirl of black fabric out the door. Gideon hummed and started opening the boxes, already planning to jump the Reverend Daughter when she returned.

She did, not that Harrow complained.

~ ~ ~ 

Gideon grumbled and muttered to herself, pulling at the long black cloak that had been draped over her shoulders for the ceremony. The Ninth congregation was gathering in the pews of Drearburh’s great church, all black robes and skull faces flickering in the light of the votive candles that filled the space. 

Harrow stood across from her, looking serious as a grave in her finest Ninth House regalia, all ruffles and black lace up to her veil while the Captain stood by, ready to administer the oath at the ceremony.

She wasn’t sure why she was even surprised by any of this. Weddings on the Sixth weren’t really huge, emotional affairs either, more like, ‘ You’re now married, go have some babies to expand the dwindling gene pool!’ They were at least a little more celebratory than this though. This felt more like a funeral. 

Eventually, the quiet shuffling of feet quieted and all that remained was the quiet rustling of fabric and the snap and pop of the many fatty wax candles that lined every available surface.

“We, the House of the Ninth have congregated here to witness before the Tomb, the union of The Reverend Daughter, Harrowhark Nonagesimus to Gideon Sise, former Cavalier Secondary of the Sixth House, and initiate her into the Ninth House as Cavalier Primary and Reverend Consort.”

There was the barest hint of a murmur from the crowd and Gideon knew why. Just as they had talked about, it was still frowned upon for a house heir to be married to their Cavalier but Harrow didn’t have much else in the way of options. 

Their hands were tied together at the wrist with a crimson piece of fabric and then a pale gray dust was sprinkled over their tied hands. Everything in Gideon’s body told her this was bone dust. What purpose this served, she couldn’t say but she knew it was important.

“The ash of the tombkeeper's long past, bless this union and the future of the Ninth for as long as the King Undying shall allow it to serve his throne.”

Then, every candle was snuffed out and the church was lit only by the bioluminescent dust that clung to the ceiling. 

Harrow tugged her arm by their combined hands and suddenly they were moving down the aisle toward the church doors. Gideon followed till they were once more ensconced in their rooms, arms tied and sprinkled with old Reverend bone dust.

“Was… that it?” Gideon asked and Harrow paused in the lifting of her veil. 

“...in terms of public ceremony, yes,” she said and there was a quality to her voice that made Gideon pause. 

“But there’s more to the private part?” she asked as Harrow finally lifted her veil and began untying them.

“Yes,” she said and Gideon cocked a brow, watching Harrow’s face go through a myriad of emotions, even through the paint. “There is still the… consummation,” she muttered and Gideon blinked before a grin spread across her face.

“That I can handle.” As soon as she was free, she scooped Harrow up, making the Reverend Daughter squeal. 

“Griddle! We need to take off the paint!” she snapped before her back hit the bed with a muted thump. 

“Fine, fine, stay there,” Gideon commanded. Markedly, Harrow did stay there as Gideon hurried over the Harrow’s vanity and scooped up the cold cream and cloth to remove the paint. 

“I can do it myself,” Harrow grumbled. 

“I know you can, my dusky darling. But just let me, okay?” she asked, dabbing the cloth in the cream. Harrow looked at her before huffing. A yes in Gideon’s book, and started carefully wiping away the thick paint that covered Harrow’s warm brown skin. Her new wife was tense at first but as Gideon carefully worked the rag into the corners of her eyes and around her nose, Harrow relaxed. Soon enough, her face was clean and clear of the skull visage and was all Harrowhark. 

“Just let me wipe mine off real quick…” Before she could do so, Harrow sat up and grabbed the cloth. 

“Let me,” she murmured and then began subjecting Gideon to the same careful and thorough cleaning, wiping gently around her crooked mouth and gold eyes. 

“Better?” Gideon asked when Harrow pulled the cloth away and was merely staring at her naked face with something soft and gentle in her dark eyes. 

“Better,” Harrow agreed quietly, setting the cloth aside, grabbing Gideon by the front of her carefully fitted black clothes, and pulling her forward into a kiss.  

Chapter Text

Three months went by much faster than Gideon anticipated. On days she couldn't convince the old Cohort Captain to spar with her -even grisled, scarred, and a leg made of bone didn't stop her from being the fiercest thing on the Ninth besides Gideon- she holed herself up in Harrow's study, either reading books about the Ninth, ones Pal hadn't been allowed at but Gideon's new Ninth citizenship and position of Reverend Consort, allowed her access to. That, or helping Harrow with the Ninth's financial woes.

She never said as much aloud but Gideon could see the appreciation in her little wife's face when she walked in and grabbed a stack of ledgers plopped down on the chaise beside her desk and started carding through them. She and Cam had learned many a thing about House spending along with Palamedes growing up. The numbers in the Ninth's books were a lot lower but it was much the same kind of stuff. Sitting next to Harrow in companionable silence save when she needed to ask her about certain expenditures was nice, and sometimes, when she was feeling particularly affectionate, she would come and sit next to Gideon while they worked.

Now however, Gideon was shuffling into the shuttle that had been sent for them to the First, leaving Harrow to speak to the Marshal and Captain. She saluted the old Captain, who glanced at her and nodded in solemn acknowledgment before spinning on heel and walking into the shuttle. Her black boots thumped on the metal walkway and her black cloak fluttered around her calves as she walked. The grease paint still felt heavy on her face no matter how often she'd practiced applying it. It made Harrow happy to see her try though.

She'd remarked just that morning that the 'Black Vestige' Gideon had painted on her own face was actually quite good. Then immediately regretted it when her wife began to strut around their room, looking far too pleased with herself.

Within a few moments, Harrow was joining her and the shuttle door was sliding shut. 

“Everything all squared away, my midnight Machroness?” she asked, leaning back against the cool shuttle wall. Harrow nodded, carefully arranging herself on the bench beside Gideon in all her Ninth finest. Gideon knew it had once been moth-eaten at best in places, but a couple of years of good relations with the Sixth and some marginal ones with the Fifth and the Fourth to an even smaller extent had given Harrow enough to have them expertly mended. She looked like she was going to be the fanciest person at a funeral. 

Which was Harrow's peak aesthetic, at least if you asked Harrow. Gideon would have said something more akin to wearing nothing in their bed.

Harrow was unappreciative of this opinion though, so Gideon tended to keep it to herself. 

Within a few minutes, they were pulling away from the planet and into the darkness of space. A jar of grave dirt had been stored under the bench to supply a small amount of thanergy for Harrow but she still almost looked ill.

She knew from years of traveling with Pal that a necromancer's sensitivity to thanergy meant sensitive when it was suddenly all ripped away as well. Nothing had ever lived or died in space, it was a gaping black hole in the senses of necromancers. At least that was how it had always been described to her.

It would often make them feel nauseous. 

She could tell Harrow was just that thirty minutes into the trip when she hunched over a little, arms wrapped around her middle. Gideon frowned and reached under the seat for the container of dirt and held it out to her wife. Harrow glanced at it with dark, narrowed eyes.

"Harrow…," she said. Harrow grunted and took the jar, wrapping her arms around it and holding it to her chest. Once she had her dirt, Gideon wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her in close.

Harrow allowed it, leaning her head on her wife's shoulder. Gideon could feel her relax and did so herself, leaning back and letting her eyes slip closed.

~ ~

It was the light that she noticed first and Gideon jumped up to press herself against the plex window.

"Whoa," she mumbled.

From space, the house of the First shone like fire on water. Wreathed in the white smoke of its atmosphere, blue like the heart of a gas-ignited flame. It burned Gideon's eyes but she stared just the same past the light-induced tears in her eyes. After a few minutes, she could feel a migraine coming on but she still couldn't stop staring.

It was beautiful, covered in so much water and awash in incandescent light. Still, she could make out the black and brown smudges among the blue. The long decayed and dilapidated cities and temples of the First, left in a perpetual state of rot, awaiting the return of the Emperor Undying to a place he could never come back.

"It's beautiful," she said even as she squinted.

"It's a grave," Harrow mumbled, tying a black cloth around her eyes. "Cover your face, Griddle or you'll go blind," Harrow told her but Gideon remained glued to the window, staring at the blazing form of the First looming outside the plexiform. "Gideon!" Harrow snapped and Gideon jerked back and pulled down the barrier, cutting out the light. 

"I hear ya, I hear ya," she grunted, returning to Harrow's side. Her tiny wife looked vulnerable and exhausted for perhaps the first time since they had met. Gideon sat back beside her and laid a, hopefully, calming hand on her thigh. Harrow sighed heavily through her nose.

Suddenly, the navigator’s voice crackled overhead.

“We are securing your clearance to land, Your Grace.”

Harrow grunted. “How long?”

“They are scanning your craft now, Your Grace, and we’ll move the moment they have confirmed you’re free to leave orbit."

"Thanks," Gideon called back and it went quiet. "I saw the other shuttles out there waiting to land," she said, excitement rising in her voice. Harrow nodded, still looking pensive.

Gideon was chomping at the bit to see her Sixth siblings again and Harrow knew it. 

"I'm sure Hect and Sextus will be pleased to see you," she offered and Gideon smiled. 

"Yeah…" she nodded, drumming her fingers on her thighs anxiously as the heat of the cabin rose, along with its speed and the flickering lights outside the shields strobed, bright and blinding. Sweat was dripping down the back of her neck and down her shoulder blades. Gideon reached up and pressed her robes to her face to protect her eyes from any further damage. After a few moments, the shuttle began to slow. Then, it was a final loud 'clunk' followed by total stillness. 

"Welp, let's do this," Gideon said, and then light flooded the shuttle as the hatch slid open, revealing the brightness of the First to them.

A gust of warm air rushed into the shuttle. It whipped at their robes and dried the sweat from their faces. Harrow wasted no time waltzing straight into the blinding light. Gideon followed a half step behind and out into the light.

Gideon squinted. They were on an enormous, metal-plated dock. Five other shuttles were docked all along the expanse of the great structure.

Rearing up before them was a palace, a fortress, of white and shining stone. It spread out on the surface of the water like an island. You couldn’t see over it and you could hardly see around it. It lapped back in terraces of what must have once been fabulous gardens. It rose up in gracious towers that hurt the eye with their slenderness and precision. It was a monument to wealth and beauty. Or, at least it probably used to be. Many of its white and shining towers had crumbled and fallen down in miserable chunks. Jungling overgrowth rose from the sea and wrapped around the base of the building, both green slimes and thick vines. The gardens were gray, filmy canopies of dead trees and plants. They had overtaken the windows, the balconies, and the balustrades, and clung there, dead. The landing docks were much the same, a beautiful corpse but a corpse all the same. 

Right now, the docks were alive with movement as the shuttles spilled their contents onto the shores of the First. There was no time to look for her Sixth compatriots though as someone was moving toward them. Harrow dropped to her knees, the knuckles of her prayer beads clicking together in silent prayer. Gideon followed her cue and knelt beside her, hand on her knee. 

The little old man standing in front of them was reedy and small. He seemed positively ancient but he stood straight and hearty before them with a bright smile. He was bald, with a neat, clipped white beard and a golden circlet at his brow. His white robe had no hood and was long enough to brush his calves. He wore a half-cloak of brushed white wool and around his waist was a gorgeous belt. It was made of some shimmering gold stuff, and it was embroidered with a multitude of jewel colors in intricate patterns and shapes. They looked like flowers, or flourishes, or both. They looked as though they had been made a thousand years ago and kept in loving perfection. Everything about him was ageless and pristine.

“Hail to the Lady of the Ninth House. Hail to her cavalier. Oh, hail, hail! Hail to the child of the far-off and shadowed jewel of our Empire! What a very—happy—day.”

Gideon blinked at him. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen anyone be so happy to meet Harrow. Except maybe herself… and maybe Pal to a lesser extent. 

Harrowhark pocketed her prayer beads. “Hail to the House of the First,” she intoned. “Hail to the King Undying.” 

“Hail to the Lord Over the River,” the little priest nodded. “Welcome to his house! Blessed Lady of the Ninth, the Reverend Daughter! The Ninth has not visited the First House for most of this myriad! I notice your cavalier is not Ortus Nigenad…”

“No,” Harrow said. “Ortus Nigenad has sadly, recently passed into the River. My spouse, Gideon Sise has taken the position of Cavalier Primary of the Ninth. I am Lady Harrowhark Nonagesimus,” she said and the little priest nodded. 

“Condolences to the departed, may the King Undying see them safely over the River. But welcome Lady Nonagesimus and Gideon the Ninth. Once you’ve finished your prayers, you must come and be honored in the Sanctum. I am a keeper of the First House and a servant to the Necrolord Highest, and you must call me Teacher; not due to my own merits of learning, but because I stand in the stead of the merciful God Above Death, and I live in hope that one day you will call him Teacher. And may you call him Master, too, and may I call you then Harrowhark the First! Be at rest, Lady Nonagesimus; be at rest, Gideon the Ninth.”

Gideon stood as Harrow did and they exchanged a quick glance, Gideon’s of obvious befuddlement and Harrow’s of certain interest. Gideon shrugged and Harrow hummed. 

Gideon looked around and saw other white-robed figures darting to and fro between the shuttles, coming out of open double doors, but it took a moment to realize that these were skeletons in plain white, with white knots at their waists. They were using long metal poles to work the mechanisms that held the shuttles safely coupled to their latches, with that strange lockstep oneness in which the dead always worked. Then there were the living, waiting in twos, awkwardly shuffling their feet next to their ships. She was looking for a certain pair of gray-wearing people when she noticed something. 

“I only count six other shuttles,” she said and Harrow glanced around as well, as if to confirm her Cavaliers observation.

Teacher cackled as though he were pleased. “Oh, well noticed! Very good! Yes, there’s a discrepancy,” he said. “And we don’t much like discrepancies. This is holy land. We might be called over-careful, but we hold this House as sacred to the Emperor our Lord. We do not get many visitors, as you might think! There is nothing that much the matter,” he added, and with a confiding air: “It’s the House of the Third and the House of the Seventh. No matter, no matter. I’m sure they will be given clearance any moment now. We needed clarification. An inconsistency in both. 

“Inconsistency,” repeated Harrowhark, brows drawn low. Gideon could see it even through the veil. 

  “Yes, the House of the Third and the House of the Seventh,” he said, nodding. “Oh, they're landing now.”  

Gideon frowned. The Seventh. She hadn’t heard much about the Seventh in a long while. Not since Dulcie had died. Last she’d heard, several of the Duchess’ cousins had been duking it out over who would become the new heir of the Seventh. There had even been mumblings of a civil war on Rhodes. News had been sparse at best. 

The Seventh was carefully pulling into the dock next to theirs while the Third’s was a few rows down. Gideon was more interested to see three people emerge from the depths of the Third’s shuttle. 

She recognized the Cavalier immediately. She could see his gaudy clothes and gelled-up hair even from here.  

“Tern,” she grunted, drawing Harrow’s eye.

“The Third House Cavalier that stabbed you in a tournament?” she asked and Gideon grunted an affirmative.

“I still kicked his ass,” she huffed and Harrow shot her an admonishing look from behind her veil but the little priest seemed nonplussed by her words. 

“Then those must be the twin Princesses of Ida I've heard of.” It was not a question but Gideon answered regardless with a nod, watching the two blonde women exit the shuttle. She’d never met either but she’d heard enough. The first coming down the ramp was… robust and hearty looking even from a distance. She was followed by what Gideon could only presume to be the second twin. It was as though the second girl were the starved shadow of the first, or the first an illuminated reflection. Another priest was hurrying over and tapping Teacher on the shoulder, quickly muttering things that Gideon only caught snippets of. 

“—were inflexible —the household’s backing—born at the exact—both the adept—”

The priest merely waved a hand.  “Only trouble at the end of the line,” he said, “and a trouble confined to them.”

“Twins are an ill omen,” Harrow muttered, watching the Princess’ of Ida suspiciously. Gideon didn’t have much to say to that, still looking around as the little priest chuckled. To her left, she watched the doors to the Seventh House shuttle open and a young woman teetered out. Her dress was a frivolous concoction of seafoam green frills, and her skin seemed transparent even from so far away. Her hair was a pale brown, falling in ringlets around her face as a man stepped out beside her, large and uncomfortably muscular in his fine clothes. Gideon’s fine-tuned fighting senses watched how he moved, slow and bulky as he helped the woman down the ramp. She looked fit to faint at any moment but her Cavalier - Gideon guessed by the rapier at his hip and the chair wrapped around one arm - seemed to have her and before they could so much as turn toward Harrow and herself, she turned back to the little priest before them

“Well, we are all here now, so come along, come along.” He waved a hand before turning and moving across the docks. Harrow glanced at her over her shoulder and they shared a look before following. Gideon, a half step behind her spouse and necromancer. 

Inside a huge atrium, just as beautiful and warped by time as the outside, Harrow refused to sit and Gideon barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. She knew Harrow was just anxious and so stood next to her, feeling hot in the brightly lit room in all this black that she still wasn’t accustomed to even after three months. At least the Ninth was cold. Here it was hot and the air wet, sticking her clothes to her skin uncomfortably. So she cursed to herself of course when hot tea was served. 

She’d never been a tea fan and only sipped lightly at it. Harrow, meanwhile, simply held it. Most flavors were too strong for her tiny Lady of Darkness. While glancing around, she caught Cam and Pal’s eyes from the other side of the room and smiled brightly. Pal’s face also lit up and Gideon was delighted to see even Cam’s small smile. They would get to meet up soon, she was sure. 

As she glanced around, she noticed a certain pair of smart-assed teens missing from the assorted necros and cavs. She did spot Abigail and Magnus across the room and resolved to introduce Harrow to them as well as ask about the missing Fourth. She was certain they would know. Abigail was also the kind of force that Harrow could use in her life. Overtly motherly and cared about you whether you liked it or not.  

The three priests sat in front of them holding their own cups, unsipped, in their hands. One, with braided plaids of salt and pepper, spoke up, drawing Gideon’s gaze and thoughts from her friends around them.

“Now let us pray for the lord of that which was destroyed, remembering the abundance of his pity, his power, and his love.” Harrowhark was silent during the ensuing chant but Gideon knew it well: “Let the King Undying, ransomer of death, scourge of death, vindicator of death, look upon the Nine Houses and hear their thanks. Let the whole of everywhere entrust themselves to him. Let those across the river pledge beyond the tomb to the adept divine, the first among necromancers. Thanks be to the Ninefold Resurrection. Thanks be to the Lyctor divinely ordained. He is Emperor and he became God: he is God, and he became Emperor.”

When the prayer petered out, Teacher turned to them. “Perhaps the devout of the Locked Tomb will favor us with their intercession?” he asked and Harrow’s head bobbed as she delivered her cup into Gideon’s hand. She had learned this in the last three months but figured it was best to let Harrow, who knew it forwards, backward and inside out, do it. 

The Reverend Daughter began with a sure and steady tone: “I pray the tomb is shut forever. I pray the rock is never rolled away…”

Gideon, face partially hidden in her hood glanced around at the many faces of people she both did and didn’t know. The Ninth was a little strange, Gideon had learned that much but it was so interesting to see this news reflected on the faces of people who didn’t know Harrow at all. 

Bewildered, bored, long-suffering, and in one case, openly hostile. She knew the Eighth when she saw them and resolved to keep an eye on them. Harrow had mentioned bad blood between the two but had not gone into any detail. 

“Just as it always was,” sighed the little bent priest in ecstasy, despite the wretched dirge. 

“Continuity is a marvelous thing,” said salt-and-pepper plait, proving themself insanely tedious. 

“Now I’ll welcome you to Canaan House. Will someone bring me the box?” Teacher looked up and a robed skeleton came forward with a small wooden box. It was maybe a foot long at best and thin, maybe two inches tall. Everyone watched in eager silence.  

Teacher threw it open and with no further explanation, called out. “Marta the Second!” 

Gideon watched the Second’s Cavalier march up to Teacher, all starch and stick up her ass as ever and accept a small metal ring. It didn’t look like anything interesting at all. Gideon did roll her eyes as she saluted the priest before turning and marching back over to her adept.

“Naberius the Third!” 

Gideon was going to do a lot of eye-rolling today it seemed. 

She waited as the other Cavaliers one by one collected their rings before finally, it was her turn.

“Gideon the Ninth!”

Gideon ignored the eyes she could feel on her back. Most likely people like the Second, or third that knew she had been Sixth before. The metal was cold and heavy in her hand, a simple metal loop and she frowned at it. What the hell were they supposed to do with this? When she returned to her place she knew Harrow was itching to have a look at it. 

“Now the tenets of the First House, and the grief of the King Undying,” Teacher said, catching everyone's attention again. They listened as he talked of the first Lyctors and how most were now dead and the trials that awaited them. Gideon could practically hear Harrowhark chewing the inside of her cheek, fingers tightly knuckled over her prayer bones, and slid her hand, hidden by her robe into Harrow’s. To her credit, the Ninth necromancer did not so much as twitch. Then the fingers of her free hand curled around Gideon’s. 

“To practical matters,” Teacher began “Your every need will be met here. You will be given your own rooms and will be waited on by the servants. There is space in abundance. Any chambers not given to others may be used as you will for your studies and your sitting rooms, and you have the run of all open spaces and the use of all books. We live as penitents do—simple food, no letters, no visits. You shall never use a communication network. It is not allowed in this place. Now that you are here, you must understand that you are here until we send you home or until you succeed. We hope you will be too busy to be lonely or bored. “As for your instruction here, this is what the First House asks of you.”

Everyone waited on bated breath.

“We ask that you not open a locked door unless you have permission.” 

There was a long silence before someone asked: “What’s the training? How do we attain Lyctorhood?” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Teacher said with a little shrug. “You’re the ones who will ascend to Lyctor,” he said, “not me. I am certain the way will become clear to you without any input from us. Why, who are we to teach the first after the King Undying?” Then he added smilingly, “Welcome to Canaan House!”

Chapter Text

A robed skeleton guided them through the winding halls of Canaan house. So many ancient and rotting baubles all around them caught Gideon’s eye as they walked the winding corridors and down the stairs. The skeleton held a hand out to a set of doors and Harrow nodded. Then it shambled away as they let themselves in and set about getting settled.

Outside the windows, the dark of night had settled over the first and Gideon dimly noted that the First spun much faster than the Ninth of the Sixth. 

“That was a day,” Gideon grunted, cleaning off her face paint and laying her robe on a nearby chair. Harrow hummed in response, still carefully examining the loop of metal Gideon had handed over to her grabby spouse the minute they were alone. “I think it’s just a metal ring Harrow,” she said, drawing Harrow’s gaze. 

“You don’t know that Griddle!” she snapped, making the Cavalier roll her eyes as she pulled off her belt holding her ax and rapier.

“If you’re gonna be crabby and yell at me I’ll sleep in the Cavalier’s bed,” she huffed, sitting on said cot at the foot of the necromancer’s bed and kicked off her boots and shimmied off her pants before flopping back onto the cot and closed her eyes. The room was quiet save the quiet swishing of fabric and the distinct sound of metal tapping against wood as it was set down. Gideon remained steadfastly still, eyes closed. After a few minutes, she felt the presence standing beside her and let one eye slide open to behold Harrow, dressed in her night dress and face bare. Gideon stared back at her and Harrow grumbled something.

“Didn’t catch that,” she said and Harrow’s mouth pinched.

“Come to bed,” she said. Gideon’s brow cocked and Harrow’s shoulders fell with her sigh. “Please come to bed,” she said and Gideon hummed. 

“Are you done taking your frustration out on me?” she asked. 

“Yes…,” 

Gideon hummed, letting her sweat it out for another moment. She knew that Harrow was at her limit and if she drew it out too long, she absolutely would go back to the bed and leave Gideon on the Cavalier’s cot. Her pride had limits. 

“Okie dokie,” she said and sat up, walking around to the side of the bed and crawling under the blankets. Harrow followed after turning out the lights and Gideon felt her crawl close till she was flush against her. “No one would ever believe me if I told them you were an honest to god cuddle bug,” Gideon chuckled quietly to herself, as Harrow wormed her way totally into Gideon’s arms, face in her chest and legs twined together. 

Harrow scoffed. “Nor will you tell anyone.” The order lost some of its imperiousness coming muffled out of Gideon’s tits. 

“Mhmm, sure thing, my macabre mistress, it’ll be our secret.” She pressed a kiss to the top of Harrow’s head before letting herself drift off, the tiny furnace of her wife and necromancer’s body lulling her into sleep.

Morning came bright and swift, along with a loud knocking on the door of their rooms. 

Gideon pulled herself out of bed, ignoring Harrow’s angry hissing like sounds as Gideon removed herself from her arms and moved out of the bedroom toward the door. She was rubbing the sleep from her left eye with a fist and still wearing just a tank top and boxers when she opened the door.

“What?” she gurgled. 

“And a good morning to you as well, Gideon!”

“PAL!” Gideon was suddenly wide awake and the Sixth House necromancer was quickly wrapped up in her arms. He laughed as he was scooped up off his feet. 

“I’m quite glad to see you as well,” he chuckled when Gideon finally set him down. She turned expectantly and at his side as always, found Cam, watching the two of them with a smile. She was next to be wrapped in the Ninth Cavalier’s arms. 

“I missed you guys,” she said, squeezing Cam, who nodded and patted her former Co-Cavalier on the back.

“We’ve missed you at home as well. My mother sends her regards and hopes you’re doing well.” Pal smiled 

“Yeah, come on in,” she let them in just as Harrow was poking her head out into the living space. 

“Good morning, Harrowhark, nice to see you,” he said with a smile.

“Sextus,” Harrow bobbed her head in greeting and Pal cocked his head, looking thoughtful. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you without your facepaint before, Harrow,” he remarked and Harrow’s eyes widened and then she vanished back into their bedroom, the door slamming closed. “Hmm…” Sextus frowned.

“Don’t take it to heart. I’m the only person alive I think that gets to see her without the paint,” Gideon said, closing the door behind Cam. “Stay there, let me go get pants!” 

“Please,” Cam said and Gideon stuck her tongue out at her. In their bedroom, Harrow was already half dressed and moving toward the vanity to apply her paint. It wouldn’t take long. She was a practiced hand. 

“A warning would be appreciated, Griddle,” Harrow huffed as Gideon pulled on her pants. 

“Sorry, babe. I didn’t expect them and was just happy to see them.” She was still smiling so hard her cheeks were hurting. Harrow glanced at her in the mirror and nodded. Seemingly willing to let this one go. 

“Come here,” she called and Gideon went, allowing Harrow to quickly apply the black vestige to her face. It would take her longer to do it herself. Once Harrow deemed her adequate, she sent her back out into the Ninth’s living space. Cam and Pal were looking at some old mosaic on one wall. 

“Anything interesting?” she asked, drawing their attention. 

“Everything is of interest here, Gideon,” Pal said with a smile. “This place is steeped in a rich history, shrouded in shadows. I’m sure much of which is bloody.”

“Bloody history and shadows, sounds like my wife’s favorite things,” Gideon chuckled.

“Speaking of,” Pal started, glancing at the closed bedroom door, voice low. “How is that going? Well? Are you taken care of? Happy?” he asked and Gideon was touched by Pal’s concern, even if it wasn’t warranted. 

“I am,” she said. “I miss you guys, but I love Harrow and she’s done everything in her power to make the Ninth home for me.” She smiled and Pal nodded, pleased. “So, have you two been anywhere yet, figured anything out?” she asked and Pal chuckled. 

“No, not yet, we thought we might convene with our Ninth allies and have breakfast. Also, I’d like to compare your and Camilla’s rings,” he said.

"I also would like to compare them,” Harrow’s voice made them turn to the door just as she came waltzing through, done up to the Nines, as usual. Pal nodded. 

“Of course. It seems the trial of Lyctorhood is shrouded in mystery and I am glad to have our shared cooperation to puzzle it out,” he said and looked at Cam, who pulled the ring out as Gideon did the same. 

The two necromancers hemmed and hawed over them for several minutes. Gideon and Cam shared a knowing look. 

“It’s just a piece of metal, right?” Gideon mumbled and Cam nodded tiredly.

“They are, essentially, identical,” Harrow finally declared. 

“And exactly as they seem. Iron rings.” Pal added. 

“Whoever could have guessed?” Gideon asked, voice thick with sarcasm. Harrow sent her a black and scathing look but it was ignored. 

“But what are they for?” Harrow scowled at the two little pieces of metal like they held all the answers to the universe. Hell, maybe they did. Pal hummed, running a hand through his beard.

“Looks like a key ring,” Gideon muttered through a yawn. When she opened her eyes, both necromancers were looking at her. “...what?”

“Gideon, you’re brilliant!” Her former necromancer said. “Remember what Teacher said? Not entering locked rooms without permission? I think we need only ask for the keys to the locked doors,” he said.

“We need to find the locked doors first,” Cam said and Pal nodded emphatically. 

“Right you are!” 

“We need to explore the nearby floors.”

“Can’t we have breakfast first?” Gideon whined and Harrow scowled at her. 

“It would be prudent to feed our trusty sword hands,” Pal offered to Harrow, who scoffed but nodded. 

“Very well,” she grunted.

The First’s dining hall was large and mostly quiet. A few houses already in attendance spread out across the room. 

Gideon eyed the Eighth and the tiny mayonnaise-looking man glaring at them as they entered. She glared back.

“Pay them no mind, Griddle,” Harrow said to her as she jotted things down in a notebook. One Gideon had seen before and refused to touch. It had the orange hue of tanned human leather.  The four of them sat together and before long, more skeleton constructs were setting breakfast down in front of them. Gideon wasted no time digging in while Pal and Harrow murmured to each other in muted tones as she laid the book flat in front of him. 

“I like the paint.”

Gideon looked up at Cam, who was sitting across from her, a little smirk on her face and Gideon flipped her off, making her chuckle. 

“I meant it.” 

“Oh… really?” she asked and Cam nodded. “I admit… it does kinda make me feel like a badass,” she said and Cam snorted before putting a bite in her mouth. They stayed mostly silent, occasionally nudging their adepts to have a bite between hurried whispers. 

Eventually, Harrow pushed her half-eaten plate in Gideon’s direction. She rolled her eyes but took it and finished Harrow’s breakfast. 

“We have a plan of action,” Palamedes declared, drawing both cav’s attention. “It seems Harrow has already begun counting doors.”

“Counting doors? Gideon blinked, looking at Harrow, who cocked a brow right back at her. 

“Yes, we need to catalog every door. Those that are locked and those that are not in order to find where we must go so we can ask Teacher for the keys,” she said and Gideon nodded her head. 

“The quickest way to get this done is to split and then we can combine our findings at dinner. We have already agreed upon a static starting point,” Pal said and Gideon made a face.

“So, we're gonna spend all day cataloging doors?” she asked and the necromancers nodded. “Cool…,” she drawled.

It was just as exciting as Gideon anticipated. They took the bottom floors and the Sixth took the top. They trailed along the many corridors, going as deep and far as they could and testing every door. Most opened, revealing long abandoned and dilapidated rooms filled with molding and dusty furniture. Gideon was quickly learning that everything on the First was covered in a thick layer of dust.

That and that it showed terribly on her black Ninth House robes. 

She grumbled and patted at the dusty stains as she closed yet another door and Harrow marked it in her book with careful, yet furious scribbles before closing it with a snap.

“That’s every door on this floor and we can go no lower, not without the hatch key,” she said with an air of finality. 

“So, are we done?” Gideon asked, amazed at how tired she could be after walking up and down halls and stairs all day and flinging open doors. 

“With this part.” Harrnow nodded. “It will be dinner time soon and we will need to reconvene with Sextus and Hect to compare our findings,” she said and Gideon nodded. 

“Can we go back and clean up before then?” she asked and Harrow glanced at her and nodded. 

It was on the way back to their rooms that they crossed paths with the Third House trio. Gideon had never been this close to the Princess’ and it was readily apparent that one was the center of their trio while the other two merely orbited her.

“Hail to the Ninth!” The bouncy blonde twin greeted them with a bright smile as soon as they’d turned the corner and saw them. “I was wondering when we might get to make an official acquaintance. I’m Coronabeth Tridentarius, Crown Princess of Ida.” She held out her hand and knowing Harrow wouldn’t and to avoid the awkward air, reached out to quickly tap her fingers into Corona’s open palm but it was quickly caught and a kiss pressed to the back of her knuckles, a mischievous spark in the blonde’s eye as she dropped Gideon’s hand. Her gaze flickered to Harrow but she couldn’t see anything through her adept’s hood.  

“This is my sister Ianthe Tridentarius and Babs,” she held a hand out to her companions

“Naberius Tern, Prince of Ida,” the Third Cavalier asserted. He was ignored but then turned to Gideon, blue and brown flecked eyes narrowed. “Sise,” he said, which did get the bright twin’s attention. 

“Oh, are you acquainted already,” she looked at her Cavalier, who huffed. 

“Yes, Gideon Sise, Cavalier Secondary of the Sixth…” His eyes flickered over to Harrow. “Or, you used to be.” 

“I’m Ninth now,” she said, curtly nodding at the pompous, Third House cav.  

“How’s that?” the pale twin spoke up, looking at her with a cool disinterest. Something about her was off-putting.

“Married in.” She held up her left hand flashing the simple ivory ring on her ring finger, then jerked a thumb at Harrow. 

“Oh!” Coronabeth tittered, looking much too interested. “Another Cav married to their adept! Fascinating,” she smiled and it was all straight and perfectly white teeth in a bright face. Her bright lavender eyes turned to Harrow. “Oh, apologies, but we haven’t yet been introduced to the heir of the Ninth.” She looked at Harrow expectantly. 

“The Reverend Daughter, Harrowhark Nonagesimus,” Gideon introduced her silent spouse who was no doubt glaring at the Scion of the Third from inside her hood. 

“Greetings to the Third,” Harrow said, if only because she knew silence was not an option. Her tone was flat and neutral and that was how Gideon knew she was mad. Only a bored-sounding Harrow was a truly neutral Harrow. “We must be going,” she said and Coronabeth pouted but it was only for a moment at best. 

“Of course, we hope to see you at dinner,” she said with another bright smile before stepping aside so they might pass. 

The rest of the walk to their rooms was done in silence, which was fairly standard but Gideon's skin prickled, as though she could feel the aggravation rolling off Harrow in waves. 

Once they were safely back inside their room, Gideon peeled off her dirty black robes and tossed them into the hamper for the constructs to take later. 

“You wanna hop in the bath with me before–” She turned, only for a hand to fist into the front of her shirt and yank her down into a teeth-clattering, bruising kiss. Harrow’s lips were chapped and bitten, nothing new there and Gideon was never one to let a makeout opportunity pass her by. 

She wrapped her arms around Harrow’s small frame, pulling her flush against her. She groaned into it when Harrow’s tongue probed her lips before slipping into her mouth. She always tasted at least a little bit of blood and that should NOT have been the turn on it was. She only vaguely thought about what a mess their faces would be soon but let it slip straight through the cracks in her brain when Harrow’s hands started pawing up her stomach beneath her shirt. 

“N-not that I don’t like it when you’re aggressive…,” she grunted as Harrow’s mouth moved down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of small red welts. “But I thought we had baths to take… people to collude with…. Lyctor… shit… to do,” she groaned when Harrow dug her teeth into the skin where her neck met her shoulder. 

“We do…,” Harrow murmured, her breath hot against Gideon’s skin.

“I never took you for the jealous type,” Gideon smirked and Harrow stiffened in her arms.

“I’m not jealous,” she hissed, pulling back to look at Gideon, who just cocked a disbelieving brow and noted the way her paint was smudged beyond recognition on the lower half of her face.

“Of course not,” Gideon said with the tone of someone who didn't believe their own words at all. Harrow scowled up at her. “But… if you were, I’d like to remind you, that I love you , Harrow,” she said, squeezing Harrow just a little closer. The scowl on her necromancer’s face vanished, leaving a tiny, neutral frown. Her fingers curled into the fabric atop Gideon’s shoulders. 

“I know…and I you,” she said quietly and Gideon just nodded and pressed a kiss between her eyes.

“So, bath and meet SexPal and Cam?” she asked and Harrow nodded, pushing out of her arms. 

“Yes, we need to be quick about it,” she said. 

“I can be quick…,” Gideon offered but a scoff was her only response. 

Chapter Text

“So, how did your expedition go?” Pal asked them as soon as they sat down across from them at the table. 

"We've seen every door on the bottom floors,” Gideon started as Harrow pulled out her book and the two immediately began comparing notes. “Okay, you two do that, I’m gonna eat,” Gideon said, turning to Cam, who gave a shrug before they both turned toward their food. 

"I believe we've cataloged every locked door," Pal declared after fifteen minutes of pouring over their notebooks and scribbling out maps.

"There are seven-hundred and seventy-five…. Only six are locked," Harrow declared.

“So, there's six keys," Cam said.

"At least," Pal nodded. "We must go find Teacher," he turned to Harrow, who nodded and they both stood. The elderly priest was standing on the other side of the room talking to Marta the Second. "We'll only be a moment, the two of you stay here," he looked at the Cavaliers. Cam nodded and Gideon waved a hand and went back to her food. 

They returned a few minutes later with identical iron keys. 

"The key to the hatch," Pal declared to them and handed it to Cam, who slid it onto the metal key ring. Gideon held out her hand and Harrow slid the key into her open palm. It was solid and heavy for a key. The two adepts then sank into plan-making for exploring the bowels of Canaan House tomorrow. She was half listening as she shoved a mouthful of meat in her mouth.

She’d finished her second plate when a shadow was suddenly cast over her. She looked up and smiled brightly.

“Magnus!” She stood and the man smiled brightly. 

“Gideon, it really is you!” he laughed as Gideon hugged him. “Abigail was certain but I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. Gideon Sise, a black priest… I still can’t believe it and I'm staring right at you! What happened?” he asked, laughing.  

“I moved to the Ninth and got married,” she said and Magnus lit up with delight on her behalf. 

“That’s wonderful, Gideon! Congratulations.” He leaned in and hugged the Ninth Cavalier, who squeezed him back. “You must be quite happy. You’ll need to visit the Fifth and bring her with you, Abigail and I would love to meet the woman capable of taming you,” he chuckled and Gideon scoffed 

“I wouldn’t say ‘tamed’, ” she mumbled and heard Cam snort from somewhere behind her. “I mean, you can meet her now… if she’s done doing necro stuff…” She turned to look at her wife over her shoulder. She was slipping her notebook back into her robes and turning to look at them. 

“Oh?” Magnus followed her gaze and saw Harrow. His face went from confused to ecstatic in a flash. “Oh, I see! Leave it to you Gideon to join me in becoming, ha ha, primarried !” He laughed at his own joke. There was a groan from the table but Gideon laughed.

“Shit, why didn’t I think of that?” she asked aloud, thoroughly disgusted with herself. 

“Because it was terrible,” Harrow muttered lowly at her back as she stood from the table and moved to stand at Gideon’s side. Gideon nudged her with her foot

“Magnus, Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Leader of the Ninth, and my wife. Harrow, Sir Magnus Quinn, Cavalier Primary of the Fifth and Seneschal of Koniortos court,” she introduced, and Magnus bowed. Harrow dipped her head enough to be respectful. She always tried to be when Gideon introduced her to her friends, which she was grateful for. She appreciated that, growing up more or less alone, Harrow was not the most socially adept… adept, that ever lived - she also blamed this for her wife’s touch-starved neediness despite being so prickly about it - she tried and that meant enough. “I’ve known Magnus since I was a kid.” 

“Ah, you’re dating me, Gideon,” he laughed before turning her warm smile to Harrow. “It’s so lovely to meet you in person, Lady Nonagesimus! My wife, Abigail has spoken very highly of you based on the few letters the two of you have exchanged. She’s been dying to find the time to get away and visit the Ninth as the Master Warden did. Though, I suppose no one on the Sixth was as taken with the Ninth as Gideon,” he chuckled. 

“A pleasure, Sir Quinn. Yes, Lady Pent has been very forward about her desire to visit my House. Perhaps when this is done there will be time yet for her to grace us on the Ninth,” Harrow said and Magnus beamed at her. 

“Wonderful. I know she’ll be glad to hear it.” He nodded his head.

“Hey, where are Jeannemary and Isaac?” Gideon asked him and frowned at the doleful and disappointed look of defeat on his face.

“They enlisted six months ago and were shipped to the front. Neither Abby nor I have heard much since. We’ve been trying to get something out of their commanding officer but…,” he sighed and shrugged.  

“Oh…,” Gideon frowned, shoulders slumping and jaw tightening 

“Yes… but… you know them. Chasing the honor of their family’s legacy. Abby and I put it off for as long as we could,” he sighed. Gideon nodded. “Well, all we can do is wish them the best. Come and find Abigail and me in the morning at breakfast, she’d love to see you,” he said and patted her on the shoulder. She nodded and he smiled.

“Excellent. It was nice to see you and even lovelier to meet you, Lady Nonagesimus.” He nodded, dipping his head before bidding them farewell and turning and walking off. Gideon frowned at his back. No wonder the terrible twosome had never answered her last letter. They’d been shipping out to the front lines. Her stomach clenched at that. Were they okay?

"Gideon?" A gentle tap on her arm made her blink. She glanced down at Harrow, who was looking up at her with concern on her painted face.

"I'm fine," she muttered, waving a hand. "Are you ready to head back to the room?" She asked and Harrow nodded. “We’ll see you guys in the morning.” Gideon turned to her former Sixth brethren. Cam nodded but Pal was still scratching away at his notes. He held up his penless hand in silent farewell, never looking up. Gideon rolled her eyes before they made their exit from the dining hall.

The walk back to the Ninth quarters was spent in silence. She was lost in thought about the two terrible teens off on a front line somewhere. Gideon frowned hard to herself. She'd been hoping that between Magnus, Abigail, and herself, they'd successfully talked the two out of enlisting and throwing their lives away.

Apparently not.

She didn't even notice how quickly the walk went till they were back in their rooms. She did, however, notice that outside the door and the hallway leading up to it were covered in a plethora of Bones. Skulls, rib cages, femurs, and the like, lined the corridor and around the door frame of their quarters. She blinked. 

When the hell had Harrow been out of her sight long enough to do all that?

"What's with the bones?" she asked. Harrow looked up at her from the corner of her eye.

"Ambiance," was the answer.

"Ambiance or bone wards?" Gideon sniffed, following her inside. 

"Well if you're going to ask a stupid question," Harrow mumbled as Gideon closed the door behind her and plopped on the bed with a sigh. She lay there, staring at the ceiling for a while.

The next thing she knew, Harrow was looming over her, face bare of paint and wearing her night dress. How long had she been lying there? 

"Hey," she said. Harrow hummed and climbed onto the bed. A moment later she was wiping the paint off Gideon's lips and cheeks. “I can do that myself…,” she said but didn’t try to stop Harrow as she ran the cold cream-covered rag over her face.

“You’re upset,” it was a statement.

Gideon grunted. 

“Maybe…,” 

“About the Heir and Cavalier of the Fourth?”

“...Maybe.”

“It’s an honor to serve the Emperor Undying. The Fourth House in particular is known for being on the frontlines for the Cohort,” she said, wiping around the edge of Gideon’s eye.

"They're just kids… they deserve better than dying on a front line somewhere," Gideon mumbled bitterly, turning her head away. “I’ll probably never see them again… It’s not all that often that people come back from the front. Especially the Fourth. All that bullshit bravery legacy they feel like they have to live up to.” 

Gentle fingers on her jaw coaxed her back to face Harrow, looming over her with that little frown pulling at her lips. 

“I’m sorry about your friends, Gideon,” she said and Gideon sighed and nodded.

"Me too," she grunted, then submitted to the rest of the face cleaning. When she was done, she scrabbled up to the headboard to sit and Gideon pushed herself up onto her elbows.

"So, you and Pal got it all figured out?" she asked and Harrow scoffed.

"Not hardly, Griddle. We have, however, devised a plan." With that, she pulled her notebook out of the recesses of her robes. She flicked through pages with scabby fingers until she had opened the squat book midway, showing Gideon the maze-like and innumerable squares that made up the architectural drawing of Canaan in Harrow's tiny, spidery writing. It was scribbled thickly with cross marks.

“Sextus and I divided Canaan House into its three most significant levels, but it's not quite accurate. The central floor is more of a mezzanine providing access to the top and bottom floors. The terraces are sections in and of themselves, but they’re not important for what I’m identifying here. Each X denotes a door…."

"That your crazy ass counted two hundred of the morning we got here and of which six are locked," she said and Harrow shot her a look but nodded.

"There are two lock-points here, at X-22 and X-155. X-155 is the hatch, X-22 is another door. When Sextus and I asked Teacher for permission to enter both. He agreed to let us through the hatch if we could provide a safe place for the key, but said that X-22 didn’t belong to him and that he couldn’t in good conscience give permission. All the while he was winking at us so hard that I thought he had suffered a stroke." 

"So, tomorrow we head down the hatch with Cam and SexPal?" she asked and Harrow nodded.

"Prepare yourself, Gideon. This shall be a test of the utmost rigor."

"Rigor is my middle name, baby" Gideon grinned and jerked a thumb toward herself.

"You don't have a middle name," Harrow grunted, wiggling her way under the blankets. Gideon stuck her tongue out at the back of her head and finally stood from the bed stripped out of her clothes and jumped onto the bed, bouncing Harrow, who made a small, surprised sound.

"Must you?" she snapped, glaring at Gideon over her shoulder.

"Alas, I must," she nodded her head solemnly as she wrapped her arms around Harrow and dragged her back to her front. Harrow huffed but didn't try to get away. She only settled into Gideon's arms before going still and quiet. Gideon pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

 ~ ~

They were up and moving even before the Sixth apparently as they weren't present when they made it down to the dining hall. The Eighth was sitting on one side of the table at the far end and Gideon glared right back at the adept before seeing a different pair of familiar faces. They saw her right back.

"Gideon!" Abigail Pent greeted with a bright smile just before she wrapped Gideon up in a motherly hug, Magnus standing behind her. “I knew it was you! I could hardly believe the news when I heard it,” she said. She pulled back to hold the Cavalier at arm's length and looked at her. "Look at you. A black vestal." She turned her eyes to Harrow and lit up further. "Which means that you must be Lady Nonagesimus. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person!" She smiled, kind, brown eyes bright behind her glasses. "Our last exchange of letters left me with even more questions about the Ninth's history that I hoped you would allow me to pick your brain sometime at dinner one of these evenings."

"Lady Pent," Harrow bent her head in respectful greeting. "Well met to you as well," she said, which was honestly more than Gideon had been expecting from her Matroness of Terror. "Perhaps, if time allows….," she said, to which Abigail nodded knowingly.

"Of course. There's no shortage of mysteries to unravel here on the First!"

"Why don't the two of you join us for breakfast?" Magnus offered and Gideon glanced at Harrow, brows raised in a silent, pleading question. 

Harrow nodded, to which Gideon grinned and Magnus clapped his hands together happily.

"Excellent!"

Which was how they found themselves having breakfast across the table from the Pent-Quinns. Gideon sitting there, popping fruit in her mouth and half listening to the debate Harrow found herself in with Abigail about the permeability of the soul. She glanced at Magnus, who just smiled knowingly at her and Gideon figured that he, more than anyone, knew exactly what this was like, even more so than Gideon, she was sure. She shrugged and popped another bite in her mouth as Dominicus rose over the First, casting its glowing rays through the tall windows lining both sides of the room.

It was around this time that the two necromancers seemed to settle on leaving the rest of their argument for a later time. Abigail placed her fork carefully on her plate and turned to Magnus. 

"I believe it’s time for us to be going?" She asked and he nodded, standing from his seat. "This was lovely and I hope we can do it again soon." She looked between the other couple with a smile and Gideon knew she meant it. She smiled back and caught Harrow's nod from the corner of her eye. "Good luck in your research."

Magnus waved goodbye, and then they were gone through the grand doors leading in and out of the dining room. Gideon turned to Harrow, both brows raised and she knew Harrow could read the question on her face. 

"She was … fine," Harrow mumbled and Gideon smirked and nudged her 

"You like Abigail," she said and Harrow grunted, turning her attention back to her half-eaten meal. "Eat," Gideon nudged her and Harrow sighed but took a bite. Probably just to placate her. Which was fine by Gideon.

"Good morning, Gideon, Harrowhark."

They both looked up as Pal and Cam walked toward them.

"You're late!" Gideon called 

"Yes, apologies. I was caught up in some work this morning," Pal explained as they sat across from them.

"We haven't even been down the hatch yet. What could you be doing?" Harrow narrowed her eyes.

"I've been performing psychometry on parts of the ruins, dating them." 

"Figure out anything good?" Gideon asked as Harrow rolled her eyes.

"The oldest things I've dated are about nine thousand years old. The youngest is about fifty. Many from the same walls and rooms. It's maddening," he said and Gideon snorted, grinning. Sounded like Pal.

"I'd like to get started on the things we came here to actually do," Harrow said snippily. Pal just nodded, long used to Harrow.

"Let us eat," he said. By which he meant, 'Let Camilla eat.'.

Harrow grumbled but said nothing else in argument. Once they had, they made their way out of the dining hall and down the decrepit and crumbling halls of Cannan to the hatch. 

Cam squatted down beside it and turned the key. A low, hard, snap filled the air and then she heaved it open. A ladder of metal staples started just past the lip of the hatch and disappeared down into the darkness.

"Welp…," Gideon said, staring into the darkness. "Who’s first?" she asked, looking up.

Harrow didn't wait, and before anyone could say anything, she was lowering herself down the hatch and her tiny shadowy spouse was vanishing into the darkness.

"Of course," Gideon huffed before following after her, closely trailed by Cam and Pal into the depths.

Chapter Text

What lay beneath the trapdoor was a retro installation. A six-sided tunnel lined with dusty, perforated panels stretched out before them. The ceiling was merely a grille that air coolers pumped through and the floor a grille with visible pressure pumps beneath, and the lights were electric bulbs beneath luminous white plastic. There were exposed pipes. The supporting archways contained bulky, square auto door sidings. This rhapsody of grays and sterile blacks was interrupted over the nearest arch, where, twisting in the dry breeze of the climate cooler, hung a bundle of old bones. Ancient prayer wrappers were ringed around it, and it was the only, normal, human touch.

"Where should we go first?" Gideon asked and immediately regretted it. The place ate sound. There were no echoes. They were squashed and absorbed into the paneling. It was creepy. 

"I think the best use of our time, initially, would be to split up cover as much ground as possible,” Pal suggested and Harrow nodded. "We'll meet back up at dinner and discuss what we found?"

"Sounds good," Gideon nodded. With that, they split up, Harrow and Gideon choosing to move straight down the tunnel right in front of them.  The two of them clanked unmusically down the tunnel, Gideon on high alert for anything or anyone. Soon, the tunnel opened into a big nonagonal room, with passageways radiating out like bronchia. Letters of brushed steel were set beside each passage.

"Hey, check it out, sweet cheeks," she pointed out.

LABORATORY ONE–THREE

LABORATORY FOUR–SIX

LABORATORY SEVEN–TEN

PRESSURE ROOM

PRESERVATION

MORTUARY

WORK ROOMS

SANITISER

Light wells above made the paneling white; lights from below—little blinking lights attached to huge machines that went down meters beneath the grille, a huge deep way beneath their feet—made the floors softly green. The walls were unadorned, except for an enormous old whiteboard rimmed in metal, printed with lines for a timetable that had not been used in a very, very, very long time. The lines had blurred; the board was stained. Here and there meaningless bits of letters survived: the loop of what might be O or C; the arch of an M; a line-suffixed curve that could be G or Q. But in one bottom corner lingered the ghost of a message, drawn thickly in black ink once, now faded but still quite clear: It is finished!

Harrow made a beeline for the whiteboard and studied it with intensity for anything of use. Nothing in particular stood out to Gideon and she turned her attention to the other tunnels. She ran her tongue over her lips. It was dry down here and the atmosphere heavy and oppressive. 

The first room they stuck their head in was Sanitiser, which stretched before them as a huge, low-ceilinged, white-paneled maze of cubicles: long steel tables beneath the upside-down metal mushrooms of spray heads, and narrow boxes a human could stand upright in. It was fully as big as the grand, destroyed hall of Canaan House. The lights whirred overhead, low and quiet, creating a constant humming background sound.

After 20 minutes of poking around the cubicles, Harrow decided that there was nothing there of interest to them and they moved back to the main room and went down another hall, a few corners later and they found themselves standing in front of a door. On the door was a dilapidated folder behind a piece of plex, with a scribbled and pale title in a faded, haphazard hand: #1–2. TRANSFERENCE/WINNOWING. DATACENTER. Above the sterile metal door was the more familiar sight of a mounted skull, probably once painted red but now tarry brown. It had lost its jaw at some point and seemed to be all front teeth.

Gideon reached out and grabbed Harrow's arm, jerking her to a stop. Harrow frowned and looked over her shoulder at her.

"Wait, let me go first," she said, taking a step toward the door. Harrow looked like she wanted to protest but just grumbled something under her breath and motioned toward the door. Gideon turned the knob and the door creaked open, allowing them to step cautiously inside.

This room was more spacious, more elongated and gave the distinct impression of having been ransacked. It was ringed with broad metal desks, and the walls were pockmarked with empty electrical sockets. There were shelves and shelves that must once have contained books and files and folders, but now only contained a lot of dust; there were discolored places on the walls where things must have been tacked up and had since been taken down. It was a naked and empty room. One wall was windowed all along its length to let you see into the chamber ahead, and that wall had a door in it marked with two things: one, a sign on the front saying RESPONSE, and two, a little plaque on the top marked OCCUPIED. This had a bleary glow of a green light next to it, indicating that Response was probably not occupied. Looking through to Response - a bleak, featureless chamber, characterized only by a couple of vents on the far side of the square. The other wall—filled with brackets to prop up books that had long since been removed—had a door too, and this one was labeled: IMAGING. The Imaging door had the same plaque as Response, but with a little red light instead. Imaging also had a little plex window. Gideon walked up and tried the door marked Response, while Harrow messed with something behind her, but it wouldn’t move and there didn’t seem to be a conventional touchpad. She looked around with a frown. She heard the quiet sliding sound of a door and jerked around to look at the autodoor to Imaging, opening to Harrow welcomingly.

Inside was a dismal cupboard of a room with a huge array of old mechanical equipment, lightless and dead. A single ceiling panel fuzzed its way to life, white and pallid and not revealing much but more shadow. The long desk still had what she realized was a rusted old clipboard, to which a thin, nearly transparent piece of paper was attached. With careful fingers, she reached out and pressed her fingers to it. The paper dissolved as though it were made of ash. It left a grey stain on her fingertips. She stared at it in silent wonder.

"Everything down here is impossibly old," Harrow observed, watching the paper disintegrate. Gideon hummed in agreement, glancing around. In the center of the room was a tall metal pedestal. Atop the pedestal was a strange, flat panel of weirdly reflective glass—beautiful, with a dichromatic black fleck. The black-robed necromancer's, painted brow furrowed with concentration as she moved close to inspect it. 

"What is it?" Gideon asked, moving closer as well. Harrow hummed. She lifted a hand and passed her hand over the top of the glass. It buzzed at her proximity, sending shivering green sparks jumping over the pedestal. Harrow snatched her hand back as though burned.

"You okay?" Gideon asked and she nodded thoughtlessly, repeating the motion and again it buzzed, creating a quiet hum. The hairs on the back of Gideon's neck stood on end. 

"I believe it’s some kind of interface," she muttered more to herself than to Gideon. With a thoughtful look, Harrow peeled off her gloves and placed one long-fingered hand directly on the glass. Two things happened: the glass folded over her hand like a cage, and the Imaging door shut with a heavy whunk. Gideon pressed on it but it didn't move.

Gideon heard something else in the other room and spotted the little window and peeked out of it

From here she could spot the response door and it was now open.

"The response door is open," Gideon said and Harrow's brows rose. She took her hand off the plate and the glass unfolded as the response room door slammed shut and imaging open. "It’s closed," Godeon hummed thoughtfully.

Harrow moved around the room a few times, testing and fiddling with everything. Constructs moved around them and tested the opening and closing with the doors for about an hour before finally sending in constructs.

"Watch through the window, Griddle. I want to know if anything happens," she said.

Gideon nodded and watched through the imaging door window as the construct ambled forward.

Suddenly, the lights in response flared as the vents started choking out cloudy puffs of thick smog, obscuring the far wall. She pressed herself so close to the glass that her breath made it

misty and wet. There was no sound from within, and there should have been. She figured it was well soundproofed, which simply made it all the more absurd when something enormous and misshapen came raging out of the fog. It was a bone construct, she could tell that much. Gray tendons strapped a dozen weirdly malformed humeri to horribly abbreviated forearms. The rib cage was banded straps of thick, knobbly bone, spurred all around with sharp points, the skull—was it a skull?—a huge knobble of brainpan. Two great green lights foamed within the darkness there, like eyes. It had way too many legs and a spine like a load-bearing pillar, and it had to crouch forward on two of its heavyset arms, fledged all over with tibial spines. The exterior arms were thrust back high, and she could see now that they did not have hands: just long slender blades, each formed from a sharpened radius, held at the ready like a scorpion’s tail. It rampaged forward; Harrow’s skeleton patiently waited; the construct fell on it like a hot meal, and it disintegrated under the second blow. The construct turned its awful head toward the window, fixed its burning green gaze on Gideon, and got very still. It lumbered toward her, gaining speed, when the red light for Occupied turned green: there was a low and doleful parp from some klaxon, and then the construct dissolved. It became soup, not bones, and it moved as though sucked into some small grating toward the centet of the room. It was totally gone, along with all the fog, when Imaging sprang open and Harrow found her cavalier with her jaw dropped open.

"What happened to the construct?" she asked before Gideon spent the better part of the next couple of minutes explaining exactly what she had seen inside the room.

Harrow's eyes narrowed as she paced around, murmuring aloud to herself.

"Why can't I see it? What is the point of this test? My control or the constructs autonomy?" she questioned with a pursed lip, little frown. "I need to do more testing," she concluded.

Thus began at least an hour of Harrow creating construct after construct. Ones of different sizes, shapes, and densities and all being ceremoniously dismantled in mere moments by the hulking beast of a construct that came lurking out of the mists. Gideon had lost track of the attempts but she knew exactly what her wife was capable of and the fact that Harrow came staggering out of the response chamber with blood sweat dripping down her forehead and dripping out of her ears and nose.

"How did those fair?" she asked and Gideon shook her head and Harrow made an aggravated grunt before spinning back around and stomping back into the room. She swayed on her feet a little. Gideon grabbed her by the wrist.

"Harrow, you're at your limit and you need to take a break," she said. Harrow scowled back. 

"I need to figure out this trial," she insisted, jerking her hand free.

"Why don't we go find Cam and Pal and the two of you can puzzle it out…,"

"I don't need Sextus' help," Harrow snapped. "I am the greatest necromancer of my generation. I will figure this out!" She was glaring up at Gideon, who glared back.

"The only thing you're about to figure out is what the floor tastes like if you summon another construct," she said with a scowl of her own. Harrow growled, wrenching her hand free. She could already tell, Harrow had slipped into one of those proud moods and there was no way in hell she would agree to get Pal. She sighed. "Fine, we won't get Pal," she said and Harrow looked at her warily. "Send me in," she said and Harrow's brows shot upward before jerking right back down in a scowl.

"Absolutely not. After all the trouble we went through to get you as my Cavalier, I'm not ready to start the search for a new one, much less a new spouse," she spat and Gideon noticed the way she swayed. "No, I'll send in three this time and see how it handles that. I'm not yet convinced this isn't designed to test my multidexterity," she said before raising three constructs and disappearing back into the room. Gideon frowned at her back. The process began again and for as beautiful, responsive and perfect Harrow's constructs were, they were demolished in three moves.

When she came back out, she looked expectantly at Gideon, who relayed the quick fight to her necromancer. Till now, Harrow had taken every replay of the fight with a quiet, blank-eyed thoughtfulness. But this time she grit her teeth and growled, her hands balled up into fists and pressing against her skull.

"My mother and my father and my grandmother together could not do what I do,” she said softly, not speaking to Gideon. “My mother and my father and my grandmother together … and I’ve advanced so far beyond them. One construct or fifty—and it simply slows it down … for all of half an hour…"

With another frustrated noise, she shook herself and lowered her hands before looking back up at Gideon, blood dripping from her nose and ears and down her neck. "Right.. again," she said, creating another construct, this one holding an armful of osseous matter. She swayed but caught herself on the edge of the door just as Gideon jerked forward to catch her. "I'm fine," she grunted. "Just watch, Griddle." Then the door closed.

Gideon was at her limit and quickly shucked off her outer robe, and hung it from the hook in the foyer before sidling up next to Harrow's construct. She stood beside it till the door opened and then with a well placed boot, tripped it and sauntered into the chamber. The door slid shut with a whisper behind her.

"Sorry babe, if you wanted a Cavalier you could replace with skeletons, you shoulda kept Ortus' bones…"

Suddenly, from whining speakers set in each corner, she heard Harrow cry out and all at once she was more alert than before. But It wasn’t a noise of annoyance, or even really a noise of surprise—it was more like pain. Then Gideon found her legs buckling a little bit and she had to stagger and shift herself upright. She shook her head to clear the brief bout of dizziness that had washed over her away. It passed and she held up her rapier in a perfect line, ax at her side, ready, and waited.

“What?” The necromancer sounded. "What… you can't be serious?" Harrow's voice came fizzing out of the speakers. Gideon had no time to contemplate it. The vents began to breathe out huge sighs of fog. Now that she was in the room, Gideon could see that they were blasting moisture and liquid into the air. Stale-smelling stuff. From within this cloud the construct was rising—leg to horrifying leg, to broad plates of pelvis, to thick trunk of spine—to the green motes of light that swung around, searching, before settling on Gideon. Her stance shifted. From Imaging Harrow grunted explosively, which nearly got her wife and cavalier knocked ass over tits with the distraction. Air was displaced in a mighty push as the construct rushed her, and it was only just in time that she deflected two heavy overhand blows onto the naked silver blade of her sword.

She heard Harrow cry out again, this time, distinctly in pain, and she wanted to turn around and go back and see what was wrong but there was no time for that as blows rained down hard and fast. They were much lighter than she expected for something of such a massive size but they still packed a punch despite the lack of muscle and blood behind it. Her rapier wasn't much good against such a construct though, deflecting them was the best she could do.

She spun out of the way of an overhead strike and slammed the ax down, severing one bladed arm from its body and grinned.

It fell from her face and sank down with her stomach as the blade reformed.

"Babe, it's regenerating!" she called, but there was no answer. She leapt to the side as the construct came rushing her again, wildly swinging its bladed arms. It slammed into a pile of bone from Harrow's pulverized constructs and a chip flew out like a bullet, grazing Gideon's arm. Again, a pain sound came out of the speakers. The thing seemed to wallow in the remains of its victims before rearing up again.

"Harrow!" 

"Stop thinking!" Suddenly blared, static, out of the speakers.

"What?"

"I can't concentrate, it's too… damn it!"

She was about to tell Harrow to take her hand off the fucking pedestal, but she was charged again by the lurching flurry of blades and bone. The construct leapt forward on its hands and feet like a lopsided beast. Gideon charged too, and she sliced her sword straight through the interosseous membrane on the arm coming down to spear her. Arm and construct flailed independently, and with her offhand she chopped straight down into the pelvis. Bone splintered out explosively as half the ilium came away. The monster fell and thrashed, trying to rise, as the pelvis and the top of one femur knit themselves back together with unsavory speed. Gideon quickly fell bac,k distancing herself from the construct. She could feel bone matter sticking to her face.

The speakers crackled. "Gideon, close one eye."

Without thought, she obeyed, closing one eye and suddenly she was without depth perception, still watching the writhing construct flail on the ground. For a moment her gaze drunkenly slid into place, and she could see… something at the very corners of her vision. Some kind of peripheral mirage, a susurrus of light that moved in a way she’d never seen before. It was like a gel overlay across real life. It balled around various bits of the construct as though attracted to it, like iron filings to a magnet. She blinked hard. There was fresh panting over the speakers and Harrow's tight voice.

"Alright… yes, okay."

Its regeneration finally finished, the construct reared up once more. Gideon's heart was hammering in her chest. Then, it was disintegrating into liquid and slipping through the grate in the floor. Gideon watched, catching her breath as the door to response opened and Gideon, with a final look at the empty room, stepped back through. It locked behind her and the door to Imaging slid open, bringing her face to face once more with her trembling and bloody wife.

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

"The test" Harrow gurgled. "You're the test," she managed to say, standing there looking like a strong breeze would blow her over at any moment.

"You need to stop," Gideon said but Harrow wasn't listening.

“Frontal, parietal, temporal, occipital, hippocampus…I fought with them all inside you,” she said. “I’m not equipped to deal with a living spirit still attached to a nervous system. You’re so noisy. It took me five minutes to peel away the volume just to see. And the pain is so much worse than skeleton feedback—your spirit rendered me deaf! Your whole body makes noise when you fight! Your temporal lobe—God—I have such a headache!” she lamented as Gideon gently took hold of her shoulders.

"That's what happens when you try to pilot my body or read my thoughts," she sniffed and Harrow growled.

"I can do neither, unfortunately. The moment I get a hold of one of your senses I'm overwhelmed by the others" she leaned into Gideon's touch, letting her cavalier hold her upright. Gideon wiped at her bloody nose, smudging her already half-destroyed face paint even further.

"Winnowing," Harrow muttered. "Of course… but why can't I do it by myself?" she pondered, looking far more pleased than someone this bloody had any right to look. “I now know how to complete this trial,” she said meditatively. “And we’ll do it. If I work out the connection and rethink what I know about possession theory, I can do it. Knowing what to work on was the battle, and now I know. But first, Griddle, I’m afraid I have to pass out…"

Then she crumpled like a house of cards into Gideon's arms. 

Chapter Text

"I wish I had my long sword," Gideon murmured a couple of hours later when Harrow had awoken from her floor nap, head in her wife's lap and Gideon's cloak carefully tucked around her before they'd gone back to their quarters. But not before Harrow had heavily warded the door; against Gideon's better judgment. She wanted to start trying again immediately but Gideon took one look at her bloodied face and put her foot down.

"Well, you don't have it, much as a terror and powerhouse as you are with it," she said and Gideon preened under the compliments. "Based on what you described, your ax did plenty of damage as it is." 

"How exactly is this test supposed to work? I know a decent amount of theory but I'll never be a necro," she said, leaning back against the head of their bed as she watched Harrow carefully reapply her paint after a forced bath that had left the water tinted pink.

Harrow stopped painting to consider the question. “This particular construct is animated by multiple theorems, all woven together, in a sense. That enables it to do things normal constructs can’t possibly.”

“Like regenerate," Gideon threw in and Harrow nodded.

“Yes. The way to destroy it is to unpick that tapestry. To pull on each thread in turn - in order - until the web gives way. Which would take me ten seconds, if I only had it at arm’s length," she grumbled.

"So you need to unpick it through me, that's the test.”

“Yes, as you said. You are not a necromancer. You cannot see thanergetic signatures. I have to find the weak points, but I have to do it through your eyes, which is made infinitely more difficult by you waving a sword around the whole time while your brain yells loudly at me.”

"To be fair, I'm always loud for you." She winked at Harrow in the mirror and her wife rolled her eyes. "Are you ready to head down to dinner and meet with Cam and Pal?" she asked and Harrow nodded, moving to stand. 

She wobbled a little precariously and almost instantly, Gideon was at her side.

"Harrow, you pushed yourself well past your limit today. You need to rest," she said.

"I don't have time to rest, Griddle!" She scowled. 

"Who said we don't? We're working with Pal and Cam, you got a two-hundred-door head start. Can you please just rest for a little while tomorrow…"

Harrow started to answer, brows furrowed.

"Please, for me?" Gideon pulled out her ace and watched with great satisfaction as Harrow's mouth puckered up with annoyance. Gideon knew she'd won already. It was merely cemented when Harrow turned her head away. 

"I will consent to rest tonight and only tonight," she said with finality and Gideon leaned down and pressed her lips to the place just above Harrow's ear over short black hair. 

"Thank you," she mumbled. Harrow hummed, low and quiet, trying to seem like she wasn't leaning into the touch. "I know you're ready to throw your whole ass down whatever orifice -blood soaked hole you have to for the Ninth, but I like you alive, sugar lips," she murmured against Harrow's head. “Can we try to do less bubbling of blood out of all our face holes?” she asked and felt the annoyed sigh against her neck. Harrow's hand still wrapped around hers though and her thumb rubbed across the top of her knuckles. 

“I… will try,” she mumbled and Gideon pressed another kiss to her temple. 

“That’s all I ask,” Gideon said, leaning back. “Now, dinner?” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder and jerked it toward the door. Harrow nodded and retracted her hand before they made their way down the winding Cannan House corridors.

The dining room was bustling tonight. Upon entry, she immediately spotted Abigail and Magnus on the far side of the room talking to Judith and Marta, not far from them, sitting at the table was the Third threesome. It was hard not to let your eyes be drawn to Coronabeth. She was naturally bright both in appearance and personality. The Sun. The eclipsed moon sat nearby, pale and waxen, an apple in hand. Her pale eyes seemed to be scanning the room. They landed on the entering Ninth and Gideon resisted the urge to shiver. The Eighth were nowhere to be seen but sitting a few seats down from the third was the mysterious Seventh that Gideon still hadn’t met yet. 

“Gideon, Harrow!” she looked toward the sound to find Palamedes waving at them, Camilla sitting at his side. “It’s nice to see you both in one piece,” he said with a smile as they sat in the seats across from them. 

“Not for HHarrow’s lack of trying,” Gideon said.

“Oh, I take it you ran into something interesting?” he asked, leaning forward, eyes sparkling behind his glasses and Gideon smiled even as she rolled her eyes. 

“If by interesting you mean big, fast, with bladed arms, then yes, very interesting.” Gideon nodded her head and Pal looked close to salivating over it. He turned to Harrow, who began telling her former necromancer and Co-Cavalier about what they had found in the lab. She was distracted by the plate or food set in front of her by one of the many white-robed skeleton constructs moving around the room. Gideon wasted no time digging into her meal, half listening to Harrow and Pal do their necro talk. She glanced up at Cam, who also had her head down and was eating but Gideon knew better. Cam was listening. She was always listening. That woman was a fine-tuned instrument of death and destruction and Gideon had an almost crush on her when she’d been a kid which had really been admiration and now it was an unbending respect.

She’d finished her meal and was playing tic tac toe with Cam, the necromancers still mumbling to each other in hushed tones when Coronabeth stood up and called the room’s attention to her. 

“It’s been quite dull around here I think,” she declared, garnering everyone's attention. Her Cavalier appeared glued to her every word, that whipped dog look on his overly chiseled face. “Can I interest any of the Nine Houses fine Cavaliers in some practice bouts for everyone’s entertainment?

“You can of course count me in, Princess,” Naberius simpered and Gideon rolled her eyes. 

“I think I could stand to work off that excellent meal,” Magnus stood from the table with a warm smile. Corona beamed back at him before turning her attention to the Second. Judith Deuteros seemed to avoid the golden princess’ gaze but Marta Dyas stepped forward in her over-starched dress uniform and nodded. “Joining us, Gideon?” Magnus turned his smile to the Ninth Cavalier. 

Gideon turned to Harrow with a wide, pleading look. 

“Aren’t we supposed to be ‘resting’?” she asked, cocking a brow. 

“I wasn’t the one bleeding from every hole in my body,” Gideon countered. Harrow scowled and Gideon knew that beneath the paint, she was red. "Please?" she nudged her wife, who grunted.

"Do as you please," she waved a hand, turning pointedly back to her untouched tea. Gideon grinned and jumped up, drawing the attention of the other Cavaliers and Corona, who perked.

"I'm up for a match or two," she declared, much to Corona's delight.

"The Ninth house joins us!" She clapped her hands together happily. "Could Camilla the Sixth be persuaded, I wonder?" She turned to Cam, whom Gideon knew to be as unbending as steel when she wanted to be, even in the face of Corona's radiance. 

"I respectfully decline this time, Princess," she said cordially, making the Princess of Ida pout for a moment but nodded before turning to the other pair still sitting in the room. The Seventh, whom Gideon still had not made the acquaintance of. 

“Protesilaus the Seventh?” she asked of the large and muscular Cavalier, watching them with a stone face. The frail woman seated beside him, with her long, brown curls, smiled softly and reached a hand up to pat one bulging forearm. 

“I’m afraid not, Princess. You’ll be hard-pressed to move Pro from my side right now,” she smiled but then let out an ugly-sounding cough. Blood speckled her lips and ‘Pro’ gently patted her back. “He frets awfully,” she smiled, more a macabre grimace than anything. 

Coronabeth nodded. "Of course, Lady Septenarius. Well, shall we?" She looked around at everyone else. The next few minutes, the room was filled with bustling movement as the dining table and chairs were pushed out of the center of the room to make space. The necromancers sat on the sidelines, watching. Cam, while not participating, stood at Gideon's side, arms crossed. Gideon did her best to ignore the intense stare Naberius was giving her. He'd sworn up and down after their last match that they would have a rematch and he would win. She could practically feel him foaming at the mouth to come at her.

"I wish Jeanmary were here, even if she'd give me a good thrashing," Magnus chuckled as he stepped forward. From the side, this took Naberius' attention off Gideon and he scoffed.

“I’d be ashamed to admit to that,” he said brusquely. It was Magnus' turn to scoff.

"Ashamed, Prince Naberius? To lose to a Chatur? Goodness me, no. A Cavalier family since the time of the Resurrection? She would have felt ashamed if she lost to me. I’ve known her since she was a child and even then she was one of the best!" he declared, stepping up to the center but Naberius remained where he was, arms folded. It was Dyas that stepped forward. "Might I interest the Lieutenant in a match?" He smiled and though she did not return it, Marta nodded and everyone else made room as the two stood across from each other with Coronabeth.

"I will arbitrate." Corona smiled. 

Magnus slid his blade from its scabbard and laid an ivory-colored dagger with the creamy-colored leather handle across his chest. 

Marta drew her own rapier and dagger. Nothing special, and Gideon was willing to bet anything that they were standard issue.

"To the first touch,” said their arbiter, badly hiding her rising excitement. “Clavicle to sacrum, arms exception. Call.”

"Magnus the Fifth!"

"Marta the Second!"

Gideon crossed her arms as she watched the two circle each other. She already knew Magnus was going to lose. She loved the guy but she also knew his primary status was only because he was married to Abigail. Marta had earned her place. Sure, she was a stick in the mud with a rulebook jammed all the way up her ass, but she was good.

Not as good as Gideon, but good.

Marta suddenly dashed forward, thrusting her rapier out, Magnus's blade swished upward, flicking the strike away with what looked like almost practiced ease. His dagger shot out at the Second Cavalier, who sidestepped the blade and with a twist of her arm thrust her rapier at Magnus' shoulder. He backstepped, the tip just barely missing his upper arm but Marta followed, pressing the advantage against Magnus' retreat.

It was quickly going downhill as Magnus was forced on the defensive, parrying and blocking strikes with increased franticness as the rest of them watched.

"His footwork still needs work," Gideon leaned over and mumbled to Cam, who nodded, eyes glued on the Lieutenant, fighting with carefully articulated movements as though she'd learned them from a regulations code book, but they were delivered with such speed and ferocity that Magnus was left floundering. Gideon's eyes flickered between their feet and the quick exchange of rapier blades clanging against each other. Marta's sure and solid strokes against Magnus' slightly flailing ones. Marta's dagger whipped through the air and Magnus was a moment too late to stop it from slicing inside his guard and his upper arm, through the fine brown shirt he was wearing.

He hissed, stepping back as Coronabeth threw up a hand.

"Match to the Second!" she declared.

"Well fought, Sir," Marta nodded to Magnus as she sheathed her rapier and dagger.

"And you," he said. Blood was seeping through the fabric of his shirt as Abigail rushed over to look at it before closing the wound while murmuring something to him quietly.

"Who wants to have a go next?" Corona had barely finished asking the question when her pompous little Cavalier strode forward, eyes on Gideon.

"I'd have the next match, but I want the Ninth," he said through narrowed blue eyes, stained through with brown.

Gideon smirked at him and she would swear that she saw his jaw clench.

"Sure, why not." She slid off her outer robe and folded it before handing it to Cam, who had wordlessly held out her hand for the garment.

"You can not arbitrate for your own Cavalier," Harrow's imperious voice drew everyone's attention but then Pal, sitting next to her nodded in agreement.

"You can't be an unbiased arbitrator for your own Cavalier, Princess," he said but Corona waved a hand.

"Oh, once can't hurt, Master Warden, Reverend Daughter. I'm harder on him than anyone," she said. 

From a few seats down, looking terribly bored of this all already, Ianthe, scoffed. “Like we’d ever give him an advantage.” 

"My Cavalier will not fight in any unfair bout!" Harrow snarled, springing to her feet in a rush of black fabric. Corona blinked her big, bright eyes back at Harrow as if she had never had anyone speak to her like that before. She probably hadn't. Ianthe merely stared back at her, hard and considering. Gideon also looked at her furious little spouse snarling at the Third. That was her Harrow alright.  

"I will arbitrate if it pleases the Third and the Ninth?" Judith Deuteros took a sharp step forward. Harrow gave her a long look before nodding curtly. Corona pouted but nodded. Ianthe waved a hand and the Second House adept stepped forward.

Naberius drew his rapier and knife. There was a loud schlick as two other blades popped out of the sides. Gideon was well aware of his trident knife. He touched his trident dagger to his chest and she drew her own black rapier Harrow had given her, and unsnapped her ax from her belt. Naberius glanced at it and sneered. She already knew exactly what he thought about her ax. That it was a 'boorish' and 'crude' weapon. She placed the head of the ax against her collarbone. Its metal head glinted in the light.

She was also going to beat the hell out of him with it again.

Judith looked between them. "To the touch, clavicle to sacrum, arms exception, call!"

"Naberius the Third!" 

"Gideon the Ninth!"

They took their paces and turned 

"Begin!"

They both lunged at each other and their rapiers clashed in several loud crashes of metal. 

She dodged and ducked beneath a high swing and swung her ax upward, making the pretentious Cavalier jerk back, raising his knife to block the heavy blade. Some sparks flew from the blades as they clashed. Naberius’ rapier, wicked fast, speared through the air toward her shoulder. Gideon twisted her torso, dipping out of the way of the tip at the same time she jabbed her own forward. The little bastard managed to duck out of the way but only just barely.  He danced backward, rapier up and at the ready even as Gideon darted across the empty space between them, ax gleaming. 

She feinted with her rapier, jerking it back and slamming her offhand overhead at him. Naberius, pompous and shitty as he was, was a good fighter, even if it was a little too by the book for Gideon’s liking. His offhand jerked up in time to catch the ax midflight. It caught just below the head in between the main blade and one of the two side blades. Gideon smirked and with a flick of her wrist, twisted the ax, locking the head horizontally between the blades and with all her strength, jerked her arm back. Naberius lurched forward but at the last moment, rather than be speared onto Gideon’s waiting rapier, dropped the trident knife. It flew across the room, hitting the ground and skittering across the dining hall floor. His eyes flickered to Judith, who stood impassive, watching the fight unfold. He should know better. A fight was only going to end when you were disarmed of your main hand. 

He was on the defense now, and growing sloppier by the second as he tried to dodge both Gideon's rapier and ax while trying to find some opening he could exploit. 

Soon enough, he made his mistake and overextended. Gideon dropped, letting the rapier tip fly over her shoulder, allowing her to slip inside his guard and press the blade of her ax against his quivering Adam’s apple. They both froze. She tapped the razor edge against his throat. 

“Match to the Ninth!” 

Naberius was scowling but bowed all the same when Gideon did before they stepped apart. 

“Nicely fought, Gideon!” Pal called and clapped. She smiled at him, eyes roving over to Harrow, sitting in her spot next to the Warden, and blinked. Harrow, wreathed in black fabric and lace, her hood pulled up and face painted to excruciating precision, was a blank wall to most; but Gideon knew. The way her hands were clasped together, working furiously over the smooth worn knuckle bones of her rosary, the way her bottom lip was pulled up between her teeth. 

Gideon could feel her hot, black-eyed stare on her from here.

Something had Harrow all worked up. In what way, she couldn’t yet say. Usually, it was barely contained rage and a mountain of bones but who knew? Gideon hadn’t done anything to make her mad.

Had she? She’d won. She’d done it well and she still looked perfectly Ninth House presentable. Not a painted on mandible out of place.

There were a few more matches. Marta gave Naberius a good run but ultimately beat the starched Cavalier and Magnus and Gideon had a go but the Fifth Cavalier was certainly no match. 

Before the Second Cavalier could challenge the Ninth to a rematch for old insults Gideon may have made some years ago, Harrow stood abruptly, garnering attention. 

“That’s enough. Come, Gideon. We have other matters to attend to.” She didn’t even wait for a response before spinning on heel and walking toward the dining hall doors. Even Pal seemed puzzled by the sudden departure and just shrugged when Gideon glanced at him. 

Gideon sheathed her weapons and took her robe back from Cam before trotting off after Harrow, moving quickly through the corridors.    

“What’s up with the quick exit, sugar lips?” Gideon asked, finally catching up and falling into half-step behind Harrow. 

“Not yet,” was the terse reply, and Gideon cocked her head. There was definitely some kind of bee in Harrow’s bonnet. She kept silent, realizing that they were making their way back to the Ninth quarters. 

They passed through the ward and shut the door behind them. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” Gideon asked, walking past Harrow, who’d stopped in the middle of the room and set her still folded-up robe on the side of the bed. Harrow had pulled off her hood and was staring at Gideon as if transfixed. “What?” the ginger blinked, watching the necromancer run her tongue over her bottom lip.

“You,” she said and that didn’t clear up a thing for Gideon. 

“Me?” she asked, pointing up at herself. Harrow made a frustrated noise and then stomped straight up to her till they were close enough that Gideon could feel the heat of her body. Gideon wasn’t sure what to say or do.

Then, Harrow shoved her. 

The back of her knees hit the side of the bed and she went flopping back onto the bed with an undignified squawk as she hit the sheets.

“What the fuck, Harr-” The rest of that thought was cut off as soon as she pushed herself back up onto her elbows to see Harrow throwing off her outer robe. She let out a strangled wheeze when the necro climbed up onto the bed to straddle Gideon’s waist. Before she could even think to ask what was happening, those hot, little hands were sliding up her abdomen beneath her shirt, pushing it up. They moved up and down her sides, fingers pressing gently against her skin. 

“You’re a marvel,” Harrow murmured, eyes roving over every inch of exposed skin. “The things you can do with a weapon, with your body, never cease to amaze me,” she said and it suddenly hit Gideon like a shuttle what was happening. 

“Did watching me fight… get you all hot and bothered?” Gideon asked, voice breathy with awe.

Harrow froze and her eyes lifted just enough to look at Gideon from beneath her lashes. Her mouth twisted up in thought only a moment before finally answering. “I find it hard to believe anyone could watch the painstakingly tuned actions and responses of a body honed as finely as yours and not be beset with fervid… admiration,” she said.

“Which is just Harrowhark speak for ‘you’re hot and now I’m all wet about it’ isn’t it?” Gideon smirked up at her wife, who glared back but instead of answering, just dragged her short bitten nails down the plane of Gideon’s stomach. She made a low sound in the back of her throat. 

“Perhaps,” was the murmur of an answer at last before Harrow went back to pawing at her momentarily brain-dead spouse beneath her. “Off,” Harrow tugged at her shirt, and who was Gideon to deny her? She slid it off and let Harrow have at it. 

‘It’ being running her little claws over every ridge of muscle and fat on her torso. Caressing skin and paying homage to Gideon’s body with a zealot’s devotion.  

Her breath stuttered in her throat when she felt Harrow’s lips on her skin. The groan she let out when she heard the snaps of her pants come undone was involuntary and she swore she could feel Harrow’s smile pressed into the dip of her hip. 

"Harrow…," she mumbled. A questioning hum was her answer, followed by a bite to the swell of her thigh.

If there were better ways to rest, Gideon didn’t need it. 

Chapter Text

Gideon awoke the next morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. 

Waking up the morning after being fucked into exhaustion had that effect on her. 

Harrow was still dead to the world, blankets pulled all the way up over her head. She was a giant and still lump, sucked up to Gideon’s side. With careful movements, she scooted back and, painstakingly slow, lifted the blanket. She couldn’t help but smile at her small waif of a wife all curled up in a ball, face slack with sleep. Honestly, Harrow rarely looked as relaxed as she did when she was asleep. That big brain of hers was as quiet as it ever got. 

Neither of them had made time to take off the paint the night before and although she couldn’t see her own face, she was certain it looked very much the same as Harrow’s. Smudged into a sworl of splotchy grays and totally rubbed off around her mouth with patches smeared down her neck and throat. She blinked, sat up carefully, and lifted the blanket. 

Yup. 

There was more than one paint mess for her to clean up. 

Her stomach rumbled and quickly and quietly she got out of bed, making sure Harrow remained asleep before hurrying over to the bathroom to shower, clean up, and wash her face before reapplying the paint. 

When she stepped back out of the bathroom, Harrow was still asleep and didn’t move the entire time it took Gideon to dress and slip out of their room. 

Canaan house was quiet as she wandered down the stairs and many halls. She glanced around at the moldering tapestries and paintings, faded almost to beyond recognition. She needed to have a look around at some point. This actually might be her best chance. She didn’t want to leave Harrow alone for a moment down in the laboratories below them and there was no way in hell she was going to be able to keep her away once she was awake. 

She stopped and glanced around. The dining hall was just around the corner but instead of taking the familiar path to the right, she went straight. Canaan House was a nest of rooms and corridors, of sudden courtyards and staircases that dripped down into lightless gloom and terminated in big, rusting doors beneath overhangs, ones that looked as though they would go clang no matter how quietly you tried to shut them. More than once Gideon turned a corner and found she was back at some landing she thought she had traveled miles and miles away from. Once she paused on a terrace outside, gazing at the rusting, hulking pillars that stuck up in a ring around the tower. The sea on one side was broken up with flat concrete landings like stepping-stones, set wet and geometric in the water, mummified in seaweed; the sea had covered up more structures long, long ago, and they looked like square heads with long, sticky hair, peering up suspiciously through the waves. Being outside made her feel dizzy, so she headed back inside. 

Besides a multitude of stairs and halls, Canaan also had the monopoly on doors. Everywhere Gideon looked had a door. There were doors - a multiplicity of doors - a veritable warehouse of doors: cupboard doors, metal autodoors, barred doors to dimly lit passageways beyond, doors half her height with no handles, doors half rotted so you could voyeuristically look through their nakedness to the rooms they didn’t hide. All these doors must have been beautiful, even the ones that led only to broom cupboards. Whoever had lived in the First House had lived in beauty once. The ceilings were still high and gracious, the plaster moldings still graceful ornaments, but the whole thing creaked and at one point Gideon’s boot went clean through a particularly soft bit of floorboard to empty space below. It was a death trap. 

She found herself traveling down a tiny set of cramped metal stairs. They led farther down than she had yet to go in the House of the First outside the laboratory hatch. They led down into the dimness of the House and to a vestibule where the lights hissed and fizzed, trying valiantly but failing to come to full brightness. She pushed open two, enormous, groaning doors, leading into an echo chamber. Something in the air reeked of chemicals, pungent and acrid. The scent seemed to be wafting from the giant, perfectly rectangular pit dominating the center of the room. It was surrounded by filthy, broken, and cracked tiles that reminded her of the waste disposal center back on the Sixth. There were metal ladders going down into the pit, but why would you though? 

She walked past the pit and peered through a set of grubby, glass double doors. From the other side of the room beyond, a hunched, cloaked figure peered back at her, and she reflexively went for her rapier: the hunched figure swiftly—identically—went for its own.

She sighed to herself and took her hand off the hilt. The figure followed. It was a damn mirror. She shook her head and pressed her face further to the glass. The room beyond had a flagstone floor, stones worn smooth from years and years of feet. There was a rusting basin and tap, where one lonesome towel had sat for God only knew how long, decayed to a waterfall of spiderous threads. Corroded swords were bolted to corroded panels on the wall. Through a window somewhere high up, the sunbeams poured down dust in golden torrents. Gideon would have dearly loved this training room in its prime, but she wouldn’t touch those rusted blades now if you paid her. 

Returning to the vestibule with the spitting lights, she noticed another door, set close to the staircase. She hadn’t seen it before because a tapestry covered it almost entirely, but one of the corners had slipped and hinted at the frame beneath. She pushed the moldering old tapestry aside to find a dark wooden door; she tried its handle, pulled it open, and stared. A long tiled corridor stared back, windowless, a succession of square lights in the ceiling whirring to life with a clunk … clunk … clunk … and tracing a path to an enormous door at the other end, totally out of place. Bracketed by heavy pillars, set with forbidding stone supports, the overall effect was not exactly welcoming. The door itself was a crossbar of black stone set in a beveled frame of the same. A weird relief was carved above the lintel, set within a molded panel. Gideon’s boots echoed down the shiny stone tiles as she came closer to see. The relief was five little circles joined with lines, in no pattern that Gideon recognized. Below this sat a solid stone beam with carved leaves swagged horizontally from one end to the other. At the apex of each swag was carved an animal’s skull with long horns, which curved inward into wicked points that almost met. Slim columns reached up to support this weird stone bunting, and wound around each column was something carved to seem writhing and alive—a fat, slithering thing, bulging and animal. Gideon reached out to touch the intricately carved marble and felt tiny overlapping scales, touched the seam where its ridged underbelly met its back. It was very cold. There was no handle, no knocker, no knob: just a dark keyhole, for teeth that would have been as long as Gideon’s thumb. She peered through the keyhole and saw—jack shit. Suffice to say, all pushing, gripping, finger inserting, and pressing was in vain. It was locked as damn. 

She hummed, inspecting it for a moment longer before going back the way she came. She couldn’t say why she did it, but she retacked the old rotten tapestry, concealing the door once more, and made a mental note to tell Harrow about it before she hurried back up the stairs. Her belly was still rumbling and no doubt Harrow would be up soon and if she didn’t feed her little bird-boned wife, no one would. 

It was just as she was once more nearing the dining hall that two people rounded the corner in front of her and stopped.

The Seventh.

The woman, leaning heavily on crutches, looked at Gideon and smiled but then it seemed to drop entirely, her eyes widening, but as quickly as the look had come over her face, it vanished, leaving Gideon wondering if she had imagined it. She was all smiles now, her hulking Cavalier trailing behind her, bulky and very quiet. 

“Oh, the Ninth! We haven't had a chance to properly be introduced,” she said, stopping in front of Gideon. “I’m Venus Septenarius. Newly appointed Duchess of Rhodes,” she introduced herself. "And this is Protesilaus Ebdoma, my Cavalier." The hulking man gave a stiff nod.

“Gideon Sise,” she nodded, bending at the waist in a shallow bow. “You’re one of Dulcie’s cousins?” she asked, and the Duchess smiled sadly and nodded. 

“Yes. Third-cousin in truth, but those of closer relation were all found… wanting after my dear cousin's death, it was such a mess," she said, shaking her head. Then, before Gideon could say anything, the woman was beset by a coughing fit. Just like the night before, Gideon could see the blood-flecked upon her lips.

“You have it too, don’t you, Lady Septenarius?” Gideon asked. “The blood cancer.”

Venus smiled ruefully and nodded. “The curse of my family,” she said. “In truth, I’m not any better off than my cousin before her death but here I am, answering the Emperor’s call for the Seventh. Likely, Canaan House will be where I have come to die… but what a beautiful place to do it, don't you think?” The Duchess cocked her head thoughtfully, staring into Gideon’s amber eyes. “You speak of her with a sense of familiarity. Did you know my cousin, Gideon the Ninth?” she asked. 

“A little, via letters. She and my former necromancer were… friends ,” she said.

“Former necromancer?” she asked curiously. 

“I’m from the Sixth. I was Cavalier secondary to Palamedes Sextus before joining the Ninth.” 

“Oh, now that sounds like an interesting tale.” She reached a frail and thin hand out to lay on Gideon's forearm. “Perhaps you could favor me with it over breakfast?” she asked, batting her blue eyes at Gideon, who blinked owlishly back at her.

“Uh, I’m not sure I–”

“Ah, there you are Gideon!” A voice suddenly called out and as if from nowhere, Pal and Cam were there, walking down the hall toward her and the dining hall. “Please do pardon us, Duchess, but we have some urgent matters to discuss with our friend,” Pal said to her, stopping and nodding his head in acknowledgment before Cam was pulling her along toward the dining hall. 

“Of course, Master Warden. Another time then, Ninth!” she called at their retreating forms, her eyes seemingly burrowing into Gideon even as they left. Something about it made Gideon uneasy. 

“Just going to stand there and let the Seventh flirt with you, hm?” Pal’s voice brought her back to the present.

“What?” she blinked. “She wasn’t flirting with me… was she?” she asked, looking between her two oldest friends. Cam gave her a deadpan look that Gideon knew well. “I didn’t even think it could be flirting. I’m married…” she said, following them. This made Pal chuckle.

“And Harrow is a very lucky woman to have a spouse that only has eyes for her… but it’s probably a good thing she wasn’t here to witness that, at least as far as Lady Septenarius is concerned. Where is she?” 

“Still asleep, I just came to get us breakfast. She really pushed herself in winnowing yesterday. I'm trying to get her to rest as long as possible before she inevitably drags me back down there,” she said, sitting at the table and waiting for a construct to bring her food. Pal nodded. 

“Yes, that sounds like Harrow. We’ll be heading back down after breakfast as well. I think I’ve finally worked out the theorem for the trial we’ve been working on.” He reached up and scratched his chin through the thick beard. He needed a trim, Gideon thought. “Oh, that reminds me though. What had her rushing off in a hurry last night?” he asked as Cam slid into the seat next to him with her food. 

“Oh… uh, just tried…” she murmured, turning her gaze to her food as a plate was set in front of her. She could feel Pal and Cam’s gaze on her.

“Are you certain? We are in this together, if something is going on, you can tell us,” he said and Gideon loved him, really she did, but there was no way in hell she was going to tell him Harrow had dragged her off to fuck her brains out. Harrow would have an aneurysm.

“Really, she was fine.” She looked hard at Cam, hoping to convey her message to her former co-cav. The message was received. 

“Warden,” she said, making Pal look at her. They shared a look and then Pal nodded.

“Very well. If anything changes, don’t hesitate to let us know,” he said, looking intently at her from across the table. Gideon nodded.

“I won’t,” she promised before shoving a bite of food in her mouth. 

She made quick work of devouring her breakfast and promising Cam and Pal they would meet up later to discuss the trials before grabbing some food Harrow would eat, as well as extra to stash in their room for later purposes, such as midnight snacking and headed back to their rooms.

She knew there was little chance the necromancer was still asleep but she had hoped. She stepped inside the room and didn't immediately see anyone. If Harrow was still asleep, Gideon intended to let her stay that way for as long as possible. She didn't get enough sleep on a normal day.

She lost track of the times she'd woken up in the middle of the night back on the Ninth to Harrow trying to slip out from beneath her arm and go back to her study.

Or just the times she'd have to drag her to bed to start with.

"Where have you been?" Harrow's voice made her jump. She spun around to find her diminutive wife standing in the open doorway of their bedroom, clean, dressed, and face repainted in a crisp and fresh sacramental skull.

"Food." She held up the satchel she'd made with the end of her robes, holding the food she'd brought back. Harrow's eyes narrowed. "Also did some exploring," she admitted and Harrow grunted, walking up to her as she laid the food on the little table near the ancient and dilapidated couch. Some bread, fruit, and dried meat.

"Wasting time," Harrow mumbled to herself and Gideon grunted, propping a hand on her hip and looking down at Harrow.

"First of all, eating is not a waste of time," she said. "Second, you promised me you would rest last night and what ended up happening was absolutely not rest…"

"I heard no complaints last night," Harrow sniffed, glancing at Gideon from the corner of her eye.

"No, no one is complaining, sugar lips. But you made me a promise," she said with a frown and heard Harrow sigh heavily through her nose. "So yes, I left you to sleep for as long as possible, ate, and got you some food." 

Harrow made a face even as she picked through the offerings. Gideon leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. 

"Eat and then I'll tell you about what I found," she said with a smirk. That did get Harrow's attention.

"What did you find?" She looked up at Gideon, who merely cocked a brow at her and pointed at the food on the table. Predictably, Harrow scowled but she did pick up a piece of butter slathered bread and started to eat.

"Where's your notebook?" Gideon asked and Harrow looked at her, silently chewing but she pulled it out of some hidden pocket within her robes and held it out to Gideon.

She only slightly grimaced at the sight of the leather but took it and flipped through it till she found the map. Her eyes scanned the pages, tracing the lines of the hall to where the door should be, and found it blank.

"Ah, you don't have it," she said, only for Harrow to suddenly crowd in to look at whatever she was looking at.

"What, what do I not have?" she asked impatiently, prompting Gideon to roll her eyes. 

"Here." She pointed with her finger at the map. "There's a hidden hallway with a locked door here. I found it this morning. It's covered by a tapestry," she said and Harrow perked, trying to snap back the book but Gideon held it just out of reach. "Finish your bread," she said. Harrow scowled.

"I would remind you that I am the adept and you the Cavalier," she said, voice tinged with annoyance as she glared.

"Yeah? Well, this isn't a Cavalier giving their necromancer orders, it's your wife telling you to take care of yourself." She glared back. 

They stared silently for several long seconds before Harrow, with all the defiance she could muster into the gesture, shoved the rest of the bread in her mouth. Gideon sighed and shook her head.

"Why thank you, honey bun." Gideon held the book back out to her and Harrow snapped it out of her hand. 

"Here?" she gestured to the map, still with a mouth full of bread, which she quickly swallowed. 

"Yes." Gideon nodded and reached for the water she'd also brought as Harrow pulled a small iron needle out of one of her pockets and jabbed it into her cheek before unceremoniously marking the place indicated with a bloody red cross and ‘203’. Gideon held out the water and Harrow accepted it. 

"Now, into the basement," she said, snapping the book closed and depositing both back into her robes. Gideon sighed, glancing at the uneaten food. Harrow cast her a sideways glance and grabbed a handful of fruit without a word and turned toward the door. Gideon smiled at her back before following her out of their room.

Chapter Text

Gideon was, in a word, exhausted.

She stood in the response chamber, sword held parallel to her body and her ax clutched at her side, tired but ready for an attack and biting her tongue bloody. It hurt like an absolute bitch and over the speakers, she could hear Harrow heave, trying to parse through Gideon’s wild and loud thoughts with pain now thrown into the mix, making it that much more difficult. The construct loomed in front of her, bones clinking and clanking, jaw stretched open in a soundless shriek. 

They had already failed twice now and Harrow wasn’t the only one reaching her limit. She didn’t doubt the necromancer’s abilities for a second. She had seen Harrow do many things that even Pal balked at, but apparently, whether she was trying to or not, her brain, her body and her soul, made cacophonous noises at the intruder in her skull. She was trying though. Trying to still her mind and spirit and make as easy on Harrow as she could.

Not that she really knew how to do either of those things in reality. 

Harrow was getting frustrated. Gideon could hear it in her voice. Mostly with herself and to her credit, she did not yell or berate Gideon, which did sometimes happen when Harrow was frustrated. 

The construct barreled forward and she leapt out of the wey, scraping up her left knee for the attempt, letting the construct go smashing into the wall, creating a cacophonous clatter of bone on metal. 

“Harrow,” she grunted. 

“Nearly…” Harrow’s voice crackled over the speakers. “The bitten tongue was good. Hold it off for a few seconds more. I know you can do this in your sleep, Griddle!” 

Gideon bit down on her tongue again, letting the pain distract her for as much as it could. A migraine had started to pound behind her eyes. Dots and sparks were flickering and fading in and out of her vision and for all the good either of her weapons was doing her, she may as well have just thrown them down and made laps around the room. Then the construct was back for more and this one she couldn’t avoid. A titanic blow from the construct bent her parry almost all the way back around to her head, and she moved with the blow rather than against as more of an afterthought.

“Just… a couple of seconds…” Harrow almost sounded like she was begging. 

She was feeling more nauseous by the second. She didn’t exactly know what Harrow was doing but she could feel something. There was an oily, warm feeling in the back of her throat and her tongue was running wet with spit and blood. When she looked at the construct now it was through a hazy overlay, as though she were seeing double. There was a sharp pain between her eyes as it hauled back its center of gravity and lurched…

“I can see it,” Harrow’s voice crackled. Her vision blurred, then spiked back abruptly into twenty-twenty color. Everything was brighter and crisper and cleaner, the lights harder, the shadows colder. When she looked at the construct it smoked in the air like hot metal—pale, nearly transparent coronas wreathed its malformed body. They simmered in different colors, visible if you squinted this way or that, and in admiring them Gideon nearly got her leg broken.

“Gideon!” Harrow’s voice blared over the speakers. 

Gideon took a hard dive out of the way of another low stab from one of the construct’s bladed arms and then rolled away, the construct following, stomping down hard where she had just been. “What do I do?!”

“Hit these in order! Left lateral radius!”

Gideon thanked the Emperor for all the in-depth skeletal anatomy lessons Harrow had made her sit through. She’d had a working knowledge of the skeleton before but now it was nearly textbook. She turned her focus to the too-thick joint of the left arm and was surprised to find one of those mirage-like lights there. She struck out and sliced straight through, as though her rapier were a hot knife through soft butter. The bladed arm clattered to the floor. 

“Bottom-right tibia, lower quadrant, near the notch,” said Harrow.

She snaked out of the way of the construct’s remaining blade and swung her ax, chopping easily through the bone and the halo of light that wreathed around it. It shattered, sending bits and pieces of fractured bone whizzing through the air. It did not regenerate. 

What followed became easier and easier. Side of the mandible. The eighteenth rib. She peeled the construct apart, removing the unseen strut mechanisms that turned it from monster into pathetic, jaw-clattering fuckup, some kid’s first attempt at bone magic without ever having taken a look at an anatomy chart. When at last the Reverend Daughter said, “Sternum,” Gideon was already there, raising her ax up where a slice of sternum glowed like a candle flame, and splintered it into dust. The construct collapsed. Gideon felt dizzy for just a second, and then it left her. The whole world brightened and sharpened.

All that remained was a chipped and cracked pelvis, slowly disintegrating like a pile of sand.

There was a pleasing, overhead beep and the door to Response whooshed open and remained open, letting through a Harrow so wet with bloodsweat that her hood was stuck to her forehead. Gideon was distracted by the pelvis as the sand crumbled and parted to reveal a gleaming black box. Its lead-coloured screen ticked up, 15 percent; 26 percent; 80 percent—until it swung open with a soft click to reveal a key. 

Harrow made a surprised little sound as Gideon bent down and picked it up. It was chunky and a deep, scarlet color. She pulled the key ring out of her shirt and slotted their prize onto it. It jangled quietly against the hatch key. 

“Ta-da,” she grinned, holding it up between them. They both admired it for a moment, pleased with their success. “I saw lights, when I was fighting it. Overlay. Bright spots, where you told me to hit, a glowing halo. Is that what thanergetic signatures always look like?” she asked and Harrow’s pleased look turned into open astonishment. 

“Do you mean,” her adept said slowly, “that there were things in the skeleton framework— mechanical lights, perhaps? Dyed segments?” 

“No, they were just… googly areas of light. I couldn’t really see them properly. Always a little out of focus,” she said. “I only saw them toward the end, when you were messing around.” 

“That’s not possible.”

Gideon frowned. “I know what I saw, Harrow.” 

“No, I’m sure you did… I mean to say, that shouldn’t be possible. For you to see thanergetic signitures….” Her dark brows were furrowed so deeply that they looked like they were on a collision course. “I thought I knew what the experiment was doing, but… well. I cannot assume.”

Gideon hummed and slid the key ring back into her shirt with a shrug. They were cold against her skin and when she looked up, Harrow was looking at her with wide, black eyes. The expression on her face was one Gideon had seen before, but it was rare and reserved only for some of those most fleeting and tender moments shared between them: total, unalloyed admiration. 

“W-what?” she blinked and Harrow shook her head.

“For the love of the Emperor, Gideon. You are a marvel with a sword,” she said and the awe in her voice made Gideon tingle pleasantly all over. Harrow didn’t dole out compliments like that all the time and Gideon ate it up. 

“Well, I mean, you knew I could fight. That’s why you wanted me, wasn’t it?” she scratched the back of her head after sheathing her weapons. Harrow scoffed. 

“I knew… I’ve seen, but this time I was in the privileged position of feeling you fight… it took me a while to work out what you were doing, longer still to appreciate it. I’ve seen you fight many times. Fought you many times… this was something else entirely,” she said. “And I wanted you for many reasons. First and foremost because I trust you with my life, beloved.” 

Warmth tingled from Gideon’s head down to her toes. She had to shake off the euphoric glow of it all. She still had a migraine and a multitude of scrapes and bruises. It didn't stop her from making a little jab.

"Are you turned on again?" Giddon asked with a smirk. Harrow huffed, eyes rolling but there was a ghost of a smirk pulling at her lips.

"You think much too highly of yourself," she said and Gideon made an offended sound.

"Look here Mrs. 'You're a marvel, your body never ceases to amaze me', my opinion of myself is well warranted. And don't think I didn't notice you not answering the question." She crossed her arms and glared. Harrow hummed, turning and walking out of response. She’d won but it didn’t feel like a victory in the slightest. Gideon grunted and followed her  "Now what?" she asked. 

Harrow glanced over her shoulder and smiled. This one she also recognized. That conspiratorial little smile that made her eyes glow like lit coals. 

“We have a key, Griddle,” she said exultantly. “Now for the door.” 

~ ~ 

They ran into Cam and Pal on their way back through the facility. They looked just as worn, sweaty and bloody as themselves.

"Success!" Pal beamed at them. Cam held up their keyring, holding the iron hatch key and a shiny golden key. 

"Oh, nice!" Gideon praised.

"We were also successful," Harrow jutted out her chin and Gideon took this as her cue to pull the keyring out of her bandeau and hold it out. Pal's eyes flickered over the key and nodded. 

"Congratulations are in order, Harrow. You completed winnowing then?" he asked and she nodded. The two of them quickly sunk into necromancer talk. Harrow, explaining the concept of the trial and Pal nodding along, looking thoughtful as they made their way out of the facility. Pal and Harrow spoke theorems back and forth at each other as they walked, growing increasingly theoretical and hard to follow. 

The late afternoon sun was shining onto Canaan House through the myriad of whole and broken windows that lined the walls and ceiling in some places. It was warm and showed glimpses of the wide blue sky. She looked up as they passed under a particularly hole-filled section of roof and gazed at the foreign blue sky that was so different not only from the Ninth but the Sixth. 

"Well, shall we have a quick midday meal and then see which doors our painstakingly gotten keys unlock?" Pal offered.

Gideon perked at the mention of food. Harrow took notice and, reluctantly, nodded. 

"We need to clean up first," Cam intoned and this prompted them to look down at themselves, covered in blood and sweat. In her and Harrow's instance, also bone dust.

"Meet in the dining hall in a half hour?" Gideon offered and her Sixth compatriots agreed. 

Which was how she found herself sunken in the tub up to her nose a mere ten minutes later. 

“We don’t have time for you to thoroughly soak your entire epidermis,” Harrow said as she waltzed into the bathroom and started stripping off her soiled robes. 

“There’s always time for a thorough epidermis soak,” Gideon insisted with a smirk, peering at Harrow over the edge of the tub till she was fully undressed. It was easy to forget how small Harrow was, always swathed in robes. Gideon had made some decent progress at putting a little more meat on her bones but she was still, and probably forever would be, all angles and hard edges from head to toe. 

“I can feel you staring,” the necromancer said, prompting Gideon to look up at her eyes. 

“Can you blame me?” she asked with a grin as Harrow slipped into the tub with her. She hardly displaced any water. 

“Blame? No. I would however question your choices. I have seen your collection of trash literature. I wouldn’t have ever pegged myself as your type,” she said, her back to Gideon, who hummed to herself.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought so either,” she admitted and started lathering soap through Harrow’s hair. Her adept grunted but submitted to it. “But here we are. Me and you, my darling, dismal spouse,” Gideon said as she drug her fingers through Harrow’s hair, gently scratching her scalp. She let out a low, pleased hum that made Gideon smile to herself. 

“Here we are,” Harrow echoed quietly and after Gideon had rinsed the soap from her hair, spun around to face her, water sloshing out the sides of the tub as she did. Gideon cocked a questioning eyebrow at her. “Lean down,” she commanded and Gideon smiled, choosing to keep her mouth shut as she ducked her head to allow Harrow to lather the soap in her hair, eyes closed. Thin fingers slid through her hair with careful and purposeful movements. At first. After a few minutes, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how Harrow’s fingers roamed through her hair. 

“I thought we didn’t have time to fuck around?” Gideon asked with a knowing smirk, a gold eye popping open to look at Harrow, whose eyes were glued to her face. 

“We don’t.” Then she shoved Gideon’s head under the water. She resurfaced spitting and spluttering. “Now let us be quick, lest we leave Sextus and Hect waiting.” She smirked 

Gideon grumbled to herself as they finished their bath and dressed before heading up to the dining room. 

The dining room was mostly empty, save the three little First House priests sitting at one section of the long table by themselves and Magnus, standing next to Cam and Pal seated at the table.

“Gideon! Lady Nonagesimus!” The Cavalier of the Fifth beamed at the two of them as they approached. “How fortuitous you’re here, I have an invitation for you,” he said, holding out a little rectangle to them. 

“An invitation?” Gideon asked, taking the proffered square. It was a plain, heavy envelope - real paper, creamy brown with ‘Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus & Cavalier Primary Gideon Sise’. 

“We got fan mail,” Gideon chuckled, waving the envelope at Harrow, who scoffed even as Magnus laughed. 

“I’m afraid it’s simply an invitation to dinner tonight. Mine and Abby’s fourteenth wedding anniversary,” he said. “I do hope you can make it,” he said to them and then looked at the Sixth with a nod. “Now, I have to be off and finish delivering these.” He smiled and tipped his head before heading out of the dining hall. 

They sat down across from Pal and Cam and opened the envelope.

LADY ABIGAIL PENT AND SIR MAGNUS QUINN

  IN CELEBRATION OF THEIR FOURTEENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY

PRESENT THEIR COMPLIMENTS TO THE HEIR AND CAVALIER PRIMARY

  OF THE NINTH HOUSE 

AND REQUEST THE HONOR OF THEIR COMPANY THIS EVENING. 

DINNER TO BE SERVED AT SEVEN O’CLOCK.

Underneath in hasty but still beautifully-formed handwriting was another note: 

Don’t be affrighted by the wording, Abigail can’t resist a formal invitation, at home I am practically issued one for breakfast. Not at all a serious function & would be deeply pleased if you could both see fit to come. I will make dessert, Gideon knows I can cook better than I duel.—M.

“Please!?” Gideon turned to look at Harrow, clutching the invitation to her chest, already knowing that her wife was a single breath from vetoing the idea. Gideon batted her eyes and stuck out her lips. Harrow pursed her lips.

“This is not a social season, Gideon, it is a rigorous trial of necromantic prowess!” she hissed and Gideon pouted. 

“We’re going,” Pal threw in with a smile. Harrow’s head whipped to look at him. Cam nodded.

“He does make excellent dessert,” she said. Gideon could have kissed them both. 

“Come on, please? We gotta eat dinner either way,” Gideon said.

“Speak for yourself,” Harrow grunted. 

“I have to eat and make you eat dinner either way,” she amended her statement and Harrow glared. 

“She has a point… in that you have to eat dinner regardless, Harrow, you might as well make a polite showing,” Pal added and Harrow’s dark gaze flickered to him a moment before she scowled and turned her attention back to Gideon.

“Fine,” she bit out. 

“Yes!” Gideon pumped a fist.  

“Well, with that decided, shall we eat?” he asked. 

Chapter Text

“So… which door does this unlock?” Gideon asked as the four of them left the dining hall and held up their crimson key as they ventured down the deserted halls of Canaan. 

“That, is an excellent question,” Harrow said and spun around. “Let me see it,” she said and Gideon deposited it into her hand. She looked it over carefully, Pal standing at her side and peering at it. 

“Do you see that?” he asked, pointing at something on the head of the key and Harrow nodded. 

“Look,” she said, looking up at Gideon, who stared at her. Her black eyes were deep and black as ever, reflecting the bright sunlight around them, showing their true tint of deepest brown. Her paint was still fresh and impeccably applied from after their bath and Gideon internally bemoaned how the white greasepaint hid the natural angles and curves of her wife’s face, including the pretty and vicious slant of her mouth, that also, unfortunately, often tasted of paint. She had gotten used to it though. Even all Ninth and spooky she was still beautiful to Gideon. 

Her thoughts must have been plain on her face because Harrow pursed her lips, the tips of her ears turning a telling color and Pal cleared his throat. A not at all convincing cover for his chuckle. 

“...At the key, Griddle," she grumbled.

“Oh…” Gideon looked at the head of the key. Harrow was holding the thing upside down for inspection. At the butt end, where the teeth terminated, a tiny carving had been made in the metal. It was a collection of dots joined together with a line and two half circles. “It’s the sign on my door,” said Gideon.

“You mean X-203?” she asked and Gideon nodded. 

“Your door?” Pal intoned and Gideon nodded, explaining that she had found a hidden door that morning while she had been exploring Canaan. 

“Fascinating and fortuitous timing at that.” He smiled. “We have our key as well but we still don’t yet know what door it opens, so lead the way.” He gestured and Gideon nodded

Harrow nearly trembled with eagerness as they made their way to the door, down the halls and the cramped, metal staircase. 

Gideon pulled aside the tapestry to reveal a door and Harrow didn’t hesitate to pull it open and disappear inside. They carefully pulled the pastry back down and closed the door behind them.

Weirdly, her palms were slick with anticipation as they stood in front of the enormous black door. The animal skulls were as eerie and unwelcoming as they had been that morning; the writhing fat figure curled around each column as creepy and as cold. Harrowhark set her hands on the black stone crossbar of the door almost reverently, and pressed her ear to the rock as though she could hear what was going on inside. Pal also was closely examining the pillars and animal skulls with wide, childlike wonder, a notebook already held between his hands as he jotted notes at an inhuman speed. They would be near undecipherable chicken scratch to anyone but herself, Cam and him. She had spent years learning to decode his excited scratching. A thing for which she was glad Harrow didn’t do. Yes, it was tiny, spidery and crammed together on any given page, but it was still, mostly, legible. 

Gideon pulled the keys out of her shirt and started to hold them out to Harrow, the two keys jingled together merrily but quietly. 

"Gideon," Harrow looked over her shoulder at her Cavalier. "Open it." 

Gideon blinked. "You don't want the honors?" she asked. Harrow shook her head. 

"If the first trial has taught me anything, it's that there seems to be a certain decorum in place here. An etiquette that must be adhered to. You worked just as hard as I for the key and the key ring is yours. You must open it." She stood aside and Gideon shrugged and slid the key into the lock. The lock clicked open as easily as if it had been kept oiled for the last ten thousand years. Without the slightest creak or groan of hinge, the door swung inward at a push. Cam moved to her side, the necromancers at their back and slipped their rapiers from their belts, ax and dagger in their offhands and walked into the darkness.

It was dark. They did not dare go farther into the quiet and shadowy stillness, thrown into deeper quiet by one of the necromancers slipping in behind them and pushing the massive door shut. They stood in the room and could smell the age of it. The dust and the chemicals hanging in the air. You could almost smell the darkness. Harrow’s voice, almost a whisper: “A light, Griddle.” 

“What?” 

“You did bring a torch didn’t you?” her wife’s voice floated quietly through the darkness. 

“This is a service I was unaware I was meant to provide,” said Gideon. Harrow sighed. 

There was a click and then light flooded the small area around them. Gideon turned and squinted at Pal in the dark. His glasses glared back, the rest of him shadowed in darkness behind his lifht. The beam from the torch turned to the wall, highlighting a switch. A hand reached out and flicked it. 

Electric lights blared to life overhead, throwing the dark and lonely room into knife-sharp relief. Gideon didn’t know what she’d expected. She stood, rooted to the ground, and so did Harrow; and for long moments they just got their fill of looking. It was a study, left crystallized by someone who had one day stood up and never come back to the place where they must have worked for years. It was a long, square, spacious apartment, windowless, but beautifully lit. A long rail of electric lamps threw spotlights on important points in the room’s geography. One end of the room was occupied by a laboratory: stained, scoured-laminate benches, and shelves and shelves of notes in leather-bound books or ring binders. The big metal sink and the scrubbing up brush looked strange against the walls, which were inlaid with bones. A pot was still full of fat chalk sticks to draw diagrams, and the flasks of preserved blood were still full and very red. Tacked up over one bench were thick sheaves of flimsy, dark with graphs and models: one of the flimsies was a rough drawing of a familiar chimera, many armed, armor ribbed, squat skulled. There were jeweled tools. There were epoxy spatulas that had been melted in some experiment. There was a blown-up picture on the wall—a lithograph, or a polymer photograph—of a group of people clustered around a table. Their faces had all been scribbled out with a thick black marker pen.

When the lights had come on, the hair on the back of Gideon’s neck had stood on end and it remained so as they moved into the study. 

“Fascinating,” Pal mumbled as he and Harrow moved toward the laboratory. Gideon looked at Cam, who nodded toward a staircase, leading to an upper level. She nodded and the two former Co-Cavaliers made their way up only to find a strangely disarming sight. A bookcase, a low table, a squat armchair, and two beds. On the table was a teapot and two cups that lay abandoned forever. The two beds were close to each other—if you lay in one, you could stretch out and touch whoever was sleeping in the other, provided you had a long arm—separated only by a nightstand. On the nightstand was another lamp, and debris that people had never cleared up. A very old watch. An empty glass. A filament-fine silver bracelet with no clasp. A shallow, greasy glass dish full of grey stuff like ashes. Gideon could tell they weren’t cremains, and when she touched them a strong scent clung to her fingers. Cigarette ash. Really, really old cigarette ash. The pillows had been smoothed out on the carved wooden cots, and the beds had been made. Someone had left a pair of extremely worn slippers beneath one, a crumpled piece of flimsy next to the nightstand. Gideon picked up the latter as Cam inspected the night stand, pulling open the drawers. 

Pal and Harrow both made excited sounds, making their Cavalier’s heads spin to see what the commotion was about. 

They were by the workbench staring at two great stone tablets that had been fused to the stone, shot through with pale green filaments glowing beneath their touch. The writing was small and cramped and the diagrams totally impenetrable in their obtuseness. Harrow was already pulling out her journal while Pal pawed at the thing with reverence. “It’s the theorem from the trial room,” he called out.

“It’s the completed methodology for transference—for the utilization of a living soul. It’s the whole experiment,” Harrow said, jotting notes down like mad. 

“The work is marvelous,” Pal breathed and Harrow nodded emphatically. Gideon turned back to Cam and shrugged before they inspected the night stand. Sitting in the drawer, offensively ordinary, were three pencils, a finger bone, a coarse sharpening stone—bones and whetstones were beginning to feed her growing suspicion about who’d lived there—and an old, worndown seal. She stared at the seal awhile: it was the crimson-and-white emblem of the Second House.

Gideon looked up and the two Cavaliers shared a knowing look. 

“I’ve copied it all down,” Harrow declared and turned toward the stairs as they came down. “Did you find anything of import upstairs?” she asked, looking at Gideon. 

“A cav and their necro lived here.” she said and Pal, still groping the tablet, nodded. 

“Yes, we’ve come to the same conclusion. Camilla, come, take a look at this!” Pal shouted excitedly and Cam, dutifully as always, went.  

“Anything else?” Harrow asked as the Sixth stood over the tablets. Gideon nodded.

“There’s a seriously old Second House sigil in one of the top drawers. An adept and Cav from the Second House,” she nodded toward the stairs and Harrow hummed, making her way over there while Gideon uncrumpled the little piece of paper she’d found. It was part of a note that had—at some long ago point—been ripped up, and this was just one scrunched corner.

ut we all know the sad + trying realit

 is that this will remain incomplete t

 the last. He can’t fix my deficiencies her

 ease give Gideon my congratulations, howev 

Gideon frowned hard at the little slip of paper. Her own name staring back at her on an ancient piece of flimsy in a random room. She thought about calling out to Harrow but decided it could wait. This didn’t seem relevant to what they were doing… even if it kinda gave her the creeps.

They combed over the detritus of two strangers’ lives; inside a forgotten tin Gideon found two expired toothbrushes. They were electronic ones, with revolving heads and push buttons. “These aren’t just seriously old, they’re ancient,” she said.

“Oh, let me see.” Pal moved over to them and carefully took one in his hands. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. She knew that look. Pyschometery. 

“You’re right, Gideon. Around nine-thousand years old, give or take… incredible.” They spent a while combing through everything before the two necromancers declared there was nothing left of worth, at least for Harrow, for them to find. Cam and Gideon had to drag Palamedes away from where he had been looking at the toothbrushes again. 

It was nearly dinner time and they agreed to meet back in the dining hall. 

Gideon sat on the dilapidated couch in their rooms and watched Harrow fuss with great amusement. She put on her best and most senescent Ninth robes, and became a skinny black stick swallowed by night-coloured layers of Locked Tomb lace. She fiddled with long earrings of bone in front of the mirror and repainted her face twice. It was with a sudden realization that Harrow was nervous, maybe even frightened. Of what, Gideon had some guesses. Outside herself and her Sixth comrades, Harrow didn’t have much experience in the way of socializing. 

“There’s nothing to be worried about, babe,” she tried to soothe as Harrow readied herself for the evening. “It’s just dinner…”

‘It’s dinner with the heads of the other Houses, Griddle!” Harrow reminded with a hiss through clenched teeth. 

“So? You’ve been throwing and running fancy, formal things on the Ninth since you were a kid, right? What’s the big deal?” she asked with a frown. Harrow finally spun around to face her.

“The big deal is these are not penitents of the Locked Tomb! They do not hang on my every word as gospel. I am not blind to how they look at us. Me more than anything. They are judging me. My house… everything,” she, turned back to the mirror and stared at her reflection quietly. 

Gideon stood and moved to stand behind her. Those lightless irises flicked up to her in the mirror’s reflection.  

“You’re right,” she said simply and Harrow tensed. Gideon wrapped her arms around Harrow’s waist and pulled her back against her. “They are, but that’s what they do. That’s what people do. It’s gonna be fine, cause you’re the baddest bone bitch I know,” she said with a grin, leaning down to press her cheek to Harrow’s and met her eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “I see that smile,” Gideon chuckled and Harrow scoffed, turning her eyes away, but the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth did not abate. “Ready to go?” she asked and Harrow nodded, straightening out her skirts after Gideon released her. She held out her elbow and Harrow looked at it, brow cocked. 

“That’s not very appropriate for a Cavalier,” she said even as she took hold of the crook of Gideon’s arm.

“No, but you have the grave misfortune, melancholy  mistress, of being married to your cav.” Gideon smirked as they left their rooms. Harrow only rolled her eyes, if she was still smiling, Gideon didn't mention it.

Chapter Text

You came!” said Magnus Quinn with a beaming smile when he saw them enter the dining hall. Unlike some of the other Houses, he was much too well bred to even blink twice at their exemplary examples of Ninth House clergy. Black robes and faces painted even fancier than usual. Gideon’s being done by Harrow before she’d even done her own. The Chain was an incredibly complicated Ninth house skull and Gideon liked the way it looked, but for the life of her could not replicate it herself. Harrow claimed that some day it would be second nature. “I’m so pleased you’re wearing your, ah, glad rags; I was convinced I’d be the only one dressed up, and would have to sit resplendently among you all, feeling a bit of an idiot,” he said and brushed a hand over his brown, long-coated suit and Gideon chuckled. 

“Don’t you worry, Magnus. The Ninth always shows up dressed to the Nines and with ankle bones on.” She grinned and Magnus laughed mightily at the joke before turning to Harrow. 

“Reverend Daughter,” he said, and he bowed very deeply to Harrow. “Thank you for coming.”

“Blessings on the Cavalier of the Fifth. Congratulations on the fourteenth year of your espousal,” she said, trying to sound sincere and Gideon mentally thanked her for trying, even if she only just stopped herself from rolling her eyes at espousal. 

Magnus seemed nonplussed and smiled, nodding his head. “Indeed! Yes! Thank you! It was actually yesterday. By happy accident I remembered and Abigail forgot, so in her resulting angst she wanted to make me dinner. I suggested we all benefit.”

The dining room off the atrium looked as it ever did, but with certain festive additions. The napkins had all been folded very carefully and some mildly yellowing tablecloth had come out of deep storage. There were correctly articulated place cards by each bright white plate. They were led into the back where Gideon could see Abigail, apron on and fretfully moving about the kitchen.

“Abby, The Ninth has arrived!” he called. She looked up and upon seeing them, lit up with a wide smile. 

“How wonderful!” she moved quickly across the room and Gideon smiled as she was wrapped up in a big hug, as through they hadn’t seen each other the other morning at breakfast. “Thank you for coming this evening.” 

Harrow nodded. “Thank you, Lady Pent, for extending this invitation to the Ninth.” 

“Of course! The more the merrier. I hope we get the chance to speak again sometime tonight, but I really must finish cooking first, so if you’ll excuse me,” she said and turned back to the stove before anything could boil over. 

They exited the kitchen just as the Third and the Sixth appeared in the doorway at the same time. Even from here, Gideon could see Pal and Coronabeth sizing each other up. Nothing was said though before Teacher walked right up to them and started speaking to the crown Princess and Pal. Gideon nudged Harrow but she was looking at the table and her tenseness had been ratcheted up to eleven. 

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, leaning down. 

“We are not seated together,” was the terse reply. Only then did Gideon look at the place cards and found that no, they were not. 

“Well, this should be interesting,” she hummed. Harrow’s puckered face told her that she found absolutely nothing about it interesting. 

“Time for the main event!” Teacher suddenly declared and Gideon reached over and gave Harrow’s hand a brief squeeze.

“You’ll be fine, sweet thing,” she whispered. Harrow squeezed back.

~ ~ ~ 

They were separated, and Gideon found herself elbow to elbow between Palamedes - thank goodness - and the dour, Cavalier nephew of the Eighth. Less goodness. Venus Septenarius was sitting right across from her and when Gideon met her gaze, she blew her a kiss and Gideon’s eyes nearly bugged out of head. She could only pray to the Emperor that Harrow had not seen that. Pal did, however and bless him, seemed to take offense on Harrow’s behalf. 

“Lady Septenarius, how long has it been since you took the mantle of Duchess of Rhodes?” he asked, hands on the table in front of him. Blue eyes turned to him. 

“Oh, only about six months now. There has been much to do and straighten out since it’s been so long since my cousin succumbed to the family curse…,” 

“Yes, I remember it,” Pal said, fingers curling up into a loose fist atop the table. Gideon knocked her foot gently against his under the table and he looked up at her and smiled, a small one but a smile. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Well, allow me to help you become acquainted with the current state of your fellow scions. Gideon here, as I believe she told you, was once of the Sixth, but has become Ninth since marrying The Reverend Daughter.” 

“Oh, so that’s how you came to be Ninth?” her eyebrows rose ever so slightly and blue eyes flickered to the other end of the table where Harrow sat. She had been placed at the other end of the table diagonal to the mayonnaise uncle and opposite was Ianthe. To the other diagonal was Protesilaus, completing one of the worst tableaus in history; Naberius Tern was to Harrow’s left and was carrying on some long communication with Ianthe conducted entirely in arched eyebrow quirks. She looked enraged and was staring right back at the Duchess, who smiled and wiggled her fingers in a wave. 

Welp, Harrow had definitely seen the blown kiss. 

“She looks a bit upset," the Duchess hummed. The frown on her lips lasted no more than a second before she turned back to Gideon and smiled.

"That must be a fascinating story and I'd love to hear it if you have the time to indulge me," she smiled at Gideon.

"Oh, uh…" She was saved from answering by Magnus standing from his seat and clinking his spoon against his water glass. The conversations, which were terminal to start with, convulsed to a halt. “Before we begin,” he said, “a short speech.” The three First House priests looked as though they had never wanted anything so much in their lives as a short speech. “I thought I’d, er,” he began, “say a few words to bring us all together. This must be the first time in—a very long time that the Houses have been together like this. We were reborn together but remain so remote. So I thought I’d point out our similarities, rather than our differences. “What do Marta the Second, Naberius the Third, Magnus the Fifth, Camilla the Sixth, Protesilaus the Seventh, Colum the Eighth, and Gideon the Ninth all have in common?” You could have heard a hair flutter to the floor. Everyone stared, poker-faced, in the thick ensuing silence. Magnus looked pleased with himself. “The same middle name,” he said.

Coronabeth laughed so hard that she had to honk her nose into a napkin. Someone was explaining the joke to the salt-and-pepper priest, who, when they got it, said “Oh, ‘the’!” which started Corona off again. The Second, entombed in dress uniforms so starched you could fold them like paper, wore the tiny smiles of two people who’d had to put up with Cohort formal dinners before. Gideon could relate. She'd been to many boring dinners on the Sixth over the years. Harrow had also made her sit through a number of dinners just in the three months between leaving the Sixth and joining the Ninth.

Two skeletal servants bearing giant tureens. Under Abigail’s direction, they filled everyone’s bowl with good-smelling grain, white and fluffy, boiled in onion broth. Little drifts of chopped nuts and tiny tart red fruits were scattered throughout. It was hot and spicy and good. Gideon savored every bite and glanced over at Harrow, who was picking through hers. Gideon felt for her tiny terror. With her sensitive palate, no way would Harrow enjoy the soup. She caught her wife's eye and smiled reassuringly at her, half listening to Pal at her elbow talk about the distinction between Warden and scholar. Her mouth quirked in an almost smile and that was nearly as good as one in Gideon’s book. 

"Gideon here knows. She's a scholar as you well know." Her former necromancer turned to her and Gideon blinked, looking at Pal, who was talking to Judith Deuteros of all people.

"Huh?" she eloquently answered and Pal smiled ruefully. 

"I was telling the Captain about the academic ranks of the Sixth,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.” She nodded. 

"I have been meaning to ask, Sise, about your relocation to the Ninth and how you acquired the position of Cavalier Primary," the scion of the Second asked, still sitting stiff as a board as she moved her spoon around in her soup.

"Got hitched." She jerked her thumb over in Harrow's direction. "And the death of the former Ninth Cav left an opening that needed to be filled,"

"And who better to fill it than a former Primary?" Pal asked with a smile. Judith hummed. 

"Last I had checked, Sise was Secondary on the Sixth," she said before taking a careful sip of her soup and giving them both a look.

Pal's brows furrowed. "Perhaps on paper," he hummed and Judith's mouth curled with disdain.

"What's on paper is all that matters. That's imperial law. I would think the Master Warden of the Sixth would agree with what is writ," she said and Pal scoffed, earning a darker look from Judith.

"There's more to life than the writ of law, Captain," he said. "Regardless, Gideon has left the library for marital bliss," Pal smirked at her and Gideon rolled her eyes. "She's very much missed at home but we're all very happy for her," he said.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Judith turned to Gideon, quickly smoothing the sour look off her face. Gideon nodded.

"Thanks. It's been… a time," she chuckled. 

"Oh? Surely you’re not saying the Reverend Daughter is…. difficult to live with?" Venus Septenarius suddenly spoke up from across the table from Gideon, cocking a brow.

"What? No, no..."

"I've met black vestals before. They aren't exactly the most… carefree or fun lot. Of course I mean no offense by that." Venus shook her hands in front of her just before a small coughing fit wracked her body. Pal was quick to pass her a napkin, which she used to dab at the blood speckled across her lips. "Please, pardon me.” She wiped at her mouth and then held the napkin in her lap before turning her attention back to Gideon. “As I was saying, I don’t mean any offense, Ninth, pardon me if it came across as such. I just know that the ones I’ve met have been very… serious and dour types. You’re from the Sixth, I imagine it’s a very different place, isn’t it?” she asked and Gideon frowned, swallowing a mouthful of soup. 

“Well, it’s different, yeah. Harrow isn’t difficult. She can be… intense at times for sure. Maybe a little moody and disappears into her work but… that’s all necromancers I’ve met.” She shrugged and Venus nodded her head in agreement. 

“We do have a certain proclivity about us,” she admitted with a quiet giggle, eyelids drooping low and Gideon knew a flirtatious look when she saw one. She dutifully ignored it. 

“Maybe I’d look at it totally differently if I had been born on the Ninth,” she hummed before slurping down the rest of her meal.

“Instead of the Sixth?” she cocked her head as Gideon wiped her mouth with a napkin. 

“Well, if we’re being technical, I wasn’t born on the Sixth either,” she said and Venus’ brows rose ever so slightly. 

“You were born in another House?” she asked and Gideon shrugged. 

“Maybe? I touched down on the Sixth in a biocontainer attached to my braindead mother. No idea where I came from.” 

“Fascinating. Did your mother have those eyes?” she asked suddenly and Gideon blinked said eyes. “Lipochrome, a recessive gene. Very rare,” she said with a breathy air. 

“Uh, no, she didn’t…” Gideon squirmed a little in her seat. There was something about the way the Duchess was looking at her that made her feel… uneasy. 

Before much else could be said, dessert was brought out and Venus was caught up in conversation with Abigail and Pal, something about lyctoral documents. She was tucking into her dessert and turning to look at how Harrow was fairing. She was sipping from her water glass, and looking quite miserable. Hopefully they could make a polite exit soon. 

Afterward there was a tray of the hot, grassy tea to clear the mouth, and the various Houses stood around with warm cups in their hands to watch the skeletons clear up. She made a beeline for Harrow, who was standing in the corner, talking to Teacher in low tones.

“Hey, you ready to go?” she asked once Harrow had finished speaking with the little priest. She was not prepared for the hard look that was shot in her direction. Nor the quiet yes, packed with all the chill of the lowest level of Drearburh. Gideon blinked, mouth slightly agape at the tone. Harrow turned and started toward the door, Gideon followed after.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she whispered but Harrow did not deign to answer.

Magnus caught them leaving and waved. “Thanks for coming, Gideon, Reverend Daughter,” he called and Gideon stopped just long enough to say goodbye and pat the older Cavalier on the back, exchanging brief and hushed well wishes before hurrying off after Harrow, moving briskly down the halls in a flurry of black lace and robes.

“Harrow, where’s the fire?” she asked, trailing quickly after her. She just made an aggravated noise and kept walking. Gideon frowned at the back of her hood covered head and just followed her back to their quarters. Once the door had shut however, she was right behind her. “Are you going to tell me what is wrong?” she asked with no small amount of aggravation as she watched Harrow pull off her hood and stalk over to the vanity. 

“Forgive me, am I being moody and intense?” she asked acidly, glaring at Gideon over her shoulder. Gideon pursed her lips, everything suddenly coming into sharp focus. 

“I don’t know why you’re mad about that… you are moody and intense, I didn’t say either of those things were bad, Harrow,” she sighed and Harrow scowled. 

“Of course not… those just happened to be the words you used to defend me while conversing with the Seventh while she blatantly flirted with you,” she snapped, spinning around to face Gideon. 

“I wasn’t flirting back!” She threw up her hands. 

“No, you were just disparaging me to her while she made insipid doe eyes at you!” she snapped. 

“I wasn’t!” she bellowed, not sure what she was supposed to do or say. “I was just trying to make polite conversation!”

“Then why don’t you go back to the dining hall and you can have more ‘polite’ conversation with her,” Harrow snarled before spinning on heel and stalking into their bedroom. The door slammed shut and Gideon was left standing in the middle of the room, alone, aggravated and confused about what had just happened. 

She sighed and slumped onto one of the chairs, full and suddenly exhausted. 

“This is exactly what I meant by moody,” she mumbled quietly to herself. What was she supposed to do? Tell her off? ‘No, don’t blow kisses and flirt with me, I’m a happily married woman and my wife is perfect.’

That first part was true, but the second? Harrow was far from perfect and even she could admit that, Gideon loved her anyway, just like she assumed Harrow loved her despite her own flaws. 

Like apparently not telling the Duchess not to flirt with her at dinner. This was apparently an unforgivable fault. 

She sighed and reached up and dragged a hand through her hair. The promise of a nice evening evaporated like so much space dust. 

She sat there, stewing when the bedroom door opened and Harrow appeared, gone now was her fancy Ninth party garb, replaced with her normal robes. She made a beeline for the door and Gideon stood. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, not even really expecting Harrow to answer. She surprised her. 

“The facility,” she said tightly. 

“Harrow, it’s late and we pushed it today getting the key we’ve got… can’t you just res-”

“I don’t have time for ‘rest’, Griddle. I need to unravel the mysteries of lyctorship. My House is depending on me. I don’t expect you to understand,” she snipped and Gideon frowned. 

“That’s not fair, Harrow. I know you’re mad at me but I’m Ninth now too. I became Ninth and left the only home and family I've ever known so I could help you,” she said to her wife’s turned back. Harrow was still and quiet. “Let’s just rest tonight and we can get back at it first thing in the morning,” she offered. Harrow’s shoulders tensed before she looked over her shoulder at Gideon with no anger, just cold and impersonal.

“You can rest if you want. I’m going.” She said opened the door. 

Gideon sighed silently and followed after her.  

Chapter Text

The walk down to the facility was tensely quiet and awkward. At least for Gideon. Harrow didn't make a single noise outside the sound of her boots on the old floor as she walked, along with the occasional swish of fabric and quiet tinkle of her bone accouterments. 

Gideon chewed on the inside of her cheek, wondering what she was supposed to say? She hadn't even done anything! She hadn't done any of the flirting, it had been done to her!

She silently sighed as she followed more than the customary half a step behind Harrow. She was definitely walking her little legs fast enough to avoid it and Gideon just let her, trailing several feet behind. When they got to the hatch, Harrow had to wait for Gideon to walk up and pull out her keyring to open it, but then she quickly descended the ladder into the darkness. Gideon followed. Once at the bottom, the lights flickered on with heavy 'th-thunks' and then buzzed quietly overhead. 

She followed Harrow down the long halls, it was quiet, save for them moving down the hall.

She wanted to say something… but what? 

They moved about the facility in that same tense silence for the better part of an hour. Harrow carded through things in the main vestibule when steps made them both look up. Out of habit, Gideon's hand moved to the hilt of her rapier, fingers curling around the polished black metal as they grew closer, shoulders tense.

Then Pal's head popped out around the corridor and all the tension melted out of her. 

"I should have known we would run into the two of you down here," Pal smiled. 

"Sextus," Harrow said tersely before moving down towards the laboratories. Pal cocked a brow at her and Gideon sighed once more. She was doing that a lot this evening. 

"Is something the matter?" Pal asked quietly as he and Cam sidled up beside Gideon, who made a face.

"She's mad at me," she said flatly. 

"What for?" Cam cocked a brow and Pal hummed, adjusting his glasses. 

“Could it be the Duchess’ flirting and perhaps that you told her your wife and adept was ‘moody and intense’ at dinner?” he asked.

“You didn’t…” Cam looked at her like she was an idiot. Gideon threw out her hands, fingers clasping at nothing.

“What? She is! She is the most intense person I’ve ever known, and as far as moody goes…,” she whisper-hissed, flinging her hand out in the direction her spouse had vanished, as if it was self explanatory. 

“True, yes.” Pal nodded along. “But still, if I may be so bold as to suggest that, knowing Harrow as I do, and yes prickly as she is - which you should also know quite well - that you hurt her feelings.”

“I wasn’t trying to, what was I supposed to do?” she asked.

“Lie,” Cam said flatly. Pal nodded in agreement. 

“Yes, in this instance, lie. Lie like your life depends on it. We all know how Harrow is and personally, I find her delightful, if trying at times, I can admit. I’m sure she finds me much the same. But she is a friend and a colleague. You are her wife, and more than that, you were speaking to a woman clearly coming onto you. 

“It wasn’t-” 

“No, I know you didn’t exactly say negative things… but I believe that were I in your position, I’d prefer to hear my spouse say flattering things to someone hitting on them rather then naming my more… trying qualities. What if one of the other Cavaliers had been hitting on Harrow?” he asked. “Would you really mind hearing her say to Naberius ‘No, Gideon’s not difficult. She’s just impatient and thick-headed at times’?” Gideon pursed her lips. She already knew the answer and Pal could see it on her face. “Exactly,” he said without waiting for a reply. 

Then he turned and followed the direction Harrow had gone, Cam and Gideon following along behind him. 

She didn’t even realize she had fallen into the standard Cavalier’s half a step behind him at first. It was second nature, she’d been doing it almost all her life after all. It tugged at a spot in her heart but at the same time she wanted to be walking a half-step behind Harrow and not being frozen out. 

She frowned at the floor and then felt a nudge. She looked up at Cam, looking back at her with.

“Apologize,” she said flatly and Gideon nodded. Then, in a more jovial tone, she said “Maybe it’ll help if you get on your knees and beg?” she suggested and Gideon couldn’t help but snort at that while Cam smirked.

She did miss this though. Gideon nudged her with her elbow. 

“So, what brought you two down here so suddenly?” she asked. 

“After such a good meal and delightful company, I felt reenergized and ready to have another look,” Pal said over his shoulder to her. “What about you? Especially considering…” 

“She was going to come by herself. Mostly to get away from me…” Gideon frowned and Pal nodded.

Speaking of, they found Harrow having wandered down the passageway marked LABORATORY SEVEN–TEN, a tunnel identical to the one they had taken to LABORATORY ONE–THREE. This time the creaks and ancient moans of the building seemed very loud, their footsteps a huge addition to the cacophony. In the middle of a passage past the first laboratory rooms the grille on the floor had been staved in, cracked right down the middle to come to rest on hissing pipes. A walkway of bone stretched across it to the other side, leading them to her. She was standing at the very end of the corridor, which terminated in a single door marked LABORATORY EIGHT. 

“Something of interest, Harrow?” Pal asked, making the Ninth necromancer turn to look at him. 

“That remains to be seen,” she said and pushed open the door, like she had been waiting on them. Well, maybe not Gideon. 

It opened into a little foyer alike in indignity to LABORATORY TWO. There were hooks on the walls here, and a bunch of old, crumpled boxes made of thin metal, the type you might carry files in; these were dented and empty. Someone had taken the time and effort to affix a beautiful swirl of human teeth above the door in a widening spiral of size: in the center, the neat little shovels of incisors, tessellated with arched canines and ringed all around with the long, racine tusks of molars. In neat print the label on the door read: #14–8 DIVERSION. PROCEDURAL CHAMBER. Beneath the neat print, a more elaborate hand had written in fainter ink: AVULSION!

They stepped inside cautiously.

Rather than the neatly sectional space that had constituted Laboratory Two, with its Imaging and Response chambers and orderly empty shelves, Laboratory Eight opened up on an enormous grate. A lattice of thick black steel barred the first part of the room from the second, which—espied through the holes—proved to be a long space with a claustrophobic ceiling. It was like stepping into a pipe. The door led to a metal platform on struts and a short flight of stairs leading down into the space, barred by the huge grate. Cam went to the wall and flicked a switch, and with a low vibrating moan, the grate slowly began to tuck itself up into the ceiling. With the removal of the grate, the room seemed enormously grey and empty. Only two things broke up the vast monotony of grey metal and white light: far off at the other end of the chamber was a metal plinth, boxed on top with what looked like clear glass or plex; and at the bottom of the stairs, about a meter away from its base, was a yellow-and-black-striped line that had been painted horizontally from wall to wall. It was easily a hundred meters from the stripe to the plinth: a long way to walk. It looked simple enough, which tipped Gideon off that this would be a pain in the ass. 

Pal and Harrow both didn’t hesitate to walk straight down to the yellow and black caution line. 

“Do you feel that?” Pal questioned as they got close and Harrow nodded. Gideon glanced at Cam, who shook her head. Neither of them felt anything, meaning there must have been some thanergy at work somewhere outside their senses. 

Without a second thought, Harrow stuck her hand across the line and Gideon jumped forward at her bitten off cry of pain. Then she was yanking off her glove to take a look at the damage. Harrow’s fingertips had shriveled, the nails had split horribly, and the moisture looked as though it had been siphoned forcibly out, wrinkling the skin like paper. Her adept shook her hand in the air like you would with a burn; the wrinkles smoothed out, slowly, and the nails knit themselves back together. She’s seen this before. Pal had done something similar a few times. Senescence. She’d been hit with it before too. It didn’t feel great. 

“Are you okay?” Gideon asked and Harrow didn’t even glance at her, just nodded.

“This hardly seems like that much trouble,” Pal stroked his bearded chin. 

“A corporeal ward, skin-bound, tight focus should easily make this passable,” Harrow said and Pal nodded along. 

“I agree,” he was saying even as Harrow was doing. She flexed her fingers slowly, necromancy at work. Gideon watched as she narrowed her eyes into obsidian slits, fringed thickly with blunt black lashes, and then extended her hand beyond the line again. There was a brief shower of blue sparks and then Harrow snatched her hand back, amazed and furious. The fingers had withered into puckered twigs; her little nail had fallen off entirely. The edges of her sleeve had holed and frayed as though assaulted by moths and Gideon couldn’t help herself, jerking forward toward her. Harrow held up her good hand, stopping her. 

“Do not pass the line, Griddle!” she commanded. At least she was speaking to her again. Harrow turned away and regarded the invisible wall of death in front of them. 

Pal was muttering to himself as he observed, eyes flickering around the room searching. 

Harrow shook a bracelet over her hurt hand, and bands of spongy osseous matter wrapped around her knuckles before forming thick plaques of bone from fingertip to wrist. Now gauntleted, she reached her hand out again. The gauntlet exploded into fragments of bone. Those that passed the yellow line fragmented further, and those bits degraded into dust and that into powder. The glove fell away in hunks, dwindling into fine sand before it even hit the ground, and Harrow yanked her hand back to stare at its sad puckered appearance a third time.

“It’s two spells overlaying each other,” Pal finally said with a voice full of awe as he and Harrow both stared into the open deathfield before them.

“You can’t have two spells with coterminous bounds. It’s impossible.” Harrow turned on him. 

“And yet, how else would you explain the dual effects?” he asked her. “Spliced or interwoven would allow this pocket of area… if it’s the same all the way around….” he trailed off moving to a different spot along the line and sticking his fingers over the warning line in several places; the results were the same every time. At her side, Gideon could feel Cam getting more and more antsy with the desire to step forward and drag him bodily away from the line. Gideon wanted to drag both adepts away. “They’re really coterminous… the adepts behind this were geniuses,” he said. “One half is senescence…”

“And the other is an entropy field,” Harrow said with a low voice tinged with… concern? She turned to Gideon and held out a knuckle bone. “Throw.” 

Gideon quickly obliged. It was a damn good toss if she did say so. The knuckle hit the field high and traveled for about half a meter before fragmenting into a rain of grey particles. Harrow’s gaze fixed on the crumbling shards: more tiny spikes and spurs of bone burst out of them as she worked from a distance, all shriveled, stillborn— another burst as Harrow curled her fist into a ball, then nothing. There was no more bone left. 

“It’s terrifyingly fast,” Pal sucked in a sharp breath and Cam nodded.

“Then it is, and I don’t say this lightly, impossible. This is the most efficient death trap I’ve ever seen. The senescence decays anything before it can cross, and the entropy field… God knows how it’s holding… disperses any magical attempt to control the rate of decay. But why hasn’t the whole room collapsed? The walls should be so much dust.” She looked around as if the answer would jump out at her. 

“An excellent question, Harrow,” Pal said and Harrow hummed. “I’d estimate you could probably walk for….” He seemed to be doing some mental math. “...three seconds before you die.” 

“How the hell are we supposed to get across?” Gideon asked. Harrow was standing there, staring into the space before them while Pal paced, thinking.

“The entropy field will drain your own reserves of thanergy as soon as you cross the line… it truly is impossible,” he said.

That didn’t stop them from spending the next two hours trying all sorts of things until their foreheads ran pink with blood sweat and both had a bloody nose. 

“That’s enough, Warden,” Cam finally called, standing from the stairs where she and Gideon had been sitting. She also rose and walked up to Harrow, standing there, wiping the blood out from under her nose with the back of her sleeve. 

“Babe, let’s give it a break.” A pointed glare was thrown in her direction. 

“They’re right,” Pal agreed with a sigh as Cam handed him a tissue. “We need to adjourn for now. There must be a way to surmount this, we simply aren’t going to figure it out right now.” 

“I’m not finished yet,” Harrow grunted and now Pal turned to Gideon, who sighed turned to Harrow. 

“We’ll be in the hall,” Cam said quietly and Gideon nodded as she and Pal walked out.  

“Harrow…”

“I’m not finished,” the Ninth House adept snapped. 

“Harrow, please. Look, I know you’re mad at me but you and Pal have done everything you can for one night. It’s late, let’s go back to our rooms and you two can try in the morning.” 

“Since you are incapable of listening tonight, I shall repeat myself only once more. I am not done. If you wish to quit, then go back to the rooms. I won’t.” It was said with finality and Gideon frowned heavily, thinking. 

It would take an act of the Emperor himself to move Harrow when she got like this.

The Emperor or her own pride. 

Gideon had kept this in her back pocket for three years, she thought she would get to use it for something better but Harrow was forcing her hand. 

“Do you remember when we visited the Ninth for the first time?” she asked suddenly and Harrow’s eyes slid to look at her. “For the shit I did, I earned myself a debt to be paid by you. Well I’m calling it in right now. I want you to fucking go back to our room and sleep, Harrowhark.” 

Harrow’s eyes widened before narrowing into dangerous slits, mouth pulled back in a scowl.

“You cannot be serious?” she snarled.

“I’m very serious. Anything I wanted that you could give. This is what I want,” she said, hands on her hips as she glared back at Harrow. “Are you or are you not good to your word?” she challenged and watched Harrow’s hands clench into little fists. They stared at each other for several long moments before, without a word, Harrow stomped past her, through the door Pal and Cam had left through. Gideon released the breath she had been holding, not even bothering to ward the door.

She was going to pay for that later, of that she had no doubt.

Pal and Cam stood waiting as she exited the room.

"By the Emperor, what did you do? She came storming through here without a word." Pal looked at her questioningly and Gideon just shook her head.

They could see Harrow stomping down the hall ahead of them and with longer legs, mostly caught up as they neared the ladder to the facility. Suddenly, Harrow stopped dead. 

"Something the mat-" Pal also stopped once he'd reached her. His breath petered out.

"What is-," the words clogged in Gideon's throat as she too stopped. About twenty meters ahead of them, laying at the base of the stapled ladder looked like a pile of crumpled and wet laundry. A heap of bright, shiny, and wet crimson.

Her mouth went dry and then Harrow and Pal were bolting forward, Cam and Gideon right behind them. She moved on instinct. More than anything else.

"By the Emperor," Pal breathed. 

"Oh… oh fuck," Gideon heard herself say as she stared at the broken and crumpled forms on the floor.

The bloody and mangled corpses of Magnus Quinn and Abigail Pent.

Chapter Text

The late evening turned to early morning in a blur for Gideon. Cam had scrambled quickly up the ladder for help and thus began an endless parade of necromancers and their cavaliers moving down the ladder and huddling around the bodies of the Fifth. 

She felt nauseous, everything happening around her.

Six necromancers had tried to raise them, singly or in concert, simultaneously or sequentially. Gideon had squatted in a corner and watched the parade. In the beginning a group of them had opened their own veins in a bid to tempt the early hunger of the ghosts. Harrow did not open herself up. She walked the perimeter like a wraith, measuring her steps for Palamedes to draw by, swaying minutely with what Gideon knew was exhaustion and she wanted to go to her and help but besides the grief trying to burst through her chest, there was a quiet voice in the back of her head that said her wife would rebuff her and she couldn’t handle that right now on top of this. 

Corona didn’t spill her blood, she only drew close to the work to pull Ianthe’s hair away from her face, or to take a tiny knife from the twins’ bags to replace the one her sister was using. They must have both come from their beds without bothering to dress outside some flimsy nightgowns. Gideon had barely glanced at them. She was too lost in everything going on and hovering at her adept’s elbow. The air was full of chalk and ink and blood and strong light from the electric torches that she’d helped Cam and Pal rig up while Harrow knelt beside the broken corpse of Magnus Quinn. A tableau of magicians and their guardians revolved around the corpses. Books were hauled out of pockets or the insides of coats, read, abandoned, voices were raised, lowered and silenced in revolutions. People would go in, work, leave, be replaced, return, stay, leave as more of the inhabitants of Canaan House arrived. Harrowhark worked for nearly two hours before fainting abruptly into a puddle of congealing blood. Gideon was quick to spring forward and catch her. She pulled her back against a far wall out of the way and slid to sit, Harrow’s head in her lap. She laid there for a good thirty minutes before finally coming around. 

“Are you okay?” Gideon asked, wiping some dried and flaking blood out from under Harrow’s nose, more out of habit than anything. Harrow nodded and sat up, quickly returning to the fray. Gideon took a breath and followed after her as she returned to Pal’s side, they talked quietly and briskly, moving about as he drew diagram after diagram around the bodies and consulted Harrow every few minutes. The Third princesses worked like musicians in well tuned concert with each other and with Naberius. Gideon frowned as she watched them. Corona stayed as pristine as when the endeavor began, while Ianthe ran red with blood and sweat. At one point she beckoned Naberius forward and, in a feat that nearly brought up Gideon’s dinner, ate him . She bit off a hunk of his hair, she chewed off a nail, she brought her incisors down on the heel of his hand. He submitted to all this without noise. Then she lowered her head and got back to work, sparks skittering off her hands like fire off a newly beaten sword, every so often spitting out a stray hair. Gideon wanted to throw up but if the death of two people she had known her whole life wouldn’t lift her dinner, she refused to let the bizarre acts of the Third necromancer do so. A stray thought told her that maybe marrying into the Ninth had actually been one of the best options out there. 

Venus, who had mostly been sitting on the sideline, looking forlorn and contemplating of her own uselessness, reached out as though to join the fray at last, until Protesilaus drew her back with a hand as inexorable as it was meaty and shaking his head. She sighed and slumped back against her crutches. 

Eventually, the necromancers dwindled till only Harrow and Pal stood standing around the bodies thanergy sparking around them. Finally, Harrow slid down the wall beside her and Pal slumped forward like all the air had suddenly gone out of him. Cam knelt at his side and offered him and Harrow both a bottle of water. Everyone sat quiet and exhausted, adepts being tended to by their cavaliers. 

“Coming down,” suddenly a voice from the top of the ladder called, then down the ladder came the jaundiced, and faded cavalier of the Eighth House, dressed in his leathers with his sword at his hip. He helped his uncle, who was white and silver and alight with distaste, to the bottom. The Eighth adept primly rolled up his alabaster sleeves and skirted the corpses, considering, licking two fingers as though to turn a page. “I will try to find them,” he said, in his strangely deep and sorrowful voice.

“Don’t waste your time, Octakiseron. They’re gone.” Harrow suddenly spoke. The first words she had probably spoken to the Eighth since they had arrived on the first. 

“You will pardon me,” he said, “if I do not take advice on spirits from a bone magician.” 

Harrow’s face slammed shut. “I pardon you,” she said. 

“Good. Now we need not speak again,” said the Eighth necromancer. “Brother Colum.” 

“Ready, Brother Silas,” said the scarred nephew immediately, and stepped in closer to the younger man, so that they were near enough to touch. The necromancer laid his hand on one of Colum’s brawny shoulders, having to stretch up somewhat, and closed his eyes. For a moment nothing seemed to happen. Then Gideon saw the color begin draining from Colum the Eighth as though he were covered with cheap dye. More horrible and more obvious in the unforgiving light of the electric torches and underfloor lamps. As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of lightning. 

Someone close by said softly, “So it’s real,” just as someone else said, 

“What is he doing?” 

“Silas Octakiseron is a soul siphoner,” Harrow rumbled beside her. 

By this point Colum the Eighth looked greyscale. He was still standing, but he was breathing more shallowly. By contrast the adept of the Eighth was putting on a light show, but not much else happened. The furrow deepened in the ghostly boy’s brow; he wrung his hands together, and his lips soundlessly began to move. Gideon felt an internal tug, like a blanket being pulled off in the cold. It was a little bit like the sensation back in Response. Something deep inside her being prodded in its tender spot. But it also wasn’t, because it hurt like hell. It was like having a headache inside her teeth. She grimaced, barely taking notice of the other Cavalier’s also feeling the effects of whatever the Eighth adept was doing. Cam glared, fists clenched and Naberius winced along with Marta. Protesilius, perhaps the meathead that he was, seemed nonplussed. The necromancers seemed to feel it as well though differently, almost entranced. Suddenly, there was something pale blue sparking within the corpse of Abigail Pent, and just as suddenly and horribly the body shuddered. The world grew heavy and black around the edges, and Gideon felt cold all the way to her marrow. She was shaking.  Someone screamed, and she recognised the voice as Venus’s. Abigail’s body shivered once. It shivered again. Silas opened his mouth and let out a guttural sound like a man who had eaten hot iron. One of the torches exploded and out of the corners of her eyes Gideon saw him stretch out his arms. Venus suddenly flopped to the floor, crutches clattering loudly against the metal and echoing eerily through the hall. 

Then, without warning, Protesilaus stalked forward, and he did not even bother to draw his sword, he simply punched Silas in the face. 

“Pro!” Venus wailed weakly, pushing herself up onto her elbows with the help of Naberius and Marta who had gone to her side. 

The Eighth necromancer went down like a sack of dropped potatoes and twitched on the floor. Now Protesilaus drew his rapier with an oily click of metal on scabbard: the lights crackled, then blazed back to life. The cold receded as though someone had closed a door against a howling wind. Strangely enough, Colum the Eighth did not even react. He just waited grayly next to Protesilaus like concrete, as Protesilaus stood over Colum’s floored uncle, sword held at the ready. They both looked like crude sculptures of men.

“Children!” cried a voice high from the hatch. “Children, stop!” It was Teacher. He had descended the first few staples of the ladder, but this was all he could apparently bear. For the first time since Gideon had met him, he seemed real and old and frail: the serene and frankly impenetrable good cheer had been replaced by wild terror. His eyes were bulging, and he was huddled against the top of the ladder like it was a life raft. “You mustn’t!” he said. “He cannot empty anybody here, lest they become a nest for something else! Bring Abigail and Magnus the Fifth upstairs, do it quickly,” 

“Teacher, we should leave the bodies where they are if we want to know anything about what happened,” Pal reasoned. 

“I dare not,” he called back. “And I daren’t come down there to remove them. You must bring them up. Use stretchers, or magic, Reverend Daughter, use skeletons, use anything. But you must get them out of there immediately, and come up with them.” Maybe they were all still slothful from what had just gone on; maybe it was just the fact that it was the very small hours of the morning, and they were all very tired. The numb hesitation was palpable. It was a surprise when Camilla raised her voice to say: “Teacher. This is an active investigation. We’re safe down here.” 

“You are absolutely wrong,” said Teacher. “Poor Abigail and Magnus are dead already. I cannot guarantee the safety of any of you who remain down there another minute," 

~ ~ ~

Getting Magnus and Abigail’s bodies up the ladder was easier said than done. It took nearly an hour to remove the bodies and to store them safely. There was a freezer room, and Palamedes reluctantly allowed them to be interred there, and to get the Houses up and crowded into the dining hall. Harrow’s skeletons could climb a ladder, even bearing wrapped corpses, but Colum the Eighth did not respond to pleas, threats, or physical stimulus. He was slightly less gray than previous, but he had to be hauled up bodily by Corona and Gideon. The moment he saw Colum, Teacher cried out in horror. Getting him up had been the hardest part. He now rested at the end of the table with a bowl of unidentifiable herbs burning under his chin, the smoke curling around his face and eyelashes. Gideon was sure by the smell that there was rosemary at least in that bowl.

Everyone not stretched out, exhausted, grimy ashen on the floor of the dining room, lying in state in the freezer room, or huffing herbs was sitting around miserably clutching cups of tea. It was weirdly like their first day in Canaan House, in both awkward silence and suspicion, just with a bigger body count.

Gideon was leaning forward, elbows on her knees and tea cup held uselessly in her hands as she stared into the amber liquid, long, wispy licks of steam rising from its surface and caressing her face. She could feel Harrow at her side, see the edges of her black robe in her periphery on one side and Pal’s dirty and pink tinged gray robes on the other and without having to look, knew Cam was on his other side. Knowing where the people she loved most were at this moment afforded her some solace, but not nearly enough. 

Everyone seemed rather put out and out of it, save the Second.

As it turned out, they had been the ones to call Teacher to the access hatch, and now they sat ramrod-straight and resplendent in their Second-styled Cohort uniforms, all scarlet and white, everyone else dirty and blood stained or wearing their pajamas, also blood stained. They both affected the same tightly braided hairstyle and abundance of gilt braid, as well as the same serious-business expression. They were only distinct because one wore a rapier and the other quite a lot of pips at her collar. Teacher sat a little way away from them, his naked fear replaced by a deep and weary sadness. He sat close to the wheezy little heater taking off the morning chill, and the other two Canaan House priests shrouded themselves in their robes and sile refilled everybody’s cups. The necromancer of the Second House cleared her throat. “Teacher,” she said, in a cultured and resonant voice, “I would like to repeat that the best course of action is to inform the Cohort and bring military enforcers.” 

“I will repeat, Captain Deuteros,” he said sadly, “that we cannot. It is the sacred rule,” he said.

“You must understand that this is nonnegotiable. The Fifth House must be informed. They of all Houses would want an investigation carried out immediately.”

“Their murders cannot go unassessed,” Marta added in agreement.

“Murder,” said Teacher, “oh, murder … we cannot assume that it was murder.” Whispers began to cross the room. 

The Second cavalier said, rather more heatedly: “Are you suggesting that it was an accident?” 

“I would be very surprised if it were, Lieutenant Dyas,” said Teacher. “Not Magnus and Lady Abigail. A seasoned necromancer and her cavalier, and sensible adults in their own right. I do not think it was an unhappy misadventure. I think they were killed.” 

“Then—” 

“Murder is done by the living,” said Teacher. “They were found entering the facility … I cannot begin to explain how grave a threat that is to anyone’s safety. I will not bother trying to keep it a secret now. I told each of you who asked my permission to enter that place that it would mean your death. I did not say that figuratively. I told all of you that you were walking into the most dangerous place in the system of Dominicus, and I meant it. There are monsters here.” 

“So why aren’t they coming for you? You’ve lived here for years," Naberius said tersely. 

“Years and years and years. They are not coming for the guardians of Canaan House … yet. But I live in fear of the day they do. I believe Abigail and Magnus have run tragically afoul of them … I cannot countenance the idea that whatever grief they came to was orchestrated by someone in this room," Teacher said softly.

Silence rippled outward to the four corners of the dining hall. Captain Deuteros broke it by saying repressively: “This is still a case for the proper authorities.” 

“I cannot and will not call them. Lines of communication off-planet are forbidden here. For pity’s sake, Captain Deuteros, where is the motive? Who would harm the Fifth House? A good man and a good woman.” Teacher looked at her.  

The necromancer steepled her gloved fingers together and leaned forward. “I cannot speculate about motive or intent,” she said. “I hardly want it to be murder. But if you don’t comply with me, I have reasonable grounds to stop this trial. I will take command if you cannot.” 

Someone thumped their tea mug down on the table, hard. It was Coronabeth, who's violet eyes were full of sleep and her hair in burnished tangles around her face “Don’t be silly, Judith,” she said impatiently. “You don’t have that kind of authority.” 

“Where no other authority exists to ensure the safety of a House, the Cohort is authorized to take command—”

“In a combat zone—” 

“The Fifth are dead. I take authority for the Fifth. I say we need military intervention, and we need it right now. As the highest-ranked Cohort officer present, that decision falls to me.” 

“A Cohort captain,” said Naberius, “doesn't rank higher than a Third official.” 

“I’m very much afraid that it does, Tern.” 

“Prince Tern, if you please,” said Ianthe.

Gideon sighed, partially tuning out the growing bickering as a migraine began to roar thunderously behind her eyes. She clenched them shut. The darkness did little to alleviate the voices growing around her. She pressed one thumb deep into the corner of her eye socket, trying to release some of the pressure. The yell that followed rendered what little it helped moot.

“Judith!” said Corona, more coaxingly, before a real fight broke out. “This is us. You’ve come to all our birthday parties. Teacher’s right. Who would have killed Magnus and Abigail? Neither of them would have ever hurt a fly. Isn’t it possible that the hatch was left up, and something happened, and it’s such a long fall … Who was in there? Ninth, wasn’t it you?” 

“And us as well,” Pal spoke up before Harrow could say something cold and nasty to the Princess of the Third. “We came in after the Ninth and locked the hatch before going down,” he said, rubbing at his temple tiredly. 

“You’re sure?” she asked and he nodded. 

“Yes,” Cam answered. "I locked it myself."

“How many people had these hatch keys other than the Ninth and Sixth?” said Corona. “We had no idea the basement was even there.” She looked around at the other pairs. 

“Pro and I have one,” Venus spoke up. Gideon's brow crinkled at that but she kept her mouth shut. The few times she had glimpsed the adept of the Seventh around Canaan House, she hadn't seemed in any kind of a hurry and was having slow, quiet meals in the dining room or sitting on one of the great and crumbling terraces with a book.

“Colum has the copy given to the Eighth House,” said a voice from the floor. It was Silas. He had sat up and was now mopping his face with a very white piece of cambric. His eye was red and shiny and swollen as he dabbed carefully around it. Corona gallantly offered him her arm but he refused, pulling himself to stand heavily against a chair. “He has the key,” he said. “And I told Lady Pent of the existence of a facility beneath this floor, after the party.” 

It was Harrow who asked, “Why?” 

“Because she asked,” he said, “and because I do not lie. And because I’m not interested in the Ninth House ascending to Lyctorhood alone … simply because they guessed a childish riddle.”

Harrow’s face turned hard and cold. “Your hatred of us is superstition, Octakiseron.” 

“Is it?” He folded the dirty handkerchief neatly and tucked it inside his chain mail. “Who was in the facility when Lady Pent and Sir Magnus died? Who was conveniently first on the scene to discover them? The Reverend Daughter of the-” 

“You got one black eye from the Seventh, you want another from the Ninth?” Gideon’s head finally snapped up and she snarled at the waxen and thin adept of the Eighth. She could feel Harrow’s eyes on her, as well as everyone else's. 

He seemed nonplussed. "Yet another reason adepts and their Cavalier's should not be allowed to wed…" whatever the fuck he meant by that, Gideon didn't know but she didn’t like it. He quickly brushed past it. "That was the Seventh was it? It happened so quickly I could not be sure."

“Master Silas,” Venus spoke, quietly but thickly, “The Seventh House begs forgiveness of the merciful Eighth. Please grant it … this would be such an embarrassment to the House. Pro reacts quicker than I do. You wouldn’t duel me, would you?” 

“Never,” said Silas gently. “That would be heartless. Colum will face the cavalier of the Seventh.”

"Oh, please, Master Silas…!" 

Someone scoffed. 

“I would also remind you that we were there with the Ninth, Octakiseron, yet you do not turn suspicion on us.” Pal sat up stiffly, locking eyes with the adept of the Eighth as he turned his gaze from the Seventh. “I would vouch for the Ninth if Lady Nonagesimus’ word alone is not enough for you,” he said. Silas' mouth pinched at that.

“Would the Master Warden’s of the Library truly throw their lot in with the… disreputable Head of the Ninth House?” He asked, chin lifted and Gideon’s teeth clenched as she shot out of her chair, drowning out Pal’s ‘We would’ with the screech of the chair legs against the floor. She only made it half a step before Cam was holding an arm out in front of her. It may as well have been a steel bar. She glared hotly at the Eighth House adept but did not try to force her way past Cam. She knew better. No need to embarrass her former and current House. A soft but insistent tug made her glance back. Harrow’s hand was fisted into her robes and she caught Gideon’s gaze and shook her head. Gideon’s jaw clenched but she sat stiffly back down beside Harrow. 

“Stop this now,” said Coronabeth. “This is madness!” Her voice rang out through the room. “We must make a pact,” she said. “We can’t leave this room suspecting one another. We’re meant to be working for a higher power. We knew it was dangerous, we agreed, and I can’t believe that any of us here would have meant harm to Magnus and Abigail. We need to trust one another, or this’ll devolve into madness.”

The Captain of the Second rose too. Her intensely dark eyes settled on each of them in turn before ending on Teacher. “Then what must we logically assume?” she said. “That, as Teacher has said, there is a malevolent or obstructive force within the First House? Vengeful ghosts, or monsters born of some necromantic act?” 

“No,” Pal started, finally standing himself and reaching up to pull his glasses from his face and wipe them with a small rag. “We’ll proceed scientifically. Nothing can be assumed until we have a better sense of how they both died. With everyone’s permission, I’ll examine the bodies; anyone who wants to join me can do so. Once we ascertain the facts we may plan a course of action, but until then, no conclusions. No monsters, no murder, no accidents.” 

Coronabeth said warmly, “Hear, hear.” 

“Obliged, Princess." He dipped his head. "We now all know about the existence of the facility,” he continued. “I imagine this will lead to it being explored freely. We should all keep an eye out for… unusual danger, and agree that information is the best gift we can give one another. Some of us may not wish to work together but it’s not orthogonal to the Lyctor experiment to warn each other if you think there’s something out of place,” said Palamedes, looking around at all of them. “Exempli gratia, a horde of vengeful ghosts.”  

“There is one final matter of keys,” said Teacher.

They waited, but he said nothing more. Then they followed his line of sight: he was looking straight at Princess Ianthe in her clinging nightgown, pallid hair falling in two smooth braids down to bloodless shoulders, staring back with eyes like violets on dialysis. 

“I am also in possession of one,” she said, unruffled. 

“What?” Naberius spun around to look at her. She did not lose composure.

“Don’t act the jilted lover, Babs,” she scoffed.  

“You never said a damned word!” 

“You didn’t keep your eyes on your key ring.” 

“Ianthe Tridentarius,” said her cavalier, “you are—you’re—Corona, why didn’t you tell me?” Corona stopped him, one slender hand on his shoulder. She was looking at her twin, who calmly avoided her gaze. 

“Because I didn’t know,” she said lightly, chair scraping as she rose to stand. “I didn’t know either, Babs. I’m going to bed now. I think I’m somewhat overwrought after everything.”

Palamedes nodded. “Cam and I want a look at the bodies,” he said. “If Captain Deuteros and Lieutenant Dyas would like to accompany us—as I assume you’re going to?” 

“Yes,” said Judith. “I’d like a closer look.”

“Cam, go ahead, I’d like a word with the Reverend Daughter first,” he said and Gideon caught Silas casting her former and current necromancers a suspicious look as they conversed quietly. Cam nudged her as she walked by. 

“Don’t,” she said simply before walking off toward the freezer. Gideon scoffed. 

The group began to break apart after that. The Third left with dislocated proximity and the clenched jaws of three people on their way to have a bigger fight than two jilted lovers. Venus was whispering quietly to her cavalier, and then followed the Second to the freezer

She grunted but watched him regardless as he knelt beside his Cavalier with Teacher at his side. 

“He’ll have a hard fight to come back, Master Octakiseron … harder than he may have anticipated. Is he used to the journey?” 

“Brother Colum has fought harder and in colder climes,” said Silas calmly. “He has come back to me through stranger ghosts. He has never once let his body become corrupted, and he never shall.” Then he went back to the mantra: “I bid … I bid …” For some reason that image stayed with her: the mayonnaise magician and his thickset nephew, older than him by far, staring out of empty eyes as Teacher watched. A few moments went by and then suddenly Colum gave such a racking and explosive cough that it made Gideon jump. His eyes rolled back in his head as he choked, staccato gasps, pulling in reeking smoke, while his adept said merely: “Fifteen minutes. You’re getting tardy,” and nothing more.

Before she could watch more of the scene unfold, Harrow was suddenly at her side. 

“Let’s go,” she said and wordlessly, Gideon nodded. They made their way silently back to their rooms. 

Gideon could feel the aching tenseness in her bones. The day, and night, felt like it had lasted a week and her whole body protested her every step. Harrow also said nothing but she moved with the speed and balance of someone very close to slumping forward onto the floor and falling into unconsciousness (again). 

They still hadn’t spoken by the time they made it back and Harrow quickly disappeared into the bathroom. Gideon for her part sat on the side of the bed and slumped forward elbows on her knees. There was so much, too much, and it had been pelting her nonstop for hours. 

One thing was starting to push its way to the forefront though. 

Magnus and Abigail. 

They were dead. Two people that Gideon had known for over a decade, people who had been good to her. Her friends. Hell, Abigail and Magnus had sent her birthday presents almost every year since she’d met them. 

Now they were gone, horribly mangled corpses lying in the freezer. 

She pressed the heels of her hands hard into her eyes, starbursts sprinkled throughout her vision along with the migraine and couldn’t stop the choked sound that rose up in her throat as her eyes began to burn. 

God , she was going to have to tell Jeanne and Issac… if she even could.

She sat there, tears squeezing out of her eyes. She tried to rub them away and she could feel herself making a mess of her paint but she didn’t care. 

“Gideon,” a quiet voice called and she peeled her face out of her hands. Harrow was standing in front of her, bare faced and dressed in her night clothes, a rag in hand. Without a word, she cupped Gideon's chin in one hand and with the other she went about wiping away the smudged gray paint from her skin with a rare gentleness.

Gideon sat there miserably and let her. “I thought you were still mega pissed at me,” she managed to croak through tears now sliding freely and silently down her cheeks. Harrow paused only a moment as she stared into her spouse and Cavalier’s eyes. 

“I am,” she said tensely. Then, much softer, as she carefully wiped away the paint around Gideon's mouth: “That does not, however, mean I wish to watch you suffer,” she said quietly as Gideon sniffled. “I know the Fifth were dear to you…” Gideon managed a nod. “I’m sorry for their loss.” 

Gideon pressed her eyes closed and more tears leaked out. She felt a thumb carefully wipe one away.

When the paint was cleaned off, Harrow’s hand lingered on the side of her face. Gideon didn’t hesitate to lean into the warm and comforting touch. She wanted to apologize for dinner, for what she’d said and beg for forgiveness, but she didn’t think either of them had the energy or the wherewithal to even start that conversation. 

Instead, they silently crawled into bed, Gideon holding Harrow and the adept holding her back just as tightly. 

Chapter Text

The next time Gideon awoke, some ten or so hours later, sunlight was filtering into their room and she still felt tired. Better than the night before in many ways and in others, not so much. Her body felt leaden. She'd really been neglecting her stretches. 

Harrow was still lying in bed beside her, tucked into her side, fast asleep. In sleep was the most relaxed the bone magician ever looked. Her dark and expressive brows were sitting neutral and relaxed on her high forehead and her short, thick black lashes were laying softly against her cheek.  

Gideon took the opportunity to hold her close. The familiar and calming smell of ink, blood, and bone dust filled her senses and she let out a long breath. She knew she was going to have to make her apologies today. They couldn’t be divided like this. Not only because something sinister was happening and had already taken two people she cared about but because honestly, it was painful, Harrow being really and truly upset with her. Having seen that look in Harrow’s eyes the other night after dinner. Sure, there was anger there, lots of it. But there was also something that only Gideon could see lurking in those Drearburh black depths. 

Hurt

She’d hurt Harrow with what she said. The proud and unbending Scion of the Ninth House would never say as much aloud. Harrow was much too proud for that but she didn’t need to. Gideon knew how to read all those little frowns and tips of the brow. The way she held her mouth or her shoulders. She just hadn’t been paying attention at the moment, so bewildered as she had been by her wife’s blazing anger. But now, in her mind’s eye, it was clear as day. 

She buried her nose in Harrow’s hair and breathed. It was then that the adept finally began to stir in her grip. 

Gideon pressed a kiss to the crown of her head as she grunted and started to squirm. 

"Feeling better?" she asked quietly. Harrow made a sound. Maybe it was an agreement. It was hard to tell. Either way, it was with marked sluggishness that she started to pull out of Gideon's grip. Though only just barely. She was sliding away enough to stretch out. Gideon heard several deep pops. She knew Harrow had been teetering on the edge of total and utter exhaustion early that morning when they had finally wobbled back to their room.

She watched as those thick, dark lashes fluttered against her cheek before opening. The bright morning light was shining across their bed and into Harrow's face. She was squinting against the light but even so, Gideon could see the way her fathomless black eyes were lit to deepest brown. She looked at Gideon for a moment before pulling away entirely and sitting up and sliding out of bed. Once she'd disappeared into the bathroom, Gideon sat up and pushed the long strands of red hair on top of her head out of her face and let her legs hang over the side of the bed. She slapped her hands against the side of her face and tried to get her thoughts in order. The sobering events of early morning had her coming to wakefulness much quicker than normal. 

After a few minutes, Harrow returned and headed toward her trunk for fresh clothes. 

“Harrow,” she called and her necromancer made a noise like she was listening but didn’t look at her. “Can we talk?” she asked and the Ninth adept seemed to be considering it as she stopped, her robes held in her hands. “Please?” Gideon entreated and heard the quiet but sudden rush of air as Harrow sighed. She laid her robe back on the chair and walked across the room to stand about a foot away. 

“Talk then,” she said with that imperious tone as she looked down her nose at Gideon. The Cavalier knew better though. Harrow was an expert at hiding the tender feelings she denied she had behind a thick, thick wall of ice and superiority. Gideon could read her though.

With slow and deliberate movements, she reached up to take Harrow’s hands. She felt them twitch with the instinct to pull away - which may or may not have destroyed her - but she didn’t. Gideon gave them a gentle squeeze as she looked up at Harrow, staring back, lips pressed together. 

“Harrowhark, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last night and what I said at dinner. I didn't mean anything bad by ‘intense’. You are…” Harrow frowned and Gideon hurried onward. “But I love that about you. You throw yourself totally into everything you do until you do it right… I wish you could sometimes… chill, like when you’re bleeding out of every hole in your face and passing out, but I have admired that drive since we met and if it sounded disparaging, it wasn’t meant to be and I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never want or mean to do that. Please forgive me,” she said, squeezing the smaller hands in hers. 

Harrow‘s jaw was silently working and Gideon waited on baited breath. Then the hands in hers squeezed back. 

”I forgive you,” she said quietly and Gideon felt relief flood her. “And I want you to stay away from Venus Septenarius…”

“Done,” Gideon said before Harrow had barely finished speaking. She cocked a brow at that.

“You agree so easily?” she asked and Gideon scoffed.

“I don’t know why you think I might have some thing for the Duchess…” 

“She’s beautiful,” Harrow said suddenly. “In a dimmed and waning way but beautiful still… and insipidly kind,” she spat, turning to look to the side.

“You’re beautiful to me,” Gideon insisted. “She’s flirting with me, I'm not flirting with her. I should have just gotten her to back off and said that you’re great and…” 

Harrow cut her off. “I am great at many things, Griddle but I recognize that always being… a great partner is not one of them,” she admitted and Gideon squeezed her hands, tugging her close till she was standing bracketed between Gideon’s knees, close enough that one could feel the other’s body heat.

“Last night… this morning, you were still angry at me, and rightfully so, but you still comforted me when I needed you,” she murmured, gold eyes locked with black. “I know it doesn't come easy to you. But you try. You try so hard for me, Harrow, and that’s all I could ask for,” she said softly, pulling Harrow’s hands up to her face and laying a series of light kisses across her knuckles. When she glanced back up she was treated to the delightful sight of Harrow’s softly flushed face. “I love you ,” she said, pulling the hands away from her mouth and looking up at Harrow. Gideon watched the look in her eyes soften and then Harrow was leaning down, her lips brushing against Gideon’s. 

“And I you,” she murmured before pressing a kiss to the Cavalier’s mouth. Her fingers pulled free of Gideon’s and then tangled in thick red hair, mouth slotting better across Gideon’s. They got lost in trading soft and reassuring kisses before finally Harrow leaned back, eyes lidded. 

“We need to return to the facility,” she said and Gideon let out a long breath, eyes closing as she was suddenly forced to remember the events of the early morning. 

“I know,” she mumbled, opening her eyes again and standing. Harrow looked at her for a long moment with clear worry before nodding and moving to dress for the day. Gideon took the opportunity to disappear into the bathroom and get herself in order. When she came back out, Harrow was sitting in front of the dirty old mirror and painting her face on. Gideon walked up behind her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, stopping to smile at her in the smudged glass. Harrow stopped what she was doing and looked back at Gideon in the reflection, brows doing that thoughtful thing they did and Gideon cocked one back in silent question. 

“I…” she stared, seeming unsure but then her face settled into conviction. “I find it very… unsettling when we are at odds,” she admitted and Gideon smiled a rueful little smile at her and then pressed another kiss to her head.

“I hate it when we fight too,” she nodded before moving to dress. Harrow just made an agreeing sound.  

Soon enough they moved down the ladder of the facility by themselves. They’d met briefly with Cam in the dining room who said Pal was still resting after everything that had happened early that morning and would meet up with them later.  

As they’d been walking away, Cam had grabbed Gideon by the elbow, and with a serious look in her eyes had murmured: “Be careful down there, Gideon.” 

She’d only been able to nod before having to hurry to catch up to Harrow. Now, their boots were thumping down quietly on the basement floor. Gideon’s hand lingered on the hilt of her rapier as now here they both were at the bottom of the ladder, staring at the angular outlines on the floor. Someone had immortalized Abigail and Magnus’s descent with tape, carefully laid: it looked particularly weird given that none of the blood had been cleaned up. Accusatory splotches of it lay skeletonized on the floor. 

Gideon stared hard at it, almost glowing in the harsh green light filtering through the floor grill, painting everything in a sick hue. Her chest squeezed and her lips pressed together tightly. They were gone and something had made a terrible mess of them. Which had been killed first? Had the other had to watch? Had they suffered? She was spiraling and she didn’t realize it till a hand on her arm made her jerk her head up. Harrow was looking at her with that dour little frown.

“Gideon,” she said softly.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, shaking her head. 

“You need not apologize to me, beloved,” Harrow assured her, gloved hand squeezing her arm. “I know. Sextus has made note of everything it seems, though, investigating the scene of death is barely useful, compared to discovering the motives of the living. Compared to why, the question of who killed them is almost an aside…,” she murmured.  

“‘Who,’” said a voice, “or ‘what.’ I love the idea of what.” Limned by the greenish light from the grille, Venus Septenarius limped into view. In the low lamp light she looked transparent, and she was leaning heavily on crutches; her heavy curls had been tied up on top of her head, revealing a neck that looked ready to snap in a strong wind. Behind her hulked Protesilaus, who in the darkness looked like a mannequin with abs. Next to Gideon, Harrowhark stiffened, not so slightly either. “Ghosts and monsters,” the lady of the Seventh continued enthusiastically, “remnants and the dead … the disturbed dead. The idea that someone is still here and furious … or that something has been lurking here forever. Maybe it’s that I find the idea comforting … that thousands of years after you’re gone … is when you really live. That your echo is louder than your voice.”

“A spirit comes at invitation. It cannot sustain itself,” Harrow said sharply, glaring hotly at Venus. 

“But what if one could?” the Duchess hummed. “That’s so much more interesting than plain murder.”

Harrow said nothing and Venus moved forward on her crutches, looking tired and drawn, more so than normal. “Greetings, Ninth! You’re brave to come down here after what Teacher said.” 

“One might say the same of you,” Harrow’s tone was low and dripping with acid. Anyone with ears could hear it. Lady Septenarius seemed to be willfully ignoring this. 

“Oh, by all rights I ought to have been the first one to die,” she said, giggling a bit fretfully, “but once one accepts that their time is being measured in days rather than decades, one stops worrying quite so much.” She turned her gaze to Gideon and smiled that smile that made Gideon so uneasy. “Hello, Gideon! It’s nice to see you again. I mean, I saw you last night … but you know what I mean!”

“Duchess.” Gideon inclined her head and left it at that, making the other woman pout at her. 

“No need to be so formal!” she called. 

Before that line of conversation could be pursued, the dark-hooded necromancer of the Ninth said in her most sepulcher and forbidding tones, all laced with poison: “We have business here, Lady Septenarius. Excuse us.” 

“But that’s just what I came to talk to you about,” said the other necromancer earnestly. “I think we four should team up.” Gideon couldn’t hold in her choked noise. Harrow was more likely to rip Venus Septenarius' spine out and have a construct play it at her funeral like a xylophone then work together. But Venus’ dreamy blue eyes were turned on Harrow, and she said: “I’ve already completed one of the theorem labs. I think I’m on the path to cracking another. If we both worked together—why, then, there’s the key in half the time with just a few hours’ work.” 

“This is not intended to be collaborative.”

“Yet, you’re working with the Sixth quite a lot,” Venus responded with a smile, one that spoke of something else entirely. 

The women sized each other up.

“What would be in it for the Ninth House?” Harrow asked, voice still low and tinged with danger. Gideon double-taked at her. 

“All my knowledge of the theory and the demonstration—and first use of the key,” said Venus, eagerly. 

“Generous. What would be in it for the Seventh?” 

“The key once you’re done. You see, I don’t think I can physically do this one.” 

“Stupidity, then, not generosity. You just told me you can’t complete it. Nothing would stop my House from completing it without you.” 

“It took me a long time to work out the theoretical parameters,” Venus said, “so I wish you the best of luck. Because even though I’m dying— there’s nothing wrong with my brain.”

“Yet you see fit to try me by flirting with my wife and then are so bold as to solicit our help?” Harrow suddenly said with more venom than before. Gideon looked at her wife with wide eyes. That was the last thing she had been expecting but maybe it shouldn’t have been. This was Harrow after all.

The Duchess’ eyes widened and her mouth fell open in a little ‘o’ before laughing embarrassedly. 

“Ah, so we’ve come to that?” she asked, nodding. “Yes, I admit I might have been overly friendly with Gideon the Ninth,” she admitted. Gideon held her tongue at ‘overly friendly’. The woman had blown her a kiss in the middle of dinner!  “Though I would beg your pardon on the fact that I did not know the two of you were married at the time and It was not meant to be serious, Reverend Daughter,” she said. “Please forgive me… but you must admit, having married her yourself, Gideon Sise is quite nice to look at,” she giggled and Gideon guffawed. Harrow just glared at the other woman and then walked right past her down the hall. Venus turned and watched her with a curious expression Gideon couldn’t parse. Then, Harrow stopped and glared at the Duchess over her shoulder from beneath the shade of her hood. 

“Are we going or aren’t we?” she asked and Venus broke into a fragile but wide smile.

“Oh, thank you, Reverend Daughter, I thank you for your understanding and forgiveness.”

Gideon quickly strode after Harrow, letting the Seventh trail behind them. Harrow whispered a lot of fuck-words under her breath as they moved through the facility. “You actually want to work with her?” Gideon frowned and Harrow scoffed. 

“I’d rather eat the entirety of the Noniad for dinner,” she growled. “But we can get the key, learn what we need from the study it opens, and be through with her,” Harrow explained quietly. 

“Ahh,” Gideon nodded. 

They followed the mismatched pair from the Seventh House to the dusty facility hub, filled with its dusty paneling and its whiteboard gleaming sadly beneath big white lights. Venus turned abruptly down the passageway marked LABORATORY SEVEN–TEN, and Gideon blinked. 

“Harrow,” she whispered into her wife’s ear. Harrow just nodded but said nothing and Gideon took the cue. 

Sure enough, Venus led them straight to the lab they had been working on with the Sixth late the night before. Before everything had gone to shit.

They stopped at the door and Venus turned to them.

“Here we are,” she said. “Before we go through, please give me a little bit of your blood. I have warded the place up and down and I’m dreadfully afraid you won’t be able to go through the door without giving me a shock. 

Gideon looked to her, and Harrow nodded. In the dim and dusty foyer, both offered up their hands to be pricked: the necromancer of the Seventh tilted her head, beautiful brown ringlets spilling over her shoulders, and took blood from their thumbs and their ring fingers. Then she pressed the blood into her palm and spat delicately with what Gideon noticed was pink-tinged spittle. She pressed her thin hand to the door. “It’s not a holding ward,” she explained, “but it’s not just physical. The ward will alert me if the immaterial try to pass … if they’ve instantiated, I mean, if they’ve crossed over. I don’t want to stop them,” she added when Harrow started fidgeting with a bone fragment from her pocket. “I want to see whatever would try to sneak in on us … I want to know what it looks like. Let’s go.”

The Seventh passed through and Gideon glanced at Harrow. The door had not been warded last night. Something was very much off here. The Duchess would have had to have done this all this morning, she had been with them at the scene of Magnus and Abigail’s death. Though she supposed it was possible she had done it all that morning. It just seemed unlikely.

“Say not a word,” Harrow murmured barely audible and Gideon nodded before following her in. 

Chapter Text

The room was much as they had left it the night before. Outside setting up a ward around the door, it didn’t seem Venus had done anything. Not that there was much to do about the room. All there was, was the door behind them and the killing field stretched out in front of them. The Seventh necromancer went to the wall and flicked a switch, and with a low vibrating moan, the grate slowly began to tuck itself up into the ceiling.

Harrow stood at the tops of the stairs, looking out at the long walk with brows furrowed. More questions about the trial were filtering through her head and Gideon could practically see them. She moved down the steps, Gideon at her side and Venus came after, leaning more heavily on her crutches as she swung herself down the stairs. Protesilaus trailed behind her, a bulky shadow. “If you put your hand through, you’ll see,” she offered. Harrow did just that and Gideon had to admit, she was rather astounded by the wifes acting abilities. She stood there and listened to them speak about the field. 

“Hardly insurmountable,” said Harrow, having regained her composure. 

“Very hopeful! What would you use?” 

“A corporeal ward; skin-bound, tight focus.” 

“Try it.”

Gideon was getting a serious case of deja vu as what followed was like watching last night’s event replay but with the Seventh instead of the Sixth. 

“It’s two spells, overlaying each other,” Venus said and Gideon had to admit, the Seventh adept had to be quite smart to have figured it out so quickly this morning and on her own if she’d come to the same conclusion as Pal and Harrow. She also had to give it to her that she knew more. “The field and the flooring are a few micrometers apart. Perhaps you could make a very, very weeny construct to go through that gap,” said the Seventh helpfully. 

“The Ninth House has not practiced its art on—weeny—constructs,” she said hotly.  

“Before you ask, it’s not a lateral puzzle either. You can’t go through the floor because it’s solid steel, and you can’t go through the ceiling because that’s also solid steel, and there’s no other access,” Venus informed, leaning heavily on her crutches and looking at Harrow. 

“It’s impossible,” Harrow said just as she had last night. This time however, Venus gave her a small, rueful smile. 

“There is one way of doing it, Ninth,” she said and Harrow gave her a long look, brow raised. “Siphoning.” 

“I do not soul siphon,” Harrow spat.

“I don’t mean soul siphoning … not quite. When Master Octakiseron siphons his cavalier, he sends the soul elsewhere and then exploits the space it leaves behind. The power that rushes in to fill that space will keep refilling, for as long as either of them can survive. You wouldn’t have to send anyone anywhere. But the entropy field will drain your own reserves of thanergy as soon as you cross the line, so you need to draw on a power source on this side of the line, where the field can’t touch it. Do you understand?” 

“Don’t patronize me, Lady Septenarius. Of course I understand. Understanding a problem is nowhere near the same as implementing a solution! You should have asked Octakiseron and his human vein,” Harrow sneered.

“I probably would have,” said Venus candidly, “if Pro hadn’t blacked his eye for him,” she sighed and Harrow’s jaw clenched, her glare sharpened and Venus giggled. “I’m sorry! I’m teasing! No, I don’t think I would have asked the Eighth House, Reverend Daughter. There is something cold and white and inflexible about the Eighth. They could have done this with ease … maybe that’s why…” she pondered more to herself then to Harrow before shrugging. 

Harrow’s fingers began to move, the ghostly movement of running her fingers over her absent bone rosary. An anxious habit that made Gideon stand further at attention. She understood very little of what they were talking about. She would never be a necromancer, and even as a scholar, she’d focused all her attention onto the physical body. This was soul shit and thanergy manipulation. Of which she had only the most basic understanding of.

“Let’s say I agree with your theory,” Harrow said. “To maintain enough thanergy for my wards inside the field, I’d need to fix a siphon point outside it. The most reasonable source of thanergy would be… you.” 

“You can’t move thanergy from place to place like that,” said the Seventh, with very careful gentleness that only served to irritate Harrow more, Gideon could tell. “It has to be life to death.… or death to a sort of life, like the Second do. You’d have to take my thalergy.” She raised a wasted hand, and then let it flutter back to her face like a drifting paper plane. “Me? I could get you maybe…ten meters. No, you’d need a much more robust source of life energy.” she glanced at Gideon, who definitely understood that.

“We adjourn,” said Harrow suddenly and grasped Gideon hard around the arm and practically dragged her back up the stairs, out past the foyer and into the hallway. The noise of the door slamming behind them echoed around the corridor. 

She was pacing around the hallway and wringing her hands together anxiously.

“Harrow?” Gideon called and only then did she stop and turn to her. 

"‘Avulsion’,” she said bitterly. “Gideon…” she started slowly. “Do you know what I would need to do for this trial?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” said Gideon. “You’re going to suck out my life energy to power your wards in order to get to the box on the other side.” 

“A ham-fisted summary, but yes…”

“Okay, let’s do it,” she said.

“Let’s do it?” Harrow repeated and Gideon nodded.  

“Yup, you can have my juice, sugar lips.” she smiled and winked. Harrow made an aggravated sound before stepping forward so that they brushed against each other. 

“Gideon…, beloved…you don’t know precisely what this is asking. I will be draining you dry in order to get to the other side. If at any point you throw me off…if you fail to submit…I’ll die…”

“Won’t happen,” Gideon said with an unshakeable conviction. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Harrow. Her will to give her whatever she needed wasn’t even in question. Harrow only seemed to look more pained by this. 

“Gideon, I have never done this before. The process will be imperfect. You will be in … pain.” 

“I know… sounds like the technique the Second House uses. Draining their dying foes to augment and strengthen the Cavaliers. I’ve heard they all die screaming, which, awesome… but I’ll still do it.” 

Harrowhark chewed on the insides of her cheeks so hard that they looked close to staving in. She steepled her fingers together, squeezed her eyelids tightly shut and seemed on the verge of smacking Gideon. When she spoke again, she made her voice quite calm and normal: “Why?”

“Because this is what you need me to do,” she said and that made Harrow’s eye’s pop back open to stare straight into Gideon’s. “I’m your Cavalier. My job is to do whatever you need me to do so you can succeed… besides… last night, you said you didn’t expect me to understand how far you were willing to go to do this, become a lyctor for the Ninth…”

“I said that in anger…, Gideon, I didn’t mean…” 

“I know,” Gideon cut her off. “But I do, Harrow. I know why it’s so important for you to do whatever you have to do. Well I signed on for ‘whatever you have to do’ with my wedding vows. I knew everything going in and I did it anyway for you and I’ll do it now. I know how much the Ninth means to you…”

“You, mean a lot to me, Gideon Sise,” she hissed with intensity and Gideon smiled. 

“I know… but not as much as the Ninth.”

Harrow looked like she wanted to argue this but she didn’t get the chance. 

“We doing this or what?” Gideon asked and Harrow let out a hard, staggering breath before jerking her head in a nod.

When they returned, Venus was still sitting on the stairs and talking very quietly to her big Cavalier, who had dropped to his haunches and was listening to her as silently as a microphone might listen to its speaker. When she saw that the Ninth House pair were back in the room, she staggered to rise—Protesilaus rose with her, silently offering her an arm of support—as Harrowhark said, “We’ll make our attempt.” 

“You could practice, if you wanted,” Venus offered. “This won’t be easy for you.” 

“I wonder why you make that assumption?” Harrow looked at her.

“I oughtn’t to, ought I?” she said. “Well, I can at least look after Gideon the Ninth while you’re over there…”

Harrow looked like she wanted nothing more than to protest that but something stayed her hand and she gave a terse nod. Gideon cocked her head wondering about just what exactly was about to happen that Harrow was going to let Venus ‘watch over her’ after biting her head off about flirting. Harrow moved to stand in front of her, a worry lurking in her eyes that made Gideon want to reach out and comfort her but she stayed still and just smiled and winked reassuringly. If anything, this made Harrow’s face crumple further. Her hands worked over each other as though wondering what to do with them. Then she swept one gloved hand over the side of Gideon’s neck, fingers resting on her pulse, and breathed an impatient breath. It felt like nothing, at first. Besides Harrow touching her neck, which was nice and evoked a warmth in her. 

It would be short lived.

She felt the blood pump through the artery. She felt herself swallow, and that swallow go down past the flat of Harrow’s hand. Maybe there was a little twinge, a shudder around the skull, a tactile twitch, but it was not the pressure and the jolt she remembered from Response and Imaging. Her adept took a step back, thoughtful, fingers curling in and out of her palms. She took a final glance at Gideon and then she turned and plunged through the barrier, and there was the jolt.

It started in Gideon’s jaw: starbursts of pain rattling all the way from mandible to molars, electricity blasting over her scalp. She was Harrow, walking into no-man’s-land; she was Gideon, skull shuddering behind the line. She sat down on the stairs very abruptly and did not pay attention to Venus, reaching out for her before drawing back. It was like Harrow had tied a rope to all her pain receptors and was rappelling down a very long drop. She dimly watched her necromancer take step after painstakingly slow step across the empty metal expanse. There was a strange fogging around her. It took Gideon a moment to realize that the spell was eating through Harrow’s black robes of office, grinding them into dust around her body. She quickly forgot about it as another lightning flash went through her head. Her immediate instinct was to reject it, to push against awareness of Harrow, the sense of crushing pressure, the blood-transfusion feel of loss. She was dimly aware that this was the desire to ‘reject her’ that Harrow had been talking about and Gideon, with all the confidence to which she had asserted to Harrow that such a thing would never happen, did not succumb. She let it wash over her in bright and hot flashes of pain. She was disjointedly aware of the things going on around her. Her dual perception of both herself and Harrow walking across the now impossibly long seeming field of death and of Venus, who had slid to the floor beside her and somehow had coaxed Gideon’s head into her lap, running her fingers through her hair as she found herself convulsing under her hands. All the while thick globules of blood began to drip from her nose and splatter the front of her shirt and the ground.

Gideon’s vision became a blurry haze but through it, she could still see her wife’s dark form a distance away and held onto that as she let go of her grip on her thalergy and let Harrow suck as much as was needed. A task she was now faintly realizing was easier said than done. Her breath stuttered in her throat and her lashes fluttered as if to close. 

“No,” murmured Venus hurriedly, “Oh, no no no. Stay awake.” Gideon couldn’t say anything but blearrghhh, mainly because blood was streaming like a fountain out of every hole in her face, splattering down her front in a grisly fountain. Then all of a sudden it wasn’t—drying up, parching, leaving her with a waterless and arid tongue. 

The pain moved down to her heart and she was quite certain it had stopped beating there for several long moments. Longer than one’s heart is meant to not beat for. It was beyond pain. It was as though her insides were being sucked out through a gigantic straw. In her dimming vision she saw Harrowhark, walking away; no longer haloed by fragments of black but limned with a great yellow light that flickered and ate at her heels and her shoulders. Tears filled Gideon’s eyes unbidden, and then they gummed away. It all blurred gray and gold, then just gray. 

“Oh, Gideon,” someone was saying, “you poor baby.” 

The pain went down her right leg, and to her right toes, and then up her spine in zigzags. She dry-heaved. There was still that pressure—the pressure of Harrow—and the sense that if she pushed at it, if she just went and fucking knocked at it, it would go away. She was sorely tempted. Gideon was in the type of pain where consciousness disappeared and only the animal remained: bucking, yelping an idiot yelp, butting and bleating. Throw Harrowhark off, or slip into sleep, anything for release. If there had been any sense that she had to try to hold the connection, she would have lost it already; Gideon was just overwhelmed with how badly she wanted to shove against it, not huddle in a corner and scream.

But screaming she was. The pain lessened not at all but she suddenly became aware of the fact that she was screaming like a creature being skinned alive and baptized in acid. Everything was a writhing fire beneath her skin, eating at the meat of her, sinking through that and chipping away at her bones to gnaw and tear at the nerves at the heart of her. 

“It’s all right,” someone was saying, over the noise. “You’re all right. Gideon, Gideon … you’re so young. Don’t give yourself away. Do you know, it’s not worth it … none of this is worth it, at all. It’s cruel. It’s so cruel. You are so young—and vital—and alive. Gideon, you’re all right … remember this, and don’t let anyone do it to you ever again. I’m sorry. We take so much. I’m so sorry.”

Then she heard nothing of it. Touch did not register. She had lost control of her limbs, and each was flailing independently of the others, a roiling mass of nerves and panic. She jerked away from whatever was holding her and writhed on the metal floor. Meaty hands grabbed hold of her shoulders and carefully moved her. That was what it seemed anyway as she managed to reach up and claw at her own skin in her wild and unhinged state. 

“She’s all the way across,” said the voice. “She’s made it to the box … can you see the trick of it, Reverend Daughter? There is a trick, isn’t there? Gideon, I am going to put my hand over your mouth. She needs to think.” A hand went over her mouth, and Gideon bit it. “Ow, you feral, thing. There she goes … perhaps they thought that if it was easy to obtain, someone could finish the demonstration some other way. It’s got to be foolproof, Gideon … I know that. I wish it were me. I wish I were up there. She’s got the box open … I wonder … yes, she’s worked it out! I was afraid she’d break the key…” Clutched in the thin lap, Gideon could make no response that was not retching, gurgling or clamoring, silenced only by one rather skinny hand. “Good girl,” the voice was saying. “Oh, good girl. She’s got it, Gideon! And I’ve got you … Gideon of the golden eyes. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault … I’m so sorry. Stay with me,” the voice said more urgently, “stay with me.” Gideon was suddenly aware that she was very cold. Something had changed. It was getting harder to suck in each breath. “She’s stumbled,” said the voice, detached, and Gideon heaved: not against the connection, but into it. The consequent pain was so intense that she was afraid she might wet herself, but the spike of cold faded. “She’s up … Gideon, Gideon, she’s up. Just a little bit more. Darling, you’re fine. Poor baby…” 

Gideon did in fact, wet herself. With all the blood she could still feel, somewhere, coming out of something or another- she couldn’t even be sure anymore what liquids were what and where - what did it even matter? Everything existed in a blackhole of time-suspended pain. 

Blackness was starting to gather around the edges of her vision but Gideon resisted, wanted to grind her teeth down to nubs and would have had she not somehow managed to throw her hand between her teeth and bite down. The pain of her teeth slicing into her flesh was a background feeling in comparison to the way her every nerve was lit aflame. Now Gideon was scared. Not for herself. Her body had the soft, drunken feeling you got just before fainting away, and it was very hard to stay conscious. Three seconds before you die, Pal had calculated the night before. Anything less than Harrow crossing the threshold would make the struggle meaningless,and would kill her wife, leaving herself in a state to which she was sure she would never recover. No, there was no alternative but to hold the line. Her body couldn’t crap out on her yet!

It felt like all the pressure in her ears was popping loose. The voice said, musical and distant: “Gideon, you magnificent creature, keep going … feed it to her … she’s nearly made it. Gideon? Gideon, eyes open. Stay put. Stay with me.” It took an infinite amount of seconds for her to stay put: for her to crack her eyes open. When her eyes opened Gideon was distantly worried to discover that she was blind. Colors swam in front of her vision in a melange of muted hues. Something black moved—it took her a moment to realize that it was moving very quickly: it was sprinting. Mildly startled, Gideon realized that she was starting to die.

Not the way she’d wanted to go honestly.

Her eyes slipped closed for an unaccounted for amount of time, and air stopped coming into her lungs. It was a real bitch.

“Gideon? Gideon?!” An achingly familiar voice called with fervid panic. 

Gideon opened her eyes and found that color had returned. Everything was once more in sharp clarity. 

Including Harrow. Harrow, kneeling at her side, face free of paint. Instead, horror and worry was painted plainly across her pretty little face. Gideon was so busy staring at her face that it took a moment to notice that Harrow was naked as the day she’d been born. Her hair was shorn a full inch shorter and the tips of her eyelashes were gone. Gideon smiled at her, no doubt a gruesomely bloody thing with her own flesh in her teeth from having nearly gnawed through her own hand and blood dripping from every hole in her face.  

"Ha-ha. Told you I wouldn’t, sweetheart.” 

Then she died. 

Chapter Text

Luckily for Gideon, she was not dead and awoke only feeling a little like she’d died and been resurrected. She blinked her eyes and saw only black. She nearly panicked then the darkness abated. It was fabric. The black fabric of her overcloak, in fact, wrapped around Harrow’s small and naked body… that was wrapped around Gideon. 

“Harrow,” she said. Or meant to say. What actually came out was a raspy wheeze that sounded like nothing at all but it did the trick and then Harrow’s face was looming over hers, lip pulled between her teeth and eyes glassy. When she saw Gideon was awake she made a wheezy little sound herself and leaned down to press her forehead to Gideon's.

"Oh, my beloved…," it was so quiet that even pressed together as they were, Gideon barely heard it. Then again, maybe her eardrums were blown out too. That would explain all the blood dripping from her ears. 

Gideon tried to make a sound in return and got as far as a low gurgle.

"She's alright?" The voice of Venus Septenarius broke through the moment and Harrow leaned back.

“Gideon…. Can you stand?” she asked quickly and quietly.

“Oh, Reverend Daughter, no … give her a minute,” Venus begged. “Pro, help her … don’t let her stand alone.”

“I do not want you or your cavalier to touch her,” Harrow snapped. Gideon said nothing, still trying to get her bearings. 

Gideon watched with dim interest as Harrow cracked her knuckles and sucked in a breath, her wife leant down and heaved one of Gideon’s thick arms around her skinny shoulders. Before Gideon could even think 'Oh shit,' she had been pulled to stand as Harrowhark’s knees tried to buckle beneath her. There was a bad moment when she wanted to puke, a good moment when she didn’t, and a bad moment again when she realized that she only hadn’t because she couldn’t. Later, when thoughts of vomit had abated, she would think fondly of how hot it was for Harrow to be picking her up.  

The lady of the Seventh was saying, “Reverend Daughter … I’m terribly grateful for what you just did. I’m sorry for the cost.” Harrow’s face did a funny little thing where it scrunched and crumpled and folded before smoothing out to her normal consternation. 

“You’ll get your key when I’m done.” was all Harrow said, already moving toward the door with great effort.

“But Gideon—” 

“Is not your business,” Harrow threw back icily, ignoring the Seventh and hauling her wife up the stairs. A barefoot Harrow grunted under her breath as she continued to try to haul Gideon up the short flight of stairs, panting for breath by the top step. Gideon could only watch, willing herself to come to full consciousness, astonished by the unreceptivity of her body. It was all she could do to not deliquesce out of Harrow’s grip. At the top of the stairs they stopped, and the Reverend Daughter looked back searchingly. She said abruptly, “Why did you want to be a Lyctor?”

The older woman was leaning against Protesilaus’s arm. She looked extraordinarily sad, even regretful; when she caught Gideon’s eye, a tiny smile tugged on the corners of her mouth, then drooped again. Eventually, she said: “I didn’t want to die.”

Walking back through the chilly foyer out to the corridor was bad: Gideon had to break away from Harrow and rest her cheek on the cold metal paneling next to the door. Her necromancer waited patiently for her to regain some semblance of consciousness, and then they stumbled onward—Gideon drunken, Harrow flinching her bare feet away from the grille.

It was mostly silent on the way back, save Harrow wheezing with strain. 

How they got all the way up the ladder, Gideon later had no idea; it was with strange, dreamlike precision that Harrow guided and held her aloft down the long, winding halls of Canaan House and back to the quarters that the Ninth House occupied, without a flicker of magic, Harrow wearing nothing but a big black overcloak. Every so often she wondered if she had, in fact, kicked the bucket and this was her afterlife. At least she had a mostly naked Harrow to spend her eternity with. Small favors.

Harrow steered them toward their bed and gently laid her down, carefully arranging her limbs onto the bed. Gideon was too exhausted to do anything but lie down and sneeze three times in quick succession, each sneeze a migraine gong through sinus and skull bone. Thick globs of blood came out of her nose and Harrow was quick to start wiping her face clean with careful movements. 

“Quit looking at me like that,” she eventually commanded when her voice saw fit to start working again. Harrow, who was wiping at her face gently, looked into her eyes. “I’m alive.”

Harrow stopped, pulling her hand back and Gideon watched her through lidded eyes. 

They blew open as she watched tears begin to unceremoniously fall from Harrow’s eyes. A few at first and then a torrent as she started to sob, throwing herself forward, head on Gideon’s chest. Her hands came up automatically to cradle Harrow’s head. Much slower than usual but they moved all the same. 

Harrow was all but wailing into her, she could already feel the wet spot growing on her shirt. She laid there, stunned and maybe just a little brain damaged, honestly

"Shhh. It's okay, babe. I'm alive."

“You very nearly weren't!" Harrow sobbed, head suddenly snapped up as she looked at Gideon with red and wet filled eyes. It was quite difficult to move but Gideon managed to command a hand to move up and caress the side of Harrow’s face. She seemed reluctant but turned into it all the same. She grabbed it with both her smaller hands and pressed her lips to that calloused palm with a shaky and wet breath against Gideon’s skin. “Gideon…” Her voice barely above a whisper. “I could feel you dying,” she breathed, accompanied by the half aborted hiccup of a sob. “And you’re not even aggrieved about it!” More tears accompanied this statement. 

“I said I’d do it. I said I wouldn’t throw you off…,” Talking took a lot of fucking energy right now but she persisted. “I would do anything for you," she muttered. "You're the Ninth…ergo… I would do anything for the Ninth too," she let her head drop back to her pillow. "I'm the Reverend Consort, aint I?" She let her eyes slide closed. She heard Harrow's heavy and shuddering sigh 

"Yes, beloved. You are." A hand threaded through her hair gently. 

"I pissed m'self while you 'ere over there," she mumbled like she'd been drugged.

"It's alright," Harrow said quietly and Gideon felt herself making a face.

"No, it fuckin' ain't…". 

"Sleep, Griddle," her wife's voice, soft and sweet washed over her. Then she passed into unconsciousness .

~ ~ ~

The next time Gideon came into consciousness, it was to the wall shaking sounds of angry yelling in a voice she recognized.

"How could you do something like this?! She could be irreparably brain damaged!" 

"It was not a choice made lightly!" Another familiar and higher voice yelled back.

"I have run over the numbers multiple times. There is no way she's walked away from this unchanged! You are responsible for that! She could have wound up little more than a vegetable!"

"You think I don't know that!? This was not what I wanted!" The higher voice sounded choked now. 

"She may never wake!" The deeper voice continued to shout.

Gideon grunted and slowly, painstakingly, peeled her eyelids open and blinked. Cam's worried face swam into view. She smiled.

"Hey, Cam," she greeted and swore she saw something wet spring into the corners of her former co-Cavalier's eyes. Then it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

"Hey, you ginger menace." The childhood nickname fell easily from her smiling lips as if she hadn't stopped calling Gideon that almost ten years ago. A steady hand reached out and slid through her hair comfortingly before pulling back. "Palamedes, she's awake," Cam called and all the arguing in the other room screeched to a halt, replaced with hurried steps and swishing robes.

"Gideon!” Pal called as he appeared at the side of the bed with Harrow trailing behind. “How do you feel? Warm? Cold? Nauseous? How many fingers am I holding up?” he held up three fingers. 

“Hey to you too, SexPal…” 

Pal shook his raised fingers at her and Gideon sighed. “Three,” she drawled and he looked at Cam, who dutifully started writing things down. The next ten minutes were spent taking her temperature, her pulse, they looked in her mouth, her eyes, her ears. Asked her questions about blood in her urine or stool. “Where are we? What did we come here for? What’s your name?” 

To which an exasperated Gideon had dutifully answered “Your mom knows my name,” 

During all of this Harrow stood a few feet away, hands clasped around each other and frowning fiercely. Pal leaned in and listened to her heart, ran his piano fingers over her arms and throat before finally leaning back, staring at her with wide eyes before he let out a shuddering breath and pushed up his glasses to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

“You’re fine… perfectly fine,” he said under his breath. 

“Well… that’s good ri-” the rest of that sentence was cut off by Pal wrapping her up in a tight hug, his face buried in her shoulder. She was shocked even further when Cam threw her arms around them both and squeezed as well. Gideon hugged them back.

“You should be a corpse,” Pal stated when he pulled back to look at her, eyes shiny. 

“Well, nice thing about ‘should’. It implies I am not,” she chuckled but Pal just nodded. 

“No thanks to Harrowhark’s attempts to the contrary.” He shot the other necromancer a sharp look. Gideon blinked. Then she balked when Harrow said nothing at all in her own defense. 

“How could you ask this of her, Harrow? I know you are well aware of the consequences and Gideon’s tendency to ask how high when told to jump (Rude, Gideon thought). To be this careless with her life?!”  

“I did not want this, Sextus!” Harrow snapped back this time. “Never was this something I would have done if I had another choice! The field was much more vicious than Septenarius led me to believe. I… I should have refused the trial,” she said quietly. 

“You should have,” Pal agreed tersely. “I would never have let Gideon go with you to the Ninth if I’d known this was to be her fate!” he said and Harrow flinched. Actually fucking flinched and Gideon couldn’t just sit there another moment. 

“Hey! Over here? Yeah, bitch who got her insides sucked out?” Gideon drew everyone’s attention, waving around her hand. “I am not a child or a fucking invalid. I let Harrow drain my thalergy,” she said, making the Sixth adept turn back to look at her fully. 

“Gideon, you’re not a necromancer, you could not know what that kind of siphoning would entail and have made an informed decision…,” he was saying and Gideon frowned, a little aggravated by that. 

“Harrow explained it very well to me, Pal. It’s like what the Second do, dying screaming and all that fun shit. I agreed to it anyway,” she said and Pal stared back at her, hard. 

“Why? Why would you do such a thing? You very nearly died, Gideon, you should be dead, or at the very least, in a vegetative state, your brain reduced to so much mush. The fact you are unharmed is a miracle I can not even begin to articulate!” He jumped up and threw out his hands. Cam sat on the side of the bed beside her, looking at her with eyes of calculating brown. As if she could see inside Gideon’s head. Sometimes she wondered if she could. Or was just that adept at reading Gideon. 

“Because Harrow needed me to do it.” This answer only served to further aggravate her former necromancer. 

“Your lack of self-preservation skills has worried me since we were children,” he ground out.

“Don’t give me that shit, Palamedes.” Gideon scoffed. “Regardless of promised brain damage, I promise you that Cam would hand herself over to you to drain just the same without asking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Camilla would not-” He spun around and caught his Cavalier’s eyes. They stared silently and then she cocked a brow at him. Gideon only barely managed not to smirk. Palamedes made an utterly angry sound before starting to pace around the room. “Cavaliers!” He said it like it was a curse. “Lyctorhood is not as important as your lives,” he said, stopping to look at them both.

“It’s not,” Harrow agreed and that made Gideon look at her. 

“But the Ninth…?” she started and Harrow’s eyes squeezed shut. 

“The fate of the Ninth is my responsibility, Gideon.” Her eyes opened again to stare at her wife. “Knowing what I know now, if I thought it would keep you safe, I would disavow you as my Cavalier and spouse and send you back to the Sixth where you could not do such foolish things as that which happened in ‘avulsion’ last night… but I’m a terribly selfish creature… and I could never bear to see you go,” she mumbled the last bit. Gideon stared slack-jawed at her wife having an emotional moment in front of other people. Maybe she was dead.

“If I might interject,” Pal started, making the Ninth adept and Cavalier look at him. “I have had a sneaking suspicion for years that things on the Ninth are not as they are for the reasons you have divulged to us Harrowhark… I can not say what for certain, nor even give scientifically credenced reasons for it. It has always just been a feeling…” He looked between the two of them. More so at Gideon, who felt like a deer caught in headlights as she could feel Pal reading her face. 

Then she glanced at Harrow, who seemed much the same.  

“I see,” he nodded more to himself than anything. He looked at Harrow. “Cross as I am with you at the moment still, I would like to remind you Harrowhark, that we are friends. At the very least, I am your friend. Has the Sixth not answered every call to help or action you have put to us?" he asked.

Harrow pursed her lips but nodded. 

"It has. The Ninth could never deny the steadfast friendship and loyalty of the Sixth…"

"Then I need your word, Harrow, that this scrabble to Lyctorhood, this gross misuse of one of my oldest and dearest friend’s lives, is with great reason." He stepped close to her and now he was blocking the view of the bone magician from the bed.

There was a long silence, very long. Long enough Gideon was worried as Cam started to fidget beside her.

"Have a seat, Palamedes," Harrow said with a severe and sobering tone. "First, I must extract your and Camilla's words that what I'm about to tell you shall remain with you till death."

Pal turned and glanced at Cam, who glanced at Gideon, who nodded. In turn, Cam and then Pal nodded.

"You have our solemn vow, Harrowhark."

The next twenty minutes were spent in tense silence, save Harrow telling the true story of what became of the Ninth's lost youth.

It was at the story's end, when Harrow stood before the two current and one former member of the Sixth House that she finally met any of their eyes.  

Pal had pulled off his glasses and was pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"If I don't become a Lyctor and restore my House, then it was all for nothing," Harrow finished and Pal sighed.

"You knew about this?" He turned and looked at Gideon, who nodded. 

"Since the first time Harrow visited the Sixth. She told me when I told her how I felt. Trying to persuade me out of my feelings."

"Clearly that didn't work," he mumbled. Then he turned back to Harrow. Their gazes locked and he stood from the end of the bed before Harrow. "Harrow… I understand your desire to make up for the lives sacrificed by your parents, I do… but that vile and terrible thing that they did, was not your fault by any means. Nor is it your responsibility to answer for their sins," he said softly as he walked up to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Remarkably, she let him. "Nothing can ever make that wrong right…" 

"I have to try. Two-hundred died so I could live and let the Ninth thrive… but without them, the Ninth has withered regardless. I can not further be the reason for its demise," she said. The two necromancers regarded each other silently for a long moment. Then, Pal sighed.

"I suppose we'll just have to become Lyctors then," he said, a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. "Without inflicting permanent brain damage on our Cavaliers…," he added and Harrow jerked her head in a nod, glancing back at Gideon.

"Yes… that is not a price I am willing to pay…"

"So… we all done yelling at each other?" Gideon asked and Pal nodded. "Cool, I wanted to bring up how weird last night was… with Venus," she said and Harrow nodded. 

"Ah, yes. Harrow explained some of it to us. You're right, she didn't know that we had already been there and although it's possible she had done it all that morning, it seems to me that she intended to make it seem as though she'd been working in that lab for days…but it was most certainly undisturbed when we arrived," he ran his fingers through his beard, looking thoughtful. "I think we need to be more wary of Lady Septenarius," he said.

"Do you… think she had something to do with Magnus and Abigail? Gideon asked and Pal hummed. 

"I wouldn't necessarily jump to that conclusion…but I sincerely doubt that it was angry ghosts." He looked at Cam before turning back to Harrow and Gideon. "They didn't fall, although the cause of their death was violent head and body trauma. While examining the bodies, I found that their wounds contained extraordinarily tiny bone fragments. The fragments weren’t homogenous—they were samples from many different osseous sources, which is of course indicative of—”

"Necromancy," Harrow finished and Pal nodded. 

"Yes, just so,

"So someone is a murderer," Gideon frowned, hands fisting into the blankets, albeit weakly.

"Not necessarily," Pal said. "I said they didn't fall. But as the Winnowing trial has taught us, there are constructs lurking about in the facility. Who's to say they are limited to the laboratories?" He offered and Gideon frowned, knowing he was right. They didn't know enough.

"Speaking of the laboratories, we need to make use of the key Gideon purchased us. I must then turn it over to the Seventh, as agreed upon."

"Right. We can do so now," Pal said and Harrow nodded. Cam stood from the bed and Gideon tried to stand, only to crumple the moment she tried to put her weight on her legs.

"Gideon, no!" Harrow was quickly at her side as Cam helped her back up to sit on the side of the bed. "You need to stay here, you're still weak," she said.

"What?!"

"She's right, you need to recuperate, are you telling me you're not tired?" Pal asked, brow cocked and Gideon huffed. She must have looked as utterly exhausted as she felt. "You could also stand to use the sonic," he tacked on.

"Huh?"

"You smell," Cam clarified and Gideon scowled.

"Well, excuse me. I'd love to see you having your nerves lit on fire and not lose control of your faculties while blood spurts out of your face!"

"I'll help you," Cam offered and then Gideon was being led across the room toward the bathroom, Cam's arm around her waist.

"That-" Harrow started.

"Is nothing I haven't seen before, we used to share training room sonics," Cam cut off before Harrow could protest.

"I don't need help," Gideon grunted but ended up needing help shucking her stiff and dirty clothes. 

At least Cam stood outside the sonic while she cleaned off. 

Then she was helped into clean pants and a shirt and led hack to bed.

"There, you look much better already!" Pal smiled.

"Smell better too," Cam offered with a smirk and Gideon flipped them both off. 

"Griddle,” Harrow called, garnering her wife's attention. "We will go and examine the study. Stay here and rest…" Gideon opened her mouth to protest. "Please, beloved," she said and Gideon's jaw snapped shut. Harrow had never called her that in front of other people before. There was a look on the Ninth adept's face. A desperate worry in her eyes that probably only Gideon could see behind the paint. 

She sighed. "Fine," she grunted, leaning back in the bed. 

"Excellent. Don't worry, we’ll return soon and regale you with everything we learn." Pal smiled before turning and heading toward the door. Cam gave her a gentle tap on the shoulder with her fist.

"Rest," she said before following Pal.

Harrow lingered, walking up to the side of the bed.

"You need to rest, Gideon," she said as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Gideon's mouth. "Please," she entreated and Gideon grunted.

"Now you know how I feel when you're out there bleeding from your face holes," she crossed her arms and Harrow was silent a moment before nodding. 

"Yes… I will endeavor to do less of that for both our sakes. As I hope you will," she said and turned to follow the Sixth while Gideon leaned back against the pillows.

She was annoyed to be forced to stay in bed… but she couldn't deny the siren song of sleep once she let her eyes droop shut. She was still exhausted.

A minute later, she was dead to the world again. 

Chapter Text

Gideon awoke to the quiet shuffling of feet on the floor and a wonderful smell that roused her stomach before she’d even opened her eyes. 

“What’s that smell?” she gurgled, rolling over onto her side. 

“I told you that would get her up,” Cam’s voice said from somewhere, followed by Pal’s low laughter.  

“She’s a glutton," Harrow's voice said.

“She is rather voracious,” Pal admitted and then Gideon was opening her eyes. Cam was standing at the foot of the bed with a plate full of food and Gideon honed in on it, suddenly a starving woman. Quiet shuffling drew her gaze to the open bedroom door where Pal and Harrow came walking in from.

"Sit up," Cam nodded with her chin and Gideon pushed herself up against the headboard. Cam set the plate in her lap and Gideon wasted no time shoving a piece of bread in her mouth.

"How was the study?" she asked, looking up at them, mouth still half full of bread.

"A wealth of knowledge… but I believe we have more pressing matters to worry about." Pal folded his arms and frowned.

"The other houses are going to start turning on each other… and us," Harrow said and Gideon nearly choked mid-swallow.

"What?" she coughed. 

"Evidently, it was not obvious that every key is unique…," Pal grunted.

"A fact that Sextus saw fit to bring to the attention of the Second and Third while we were collecting your food," Harrow scowled and Pal huffed but said nothing in his own defense.

"The Second is still chomping at the bit to assert authority over this fiasco?" Gideon asked and Cam nodded.

"There are no rules. Against theft, murder… anything," the Sixth Cavalier murmured.

"This is a bloodbath waiting to happen," Gideon grunted around another mouthful.

"I'd like to think that we are all civilized enough that things won't devolve to such ends…," Pal said. 

Cam and Gideon shared a look. 

"It will," Harrow insisted and Pal sighed, likely out of frustration that she was right. "Everyone will be a target for everyone else in a bid to get the remaining and claimed keys." She looked at Sextus, brow bunched up in a little knot between her eyes. Pal sighed and pulled his glasses off his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"She's right, Warden," Cam added and Pal shook his head.

"Most likely." He nodded and slipped his glasses back onto his face. "That is why the Eighth has targeted the Seventh. It also means that we need to remain united and trusting of each other more than ever." He looked at Harrow, who stared back and nodded.

"As we discussed earlier. The Sixth is unquestionable in its loyalty and friendship. The Ninth will answer any call the Sixth puts to it," Harrow promised.

Pride swelled in Gideon's chest at Harrow's words. Emperor above, she loved that little bone witch.

"As will the Sixth." Pal nodded his head. "For now, we need to assess what we know about these theorems and how they connect to a greater whole. 

"Your megatheorem hypothesis again?" Harrow scoffed and Gideon blinked, glancing at Cam as she continued to stuff her face with food.

"It makes the most sense," Pal insisted and Harrow sniffed. Within a few minutes, they were both in the main room arguing quietly.

"Feeling better?" Cam asked and Gideon nodded, finishing her meal by tossing the last morsel in her mouth and setting the plate on the bedside table. 

"Way better now, thanks," she said, throwing back the blankets and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her muscles were stiff but she felt worlds better than before. 

She stood and stretched her arms overhead. Her back gave a few satisfying pops and relief spread through her torso.

"Oh yeah, I'm feeling pretty good!" She twisted her torso back and forth, loosening the muscles. She flexed her hands, noticing that the deep and bloody gouges in her left from her teeth were gone. What remained was a handful of pale scarring. No doubt one of the necromancers' doing. "I feel like I could use a good spar…" She looked at Cam beseechingly. The other Cav rolled her eyes but put up her fists. Gideon grinned and then the two were dancing around each other in her and Harrow's bedroom, throwing, dodging, and blocking punches. 

They were both sweating and breathing hard half an hour later when both their necromancers once more appeared in the doorway.

"Naturally, we leave the two of you alone for less than half an hour and you're sparring. You should be resting," he said pointedly to Gideon.

"I feel great, Pal," she said smiling at him and flexing for good measure. Her former adept rolled his eyes. 

"That doesn't mean you should be pushing yourself," Harrow chastised. 

"I know you didn't miss the 'all the Houses are going to turn on each other soon' thing, babe. I'm gonna have to be fit to fight whether I want to be or not." 

Harrow's mouth pinched tightly.

"Unfortunately, you're right," Pal sighed. "I think it's only a matter of time before challenges for keys are made. Octakiseron has already set the precedent, however indirectly." He ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully. "That being said, we should rest while we can. We've compiled all the information we have about the trials, I've done all of them save for the one I won't play ball with." He looked at Cam, who nodded and dropped her fists, and moved to the door. "We'll pick this up again in the morning?" He looked at Harrow, who nodded. "We'll see ourselves out." He turned and made his way to the door with Cam following.

Gideon scoffed and dropped back onto the side of the bed. 

"Now what am I supposed to do?" she huffed.

"Rest," Harrow said, moving toward the vanity.

"I've been resting, Harrow!" Gideon groaned and flopped back on the bed, arms splayed wide.

"You nearly died!" Harrow snapped and Gideon lifted her head up to look at her. Harrow was scowling hotly at her from the vanity seat, her hands fisted atop her thighs. Gideon blinked and sat up fully. 

"I know. I was there, Harrow, gushing blood like a faucet," she said and Harrow turned back to the mirror but Gideon could clearly see her eyes downcast in its reflection. Gideon watched her for all of a second before standing and walking quietly across the room to stand behind her wife, now that she was closer, she could see the slight tremble in her shoulders. Harrow was still shaken up about what happened in avulsion.

'I felt you dying…'

Now that she was a little more lucid, she could hear the agony and terror that had been laced throughout those words. 

"Harrow," she called softly. She watched Harrow's eyes flicker up to look at her in the reflection of the mirror. Gideon reached up and tugged gently on her shoulder. Harrow went, turning to face her and Gideon knelt on the floor in front of her. Harrow watched her silently as Gideon took hold of her left hand and pressed it to her chest. She knew that a necromancer’s well-honed senses of the body meant that Harrow could feel her heart beating beneath her warm little hand.

"I'm okay, Harrowhark. I'm alive," she said softly, her hand pressed over Harrow's. 

Her wife's hand curled into a tight fist, Gideon's shirt squeezed between her fingers. 

"It was too close…," Harrow murmured, tugging Gideon closer and pulling her off balance. She braced herself, her hands on Harrow's thighs while she buried her face into Gideon's neck and squeezed.

"I know… but I'm okay, babe," Gideon pressed a kiss to soft, black hair and Harrow made a high-pitched sound like a wounded animal, tugging Gideon even closer.

Finally, she loosened her grip and Gideon leaned back to look at her. Her eyes were wet and her paint was smudged all to hell. Gideon hummed and reached around her for the rag and cold cream. Harrow said nothing as Gideon dipped the rag in it and went about carefully removing the paint from her skin.

When she was clean-faced, Gideon smiled and Harrow stared back at her, something flashed in her eyes and then she was kissing Gideon, all force and passion.

Gideon yelped into the necromancer's mouth as her thin arms wrapped around Gideon's neck and held. There was something desperate in the kiss, the way Harrow's tongue pleaded for entrance into her mouth. Gideon returned the kiss before pulling back. Harrow, honest to god, whimpered as Gideon stood, but she didn't go far. She held out her hand and Harrow didn't hesitate to take it.

Harrow needed reassurance, that she was still alive… that she was okay… maybe even that Gideon truly wasn't upset about Harrow nearly killing her. 

Gideon was going to give it to her 

"Come on," she murmured and walked backward, leading Harrow to the bed. She followed wordlessly, till Gideon pushed her onto the bed and onto her back.

"Gideon…," she whispered as the Cavalier crawled up over her. 

"It's okay," she mumbled before dipping her head to capture Harrow's lips in a kiss.

The rest of the night was spent in a haze of warmth and reassurances muttered breathily against sweat-slicked skin.

~ ~ ~

They met the Sixth in the dining hall the next morning, refreshed and ready to go.

At least, Gideon had thought she would be ready but she hadn't at all. 

She was happy as could be as they waltzed into the dining hall and sat, waiting to be served. It was hard not to be in a good mood after several hours of being the railer and the railee. 

She hummed to herself as the robed constructs set a plate in front of her and Harrow. She set to stuffing her gob immediately. Even Harrow ate more than normal.

'Normal' being a few spread-out bites here and there. Today she -at a still reserved pace- ate what could almost be constituted as half a meal. 

"Did you work up an appetite?" Gideon asked, wagging her brows, which of course made Harrow roll her eyes.

"Eat your breakfast and shut up," her adept grunted, sipping on her glass of water. Gideon chuckled quietly to herself but did so. The other Houses were also in attendance this morning and things were rather quiet save the clacking bones of the skeletal servants moving about the room. She would have noticed the tension in the air had she been paying attention to anyone else in the room besides Harrow.

To be totally fair, things had been spectacularly shitty as of late and she was glad to just sit here and have a calm and quiet breakfast with Harrow.

In fact, the fact it was so calm and quiet should have been her first clue that things were once more about to break out into a shitstorm.

"Good morning, Gideon, Harrow."

Gideon looked up to see Pal walking up to the table with a smile, Cam was -as always - half a step behind him.

"SexPal, Cam," Gideon saluted the two with her fork. "Unravel any more mysteries last night after you left?" she asked and Pal chuckled.

"No, I'm afraid not… I didn't get to spend as much time as I would have liked going over our notes…"

"I made him go to sleep," Cam intoned as a plate was set in front of her by a construct.

"I hardly think Harrow was put to bed by her Cavalier last night," The Master Warden of the Sixth grumbled, wiping at his glasses with a cloth.

Gideon had hardly even opened her mouth when a booted foot slammed into her calf.

“Ow!” Gideon jerked, drawing the attention of everyone in the nearby vicinity. She grumbled as Harrow shot her a look. 

“Apologies, my foot slipped,” Harrow said without care before going back to her water. Gideon glared at her and then she turned her head back, Cam was giving her a knowing look. 

Pal wisely chose to keep any thoughts he had to himself as he picked up a fork. There was a look on his face though that Gideon knew well. 

The rest of the meal was had with quiet conversation between the two adepts while Gideon and Cam carried on a silent convo through brow movements and mouth quirks. 

When they'd finished eating, they were getting ready to head down to the facility when someone cleared their throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Everyone's head turned and Judith Deuteros stood from her chair.

"I would like to address everyone in attendance here this morning. This is where the tendon meets the bone. This key hoarding needs to come to an end and as it seems no one is interested in taking responsibility, the Second will," she announced.

"Do you intend to bore us into handing over our keys?" Ianthe drawled, setting her chin on one pale hand and regarding the head of the Second with all the interest one might give to drying paint.

"No." The head of the Second intoned flatly, not even looking at the Princess of Ida. Her eyes turned to the end of the table and locked onto Palamedes. Gideon tensed and she could see Cam do the same across from her through the twitch of her shoulders. 

Pal wiped his hands with his napkin and met the Captain's stare.

"Warden, the Sixth is the Emperor’s Reason. I asked you earlier, and I’m telling you now to reconsider. Hand over what keys you’ve won for my safekeeping.”

The Sixth, the Emperor’s Reason, blinked.

“With all respect,” he said, “piss off.”

“Let the record state that I was forced into a challenge,” said Lieutenant Dyas, and she peeled off one white glove. She threw it down on the table, looking Palamedes dead in the eye. “We duel. I name the time, you name the place. The time is now."

Gideon nearly choked on her own tongue as a quiet babble broke out at the breakfast table. The Second was challenging the Sixth?! 

Teacher, who had been sitting at the table with them, rose from his chair, looking the most defeated Gideon had ever seen the old man. 

"I will not be party to this," he said, as if that was going to stop anyone. Then he went out the doors without a backward glance.

"Judith, you coward." Corona stood, slapping both hands on the table.

"They made themselves an easy target by letting Sise go," Naberius scoffed, flicking a curl of hair back off his forehead. 

"Well, the Third won't have it. Sixth, you mustn’t accept—the Third will represent the Sixth in this, if they’ll consent. At arms, Babs.”

Her twin sister’s voice was thin and soft as silk: “Don’t unsheathe that sword, Naberius.”

“Ianthe, what—are—you—doing," Corona gritted out.

“I want to see how this plays out,” she said with a pallid shrug, heedless of the growing ire in her twin’s voice. “Alas. I have a bad personality and a stupefying deficit of attention.”

“Well, Babs, thank God, has much better sense than to listen to you— Babs?" 

Naberius’s hand was hesitating hard on the hilt. He had not sprung into action as proposed, nor had he flanked the commanding twin. He was staring at her pale shadow, knuckles white, hand still, with a resentment very near hate. Corona’s smile flickered. “Babs?” 

Meanwhile, Gideon's gaze had turned to Palamedes, whose hands had fisted atop the table, his brow wrinkled tightly between his eyes. Cam was watching him with a marked intensity. Both Cavaliers could practically see him thinking as he met Judith's unwavering gaze with his own unmoving, cool, slate gaze.

“Default, Warden,” said the Captain. “You are a good man. Don’t put your cavalier through this.”

Palamedes seemed to snap out of it all at once, squeaking his chair legs horribly on the tiled floor as he scooted it backward and away from the table’s edge.

“No, we’re doing this,” he said abruptly. “I pick here.”

The captain said, “Sextus, you’re mad. Give her some dignity."

"I am," Pal said icily as everyone still seated at the table stood and moved back. He turned his eyes to Cam and nodded. Cam, true to her fashion, stood, letting her cloak fall from her shoulders to a puddle of fabric on the floor. In one graceful movement, she had mounted the table and drawn her rapier and dagger.

"I don't understand," Harrow murmured quietly to Gideon. "I have seen you and Hect spar many times. She's just as deadly as you. I don't understand why they seem to believe her to be the weak one out." She looked up at Gideon, who leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"The Sixth isn't exactly known for producing legendary sword fighters. Also, I'm the only one who ever entered the dueling competitions. Over the years people just started to assume that Cam didn't enter because she wasn't any good," she explained.

"But we both know she is," Harrow frowned.

"Well,… with her two short swords, she's hell's fury…but the rapier was never really her thing. We only learned it to keep up appearances. I put more time into it for competitions, Cam didn't. She's good…but someone who lives and breathes the rapier like Dyas… is probably better," Gideon admitted with a frown. "Everyone thinks that I was the dangerous Cavalier on the Sixth and now that I'm Ninth, they think the Sixth is easy pickings.

"I dare say they're about to be proven wrong," Harrow hummed as they watched the Lieutenant mount the table, jacket still on and drawing her rapier, polished to a painful glare and a sharp dagger with a wicked-looking edge.

"Emperor, I hope so," Gideon mumbled to herself but felt Harrow's hand tap hers. A small but welcome comfort as the two Cavaliers stood across from each other.

Chapter Text

They stood around the table, quiet and tense as the lovely and miserable-looking Coronabeth shouldered forward to stand at the table too, positioned in the space between the two Cavaliers. She called to Judith and Palamedes: “Clav to sac—?”

“Hyoid down, disarm legal, necromancer’s mercy,” said the Second’s necromancer calmly. Coronabeth sucked a breath through her teeth.

“Sextus. Do you agree to the terms?”

“I have no idea what any of that means,” said Palamedes. 

Gideon slapped a hand to her face. All the times she had talked about dueling over the years, she had thought the Master Warden of the Sixth would have been paying attention. Maybe even retained just a little bit of it…

But no.

On the bright side, she knew that Cam did listen when she talked about official dueling and probably knew exactly what that meant. It was also bullshit! Judith was being a prick on purpose because she thought she could easily strong-arm Pal by all but torturing Cam.

Her hands fisted at her sides as Corona explained it to him. Meanwhile, Cam never took her eyes off the opposing Cavalier.

“Don’t let her make an example of you,” said the princess. “She’s picking on you because you can’t fight back, like a bully kicking a dog. She’s given herself leeway to hurt your cavalier very badly, and she will, just to scare Octakiseron and Nonagesimus—no offense, Ninth.”

Harrow just narrowed her eyes at the Princess.

The Warden of the Sixth drummed his feet on the floor percussively. He said, “So you’re saying her cavalier can do more or less anything to my cavalier, all in the name of making me cry uncle?”

“Yes!”

From across the table, Captain Deuteros said sternly: “No more waiting. Default or fight. Corona, if you insist on arbitrating, arbitrate.”

Those exquisite eyes would have persuaded a stone to roll uphill, but finding no purchase with Palamedes, Corona raised her voice reluctantly: “To the mercy call. Hyoid down. The neck is no exception. Point, blade, ricasso, offhand. Call.”

“Marta the Second,” called Lieutenant Dyas.

Camilla did not call. She looked down at her necromancer and said, “Just tell me how to play it,” before raising her voice: “Camilla the Sixth."

Corona was saying, “Two paces back—can’t turn, damn!—this is so hard to do on a table—”

“Cam,” Palamedes said. “Go loud."

“—and begin,” said Coronabeth.

They both shot off at the same time and Gideon watched their movements with a calculating gaze.

She knew Cam's every line and muscle movement by heart, learned over a lifetime of fighting together and against each other. She knew all Cam's signs and tells. She didn't know Dyas much, but she had fought her before and Gideon had to give the Lieutenant her due. She was good. Unlike Naberius, who was a rulebook-perfect fighter, Marta Dyas had trained with the front in mind. With opponents that were trying to slit your throat, not disarm you. Her sword arm was balanced and light, her posture neat but not starchy. She was incredibly reactive, ready for any gambit her opponent could bring.

Camilla hit her like a hurricane.

She exploded forward with her rapier wide and her dagger held close, knocking the lieutenant’s hurried parry out the way and sliding away from a belated lunge with Dyas' dagger. She sliced a red gouge down Dyas’s immaculate white jacket and shirt, bashed her across the knuckles with the hilt of her rapier, and kicked her in the knee for good measure. Gideon was biting her lip, eyes flickering between armaments and limbs.

The kick was Cam’s only mistake. The pain clearly set every neuron in Dyas’s body shrieking with adrenaline. Someone like Naberius would have been prone on the table from shock, probably bleating and shitting. But the Second kept her wits about her—she took the pain with a stagger, kept her footing and held her blade, and parried another sweeping blow from Cam's dagger. She moved back for breathing space—Camilla harassing her with strike after strike to get back inside her guard—until she could move no more: she was, after all, fighting on a table. Camilla’s foot lashed out to her offhand, and the dagger clattered to the ground. The Second, with an honestly beautiful dodge and a perfect reaction, took her one opportunity and lunged. Dyas was desperate, and Dyas was of the Second House. Cam fought like a grease fire, it was something Gideon had always admired about her, but she left herself too many openings when fighting with a rapier. Dyas’s thrust would have pierced a lesser fighter right beneath the collarbone and run her through. It caught Camilla Hect low in the right forearm as she nearly dodged it—piercing the meat next to the ulna and making her snarl. She dropped her cobweb-light rapier, grabbed Marta’s wrist, and yanked. The arm dislocated with a bright pop.

Lieutenant Dyas didn’t quite scream, but she got most of the way there. She windmilled at the edge of the table. Still holding the wrist, Camilla stepped past her, kicked her legs out almost dismissively, and drove her down face-first into the wooden boards with a crunch. This left Camilla standing over her opponent, one foot pressed into the back of her neck, the dislocated arm pinned up at an angle that looked seriously uncomfortable. Dyas made a strangled, agonized noise, and Judith Deuteros snapped:

“Mercy!”

“Mercy called, match to the Sixth,” said Coronabeth, as though saying it faster would make it over sooner.

Gideon let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding as Cam released the pressure on the back of the Lieutenant's neck. Both cavaliers were oozing blood. It dripped from Camilla’s wound where the sword had struck her, and it was soaking through Lieutenant Dyas’ shirt and dribbling from her nose, the exact same color as her neckerchief. She had her eyes screwed up tightly. Palamedes was already standing beside the table, and with another excruciating noise, he set Marta’s arm back inside its joint. This time she really did scream. Captain Deuteros watched, face absolutely blank.

“Your keys,” he said, face stony.

“I don’t have—”

“Then your facility key. Hand it over.”

“You have its exact copy.”

Palamedes rounded on her with a sudden fury that made everyone jump, save Gideon, who knew what he was capable of, and Harrow, who had been on the receiving end of his ire just the day before. “Then maybe I’ll throw it out the fucking window!” he snarled. “Two good Cavs hurt, yours and mine, all because the Second tried to beat up the weak kid first.” He jabbed a finger at Judith’s immaculate waistcoat with intent to impale; she didn’t flinch. “You have no idea how many keys we’re holding! You have no idea how many keys anybody’s holding, because you haven’t paid any damn attention since the shuttles landed! You picked on us because the Sixth aren’t fighters. You could have fought Naberius the Third, or Colum the Eighth. You fought Camilla because you wanted a quick win, and you didn’t even watch her first, you just assumed you could take her. And I can’t stand people who assume.”

“I had cause,” said the Second, doggedly.

“I don’t care,” said Palamedes. “Isn’t it funny how it took the Second, of all houses, to blow this whole thing open? You’ve stuck a target on the back of everyone toting a key. It’s a free-for-all now, and it’s your fault, and you’ll pay for it.”

“For God’s sake, Warden, you misunderstand my intention—”

“Give me your key, Captain!” roared the scion of the Sixth. “Or is the Second faithless, as well as dense?”

“Here,” said Lieutenant Dyas. She had mopped most of the blood away from her mouth and nose, although her once-white shirt was drenched with scarlet. She fumbled in her jacket pocket with her unhurt arm and held out a key ring, adorned with a single key. Palamedes gave her a curt nod, plucked it from her fingers, and turned his back on them both. Camilla was sitting on the edge of the table, her hand clapped over her wound, blood seeping freely from between her fingers.

“Missed the bone,” she said.

“Remember that you’re using a rapier, please,” he murmured. "Did Gideon teach you nothing?"

“I could ask the same thing of you…”

A voice interrupted: “I challenge the Sixth for their keys. I name the time, and the time is now."

Everyone jolted, turning toward the voice of Naberius Tern as he jumped up on the table and drew his rapier. He looked down at them all with a hard sneer and the one stupid curl that he always managed to get right in the middle of his forehead.

“No, you don’t,” said Coronabeth faintly.

“Yes, he does,” said Ianthe, rising to stand. “You need a facility key, don’t you? Here’s our chance. I suspect we won’t be given a better.”

There was an expression of grim alarm rising on Judith Deuteros’s face. She had both hands across the oozing slit on her cavalier’s chest, and she had paused in her work out of sheer annoyance. “You have no cause,” she said.

“Neither did you, if we’re all being honest with ourselves. Sextus was perfectly right.”

“If you want to cast me as the villain, do it,” said the captain. “I’m trying to save our lives. You’re giving in to chaos. There are rules, Third.”

“On the contrary,” Ianthe said, “you’ve amply demonstrated that there are no rules whatsoever. There’s only the challenge … and how it’s answered." When she looked at her sister’s stricken face—Corona was somewhere beyond fury and shame now, and had lost every atom of her poise—she only said, quite softly: “This is for you, dear, don’t be picky. This may be the only chance we have. Don’t feel bad, sweetheart—what can you do?” 

Corona’s face changed—the struggle gave way to exhaustion, but at the same time there was a weird relief in her. Her teeth were gritted, but one of her hands tangled in her sister’s long, thin, ivory-blond locks and she drew their heads close. “I can do nothing,” she said.

“Then let’s do this together. I need you.”

“I need you,” echoed her twin, rather piteously. 

Gideon made a face, realizing, once again she missed a bullet of enormous proportions by marrying into the Ninth above the other Houses. The Third in particular. She got the distinct feeling that had she somehow married one of the twins she would be playing second fiddle to the other.

Cam, for her part, hand now quickly wrapped by Pal, stood from where she'd been sitting on the edge of the table, blood already seeping through the handkerchief.

"Second round then," she drawled with a frown and Gideon clenched her fists so hard they squeaked and turned to catch Harrow's eye. Her wife glanced up at her and gave a single curt nod, rising to the occasion like Gideon's own personal, evening star.

"The Ninth House will represent the Sixth House," she said, cold and imperious. A few feet away Pal sagged with palpable relief. If Gideon didn't know better, she would think he was about to start crying.

Gideon threw off her robes and jumped up on the table across from Naberius. She unsheathed her rapier and ax, Its wickedly curved blade catching the light. Golden eyes glared from her skull-painted visage.

"Ahh, the Sixth's bosom buddies answer their call for help," Ianthe drawled.

"The Ninth House honors its bonds of loyalty and friendship," Harrow answered, looking down her nose at the pale twin.  

"Surely Sise can't be that good," Ianthe tittered and Harrow shot the Third Princess a look that would have made a lesser woman's flesh crawl right off her bones. "It feels to me an alternative motive is at play…," she smiled.

"Death first to vultures and scavengers," Harrow's cold and ominous voice answered.

"I suppose I'll arbitrate if the Ninth and the Third both agree," Venus said softly as Pro helped her move closer to the table. Harrow nodded and Ianthe waved a hand but there was a knot in her brows. 

Gideon paid no attention to any of them as she glared heatedly at Tern, who looked less confident now that he wasn't fighting a wounded Cam. She was ready for anything. Gideon, like him, could fight tournament style but unlike Tern, she could fight viciously and to win like Cam. 

"Clav to sac…?" Venus asked and Ianthe hesitated a moment before replying.

"Hyoid down, disarm legal, necromancer’s mercy,” the Princess drawled. And Naberius spun around to stare wide-eyed at one of his necromancers. She calmly held his gaze, a brow quirking and then he turned back to face Gideon, looking a little more pale but his grip on his weapons tightened and his body tensed. Gideon's frown deepened. That was not Tern's style of fighting. Was she trying to get him maimed? He turned back to face her and readied himself.

"Agreed," Harrow answered.

“To the mercy call. Hyoid down. The neck is no exception. Point, blade, ricasso, offhand. Call.”

"Naberius the Third!"

"Gideon the Ninth!"

They turned, took two paces…

"...begin." Venus' soft call was a harsh juxtaposition to the clatter of booted feet on the table as both Cavaliers turned and flew at each other.

Rapiers clashed in a jarringly loud ring of metal but neither stayed locked for more than a half second before jerking back. The trident knife swung at her and Gideon dodged and jabbed forward with her rapier. Tern stepped back out of its reach but twisted and thrust the trident knife forward. It caught her cheek. Shallow, but deep enough for blood to start pouring down her cheek. He followed this up with a sudden and vicious headbutt that connected grazingly with her chin. It was still enough to make her taste blood and Gideon growled. With renewed force, she slashed her rapier downward, cutting straight through the right chest side of Naberius' shirt. The bright purple quickly turning an off-maroon with blood. 

The Third Cavalier hissed and jerked back, trident dagger held up, rapier at the ready. Gideon had to give him that, he didn't waver. 

Then again, considering who his necromancers were, maybe embedded with Gideon's ax would have been a more merciful death. 

She swung the ax downward, missing totally and he backstepped. The full weight of her arm had been in that strike and the seconds she needed to recover cost her as Tern lunged across the table, rapier first, ducking around Gideon's ax and into her guard. His blade cut a line of fire across her chest from left to right collarbone. She clenched her teeth and knocked the bloodied rapier up and out of her way to swing her ax in an arc of deadly, shining metal. He just barely dodged being cleaved in twain. He righted himself and rushed her with his trident knife.

Tern was a showfighter. Not a real one and Gideon was going to remind him of this the painful way. He wasn’t good enough at it to fight like her or Cam. Instead of leaning away from the attack, she lunged into it. The knife whizzed past her ear. Gideon twisted to shoulder him in the chest. His smaller frame reeled back. She wasn't done. She swung her leg, catching him in the ankles. He flailed and went stumbling, falling flat on his back on the table, rapier and knife flying from his grip and skittering off the table and clattering to the ground. 

Before he could even think to get up, Gideon slammed her knee into his midsection with the full weight of her body. He made a pained and choking wheeze before he found the edge of Gideon's ax pressed flush against his neck. A line of blood seeping out against the blade. Naberius froze, wheezing pathetically with Gideon's knee planted directly in this diaphragm. Things were still and quiet as he lay flat on his back with Gideon kneeling over him.

No one spoke and she pressed her ax tighter against his throat. More blood seeped around the ax and Tern made a pained cry.

There was a disgusted scoff from somewhere off to the side.

"Mercy…" 

"Mercy called, match to the Ninth on behalf of the Sixth," Venus called softly.

Gideon pulled her ax away and stood. Tern rolled over, curling in on himself.

"Your keys," Harrow turned her attention to the twin Princess'. 

Corona looked lost, lips pressed tightly together and looking at her sister, who was frowning darkly at the necromancer of the Ninth, flanked by Pal and an injured but still dangerous Cam. The Seventh, Second, and Eighth all watched in tense silence before, finally, Ianthe pulled Tern's key ring from her shirt and tossed it at them.

All that jingled from the metal loop was the solitary hatch key. Harrow scowled at it and looked at Pal, who nodded before she removed it from the ring and handed it to Gideon, who just held it in her hand, unwilling to show anyone their one key as Harrow tossed back the key ring.

Naberius moved to stand shakily beside his necromancers, both looking at him like a dog that had just pissed on the carpet.

The Seventh merely looked resigned and the Second was stony-faced as ever, even as Dyas sat in a chair, bloodied. 

"I'll not stand this barbarism another moment longer. Clearly, the Sixth only breeds mad dogs for Cavaliers," Silas declared before turning and moving toward the doors with Colum behind him. Everyone else eyed each other before breaking apart slowly, wary as if turning their backs on mortal enemies. 

Gideon only watched them till they were well on their way down the halls and alone. She pulled out her key ring and slipped the extra hatch key onto her ring before shoving it back down her shirt.

"Let us hurry," Pal, mumbled, a certain wildness in his eyes as they moved toward the Sixth's much closer quarters.

Chapter Text

Only once they were barricaded in the Sixth's chambers did Gideon finally allow herself to relax.

"We've knocked the Second and the Third out of this race it seems, and there is only one key left," Pal declared as he moved quickly to their luggage and started rummaging around till he found what he was looking for. Bandages, and moved back to Cam and started tending to her fussily.

"It's just my right hand," Cam mumbled.

"Hark at her! Just your right hand? My right hand. God, Cam, I’ve never been so scared in all my life!" 

Gideon chuckled at her former necromancer as Cam rolled her eyes at him. Her chuckling screeched to a halt when bony fingers grabbed hold of her chin and tugged her downward till she was facing Harrow, who eyed the cut on her cheek with a critical eye. Blood was still making its way down her face and dripping off her chin. Likewise, blood was seeping from the shallow cut across her chest. 

"I'm fine, sweet thing," she said quietly in the face of Harrow's worried gaze.

"You're not," she grunted, wiping her hand through the blood on her chest to better look at the wound. Her lips were pursed tightly together. 

"’Tis but a flesh wound," Gideon stated gallantly, then hissed as Harrow pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at it roughly. 

"You do everything rough don't you," Gideon grunted as Harrow placed her hands over the chest cut and closed her eyes. Flesh magic was by and far not her specialty, but a small superficial cut like this wouldn't have been hard to close. Gideon could feel the tingle of Harrow's magic in her skin and the prickly feeling of it knitting itself back together under her command.

"You already knew that about me," she mumbled lowly, for Gideon's ears only. Gideon snorted as Harrow's hand moved up to her cheek and closed that cut as well.

"Well, we are now in possession of four facility keys and have taken the Second and Third out of the race… for the moment," Pal turned to them.

"I doubt the younger Tridentatius twin has any intention of giving up," Harrow remarked and Pal nodded.

"Also, my thanks Harrow, for coming to our aid," he said, and Cam dipped her head.

"There was no way we were going to let you guys get steamrolled," Gideon asserted.

"As I said. The Ninth honors its bonds of friendship," she looked at Pal, who dipped his head.

"We need to plan our next move. There is only one key left," 

"One key left to get?" Gideon asked and Pal shook his head. 

"No, all the trials have been completed. I've done them all save Avulsion. But there is a key missing," 

"Do we know what door the missing key unlocks?" Harrow asked and Pal bobbed his head.

"We do."

~ ~ ~ 

They soon found themselves in one of the dark and abandoned hallways of Canaan, in front of a large, gilt-framed picture: the gilt was mostly brown except where it had gone black, and the picture itself was so faded that it looked like a coffee stain. It was a curious image: a dusty expanse of rock, cracked into an enormous canyon running down the center, a sepia river winding into flaked-off nothingness at the very bottom.

“I documented this one a long time back,” said Harrow.

“Let’s take another look.”

Palamedes and Camilla each shouldered one corner of the portrait, lifting it off some unseen tack. It seemed very light. The great Lyctoral door behind it—with its black pillars and its carved horned skulls, its graven images and grim stone—was not particularly well hidden. In all respects, it was a nearly exact match for the other Lyctoral door Gideon had seen. But Harrow sucked in her breath. She went to the lock, and then Gideon saw why: it had been filled in with some hard, tarry grey stuff, like putty or cement. Someone had deliberately tampered with the keyhole. Part of the putty had been chipped away at the bottom, with great gouges taken out of it, but otherwise, it seemed depressingly solid. There was no getting through that stuff without significant engineering work.

“Sextus,” said her necromancer, “it was not in this condition the first night we were in Canaan House.”

“I still can’t believe you documented every door in this place on the first night,” said Palamedes, with one of his slight dry smiles, “and that I didn’t… I couldn’t tell when the lock was first jammed. I thought I was losing my grip.”

Harrow was already easing her gloves off with her teeth, flexing her long nervous fingers like a surgeon. She drew the pad of her thumb over the stuff, furrowed her brow so deeply that it could have held a pencil, and swore under her breath. She tossed the gloves to Gideon, who caught

them neatly, and depressed the matter with her thumb and forefinger.

“This,” she said calmly, “is regenerating ash.”

“Perpetual bone, which accounts for it being undateable—”

“So… same stuff as the transferral construct?" Gideon asked, crossing her arms and Harrow nodded.

“In which case…," Pal hummed

“Whoever put this in place would need to have a comparable level of skill to whoever made the construct,” said Harrow. "Getting it out again would require more power than most bone specialists hold—in aggregate.”

“So, we are going to have to consider this door a lost cause…," Pal frowned, tugging thoughtfully at his beard as he stared at the plugged keyhole.

Harrow stood up fully and scoffed, drawing his attention. "I can remove it."

His brows shot up over the tops of his glasses. He and Harrow stared at each other for a moment before he held a hand out invitingly to the door.

Harrow clapped her hand over the gall of bone matter welted over the lock. Then she drew it back, and with all the self-affinity of chewing gum or glue, it traveled back with her hand, a gummy web of about a finger’s length long. The point of origin vibrated madly as a bead of sweat appeared at her temple. Pal sucked in a breath, and then the stuff snapped back, like flexible plastic, rubbering together sullenly in an immovable lump. Harrow tried again. Her fingers kept flexing in and out impotently, kneading, and she turned her head away and closed her eyes. She stretched the stuff away a whole hand’s length—and then it broke, reformed, scattered back like a reverse explosion. She tried again. And again and again after that. The paint on Harrow’s forehead was shiny with blood sweat now. It bubbled up in greyish-pink rivulets. It shone around each nostril before Gideon rolled her eyes at her wife's stubbornness.

"Hey, stop. You need more, saddle up sunshine. You know what to do."

"What?" Harrow turned to her. " I pointedly do not…"

"I said saddle up and siphon me," she said and Harrow sucked in a sharp breath, as did Pal.

"Gideon…," her voice was low and there was something in it that prodded at something soft in Gideon. She ignored it.

"Nope, come on. It's not like you're walking across a hundred meter death trap… you can suckle on me a little to get it out…" 

Harrow glared.

"Do not call it that…," she grunted before looking at the keyhole and then sighed. "Are you ready?" she asked softly and Gideon winked.

Then the leaching, squirming feeling of siphoning began.

It was just as bad as the first time, but unquestionably shorter than Harrow’s long and awful walk from one side of the avulsion room to the other, and now Gideon knew what to expect. The pain was a familiar brand of terrible. She did not cry out, though that probably would have been more dignified. Instead, she toned it down to a series of wheezes and grunts as her necromancer took something from her that sandpapered her soul. Her blood boiled in her veins then froze abruptly and grazed her innards with each pump of her heart. Harrowhark curved her fingers, and she pulled. At the end of a very long moment, she held an inert sphere of compressed ash and bone, gray and pockmarked, tamed to submission. The lock was as clear and as clean as though the obstruction had never existed. Cam and Pal stared at them. Eventually, Palamedes leaned down to squint through the newly cleared keyhole.

"I still don't approve of that…," he muttered. "It's not good practice or morals… but I suppose I cannot control what the two of you consent to…"

"It gives me no pleasure," Harrow muttered. Her eyes were still on Gideon, who was getting her breath back and holding out a thumbs up. Harrow's other hand held her forearm in a vice-like grip.

"So… we don't have a key for it… why did we clear the hole?" Gideon stood up straight and stretched out her neck, trying to rid herself of the lingering buzzing in her soul. Pal smiled.

"Mostly to give a scare to whoever or whatever it is we are dealing with. We are at the disadvantage of not knowing our enemy. We must press every advantage we do have." 

"We need to find the missing key," Harrow said and Pal nodded. 

"It would be worth having another look around the facility again. Perhaps in a few hours when we've all had a chance to rest…," he looked between Cam and Gideon. 

"I wouldn't say no to a nap," Gideon grunted and Pal smiled that rueful little smile. 

"Yes… and I need to change your bandages." He rounded on Cam, who didn't roll her eyes but Gideon could tell she wanted to.

"We'll meet you in the dining hall for dinner and then go down to the facility together, agreeable?" Pal turned to them and they nodded. "Excellent, till then, be careful," he said looking between the two of them meaningfully.

"You as well." Harrow nodded and then they parted ways at the atrium.

As soon as they were back in their quarters, Gideon made a beeline for the bed and flopped back on it with a sigh. Her eyes already closed and kicked off her boots to flop onto the floor at the foot of the bed.

She did not expect the sudden shift of the bed. She opened her eyes and found Harrow on the bed next to her, leaning over her and watching, eyes intense.

"I'm fine, Harrow," she insisted. “It was just a little suckle," she smirked and Harrow scowled before leaning down and pressing a sudden kiss to her mouth. It was hard at first, aggressive, but then Harrow softened against her, hands tangling in her hair. 

Gideon was panting when Harrow pulled back and set her head on Gideon's chest.

"I don't care how little a 'suckle' it was," she grunted and Gideon smiled.

"Well, if you're going to kiss me every time we do it, I'm down."

Harrow snorted against her neck.

"So you're cheap as well as easy…," she mumbled and Gideon laughed.

~ ~ ~

“Should we just be looking for… a key lying around?” Gideon asked as they moved through the facility. It was quiet, save the quiet whirl of the fans beneath the grates and their booted steps echoing off the walls. 

“If only it was fated to be that easy,” Pal snorted as they moved through the halls to the main laboratories. 

They backtracked through the trials they had completed and the handful that others had done and found no one, no keys, and nothing of any note. 

Just standing in the avulsion chamber made a phantom ache tingle through Gideon’s skin as she looked at the empty plinth box on the other side of the hundred-meter death field. There was little to see besides that and they didn’t stay long before moving to the other labs. Ones she and Harrow hadn’t been to but Cam and Pal had done. 

“We’ve combed over every inch of this place and found nothing…” Gideon sighed, plopping down onto an abandoned chair in one of the labs. Cam leaned against the wall next to her, arms folded. 

“There’s more to explore that we haven’t had access to… like where the prize of this competition is being hidden,” Harrow said and Pal hummed. 

“Ah, your secret door theory again. I admit, at least you stay on brand, very Ninth , Harrow,” he said and Harrow bristled. 

“It is a basic understanding of area and space. We have access to maybe thirty percent of this tower. Not even truly a third. There must be more. Every theorem we’ve seen was powerful beyond imagination… but it’s unsustainable. They require continuous flows of thanergetic power. That must be hidden somewhere in this tower.” Harrow looked at him and Pal stared back with a quiet and contemplating look that Gideon both recognized and hated. As did Cam and they shared a look.

“Pal?” Gideon called. Her former necromancer glanced at her and then at Camilla. His hands fisted up

“I have a theory,” he said quietly and Harrow cocked a brow, waiting. “All the theorems we’ve seen are about control… about harnessing power through our Cavaliers and using it for ourselves. Maybe you’re right, maybe they’re clues leading us somewhere, but I see puzzle pieces. Eight theorems, used in synthesism to become a lyctor…” He paused. His eyes moved to the floor and his nostrils flared as he contemplated the metal flooring. “If lyctorhood is these eight theorems in synthesis… then it’s wrong,” he breathed and Harrow frowned at him. “It’s wrong and the whole thing is an ugly mistake that we should never have been asked to undertake.” 

Gideon could see Harrow’s mind going behind her eyes as she tried to parse Pal’s words and his ominous tone. 

“Just spit it out, Sextus,” she finally snapped when the silence had grown too loud. Pall let out a shaky breath. 

“I believe we brought the source of our lyctorhood with us to the First,” he murmured, turning to look at Gideon and Cam.  

Both Cavaliers blinked and Harrow went stock still. 

“What?” she hissed. 

“It all fits…” He was frowning heavily at her. “I’ve been rereading some of Abigail’s works lately on the early years of the resurrection. Sixteen disciples of the Emperor came here to explore the path to Lyctorhood. Eight Necromancers and Eight Cavaliers… but the only people ever spoken of have been his hands, the eight Necromancers… what happened to their Cavaliers? Where did they go?” He was looking at Harrow, unblinking from behind his glasses. She remained unmoving and silent, as did she and Cam but ice was quickly filling her veins at the dawning realization. 

“That’s…” Harrow started, then stopped, eyes looking more wild by the second. “Rapiers…” she mumbled.

“Swords light enough that even a Necromancer could wield them,” Pal answered. “All these theorems have been teaching us how to harness, utilize, and control our Cavalier’s Thalergy and use it… In order to perform necromancy the likes of which the trials have shown us… a soul would be a power source without equal.” His voice was barely above a whisper but seemed to echo off the walls. 

“ One flesh, one end ,” Gideon found herself saying all of a sudden, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.  

Chapter Text

“We’re meant to be used as your batteries,” Cam said softly to the quiet room.  “Consumed to power your necromancy.” 

“I would rather be skinned alive,” Pal said with sudden vemehnance, that made everyone but Cam jerk. "At the risk of sounding like Octakiseron, it's a blasphemous mistake," he spat. "Even the very oath, the exchange of blood and living at each other's side for a lifetime… grooming them to be our sacrificial lambs… if this is lyctohood, then I don't want it," he turned to Cam and looked at her resolutely. "I know you would do it," he said softly to her. "But I could not and would not ask it of you. No power is so important."

Gideon glanced at Harrow, who was already watching her with a wide gaze.

"Harrow?" she prompted quietly and that seemed to snap her out of her stupor, her eyes focussing. "If… if you need me to…"

"No…not ever…," was the solid and resolute answer. Gideon frowned and resolved to speak about this later in private.

"What do we do now?" she asked, looking to Pal. "If that's lyctorhood…"

"Then there's nothing left to work toward," Harrow turned to her Sixth counterpart.

"Nonesene, Harrow! There’s always more to work toward," Pal said, with a small smile. "Let's have a look at what we know.” He pulled out his notebook and flipped some pages. “The trials have taught us something important about how to use the soul of our cavaliers. How we can use our necromancy to, in my theory, take another soul, uncorrupted, into ourselves and use the bottomless well of it’s energy to power our necromany… our immortality.” 

“Well, when you say it like that…,” Gideon mumbled to Cam, who snorted. 

“If it works one way, why couldn’t it work both?” He looked questioningly at Harrow.

“Becasue our Cavaliers are incapable of it…,” Harrow answered. 

“But what if we could facilitate an exchange though?” he asked. 

“Baseless conjecture,” Harrow answered, but the way her brows were furrowed told Gideon that she was thinking about it just the same. “We need more information.”

“I agree. We will need to do some studying of this on our own, not just relying on the information of the lyctors of old. Those who, if I’m right, murdered and cannibalized their Cavaliers…” He frowned. 

“I doubt it was murder,” Gideon spoke up, drawing both adepts attention. 

“What else would you call it?” Pal looked at her. 

“A willing sacrifice.” 

Pal’s mouth pressed into a tight line much like Harrow’s when she was getting ready to say something sharp.

“They died, but I have no doubt that they volunteered to be their necromancer’s batteries when they got to the end of the line.” She looked at Cam and a look of understanding flashed between them. “We would… if you asked us,” she said. 

“We would never…” Harrow started and it was Cam that cut her off.

“But we would.” 

A silence fell over the four of them. It was broken only by Pal’s long, sigh. 

“Be that as it may… we will not.” Now…we need to do research of our own and I think commandeering one of the studies we’ve earned a key for would be an ideal place. We have the majority of the keys in play with four between us,” he said.

“Septenarius has two,” Harrow mumbled with a frown. 

“The Eighth has one.” Cam added.

“And one is missing,” Gideon frowned.

“I think before we do anything, we need better understanding of everything we do know… we need to get into the Ninth Houses Study. What do we know about them?” He looked at Harrow.

“Anastasia was the founder of my House and her Cavalier was Samael Novenary.”

“She was never a lyctor though, correct?” he asked and Harrow shook her head.

“No. The legend is she returned from the First to found the Ninth and build the tomb that houses the Emperor’s end…” Harrow frowned “She returned alone… and when the Anastasian was finished, Samael’s chain was entombed there…”

“If she never became a lyctor, then what happened to her Cavalier?” Gideon cocked her head and Pal ran his fingers contemplatively through his beard. “Maybe they didn’t kill their Cavaliers. Anastasia didn’t become a lyctor but it sounds like her Cav died anyway.” Gideon crossed her arms. 

“Knowing Cavaliers as I do…” He glanced at Cam and Gideon. “One dying would be tradgedy but par the course for warriors. All eight dying? Something is afoot and I think we need access to the the Black key’s study.”

“I agree,” Harrow said. “Octakiseron has it…”

“Yes… and he’ll never part with it willingly…” Pal frowned. 

“We could challenge him for it…” Gideon glanced at Cam’s arm. “I could challenge him for it. I can take Colum the Eigth.” She looked at Harrow. 

“I have no doubt that you could, Griddle.”

“But do we really wish to start more fights?” Pal asked.

“It would knock out another House, leaving only the Seventh…” Harrow offered, seeming entirely too pleased with that knowledge.

“Who is soon to become a prime target no matter what we do,” Cam added.

“Her Cavalier is a hulking mass of muscle. I doubt anyone is eager to fight with Protesilus the Seventh,” Harrow huffed.

“She has two keys. That will drive the Third and maybe even the Second, if nothing else.”

“We’re also a prime target, ya know,” Gideon added. “We have four of the available seven hatch keys, Cam is hurt and I can only fight so many duels before I get hurt badly enough I can’t fight too…”

“Then the vultures will fall upon us,” Pal murmured, frowning and beginning to pace around the room. “We need to get into that study… challenging the Eighth is plausible but reckless. Colum the Eighth is a seasoned Cavalier. I have no doubt you could win but at what cost? Then we’re left vulnerable. No, we’ll figure out something. For now, let us return upstairs.”

They moved back up the stairs and parted with quiet goodnights.

Harrow said nothing as they walked back to their rooms in the quiet halls of Canaan.

Only once they were back in their room did Gideon feel free to talk. 

"Well…that was… a lot of information," she said softly. Harrow said nothing, which was worrisome. She watched her move to the vanity and sin in front of the mirror. She didn't move though. Just stared. Gideon hesitated a moment before walking over to stand behind her. Harrow's dark eyes glanced up and caught gilt ones staring back at her.

"You okay?" Gideon asked and watched Harrow's jaw tighten. She said nothing and Gideon laid her hands fall softly atop Harrow's shoulders. Harrow let out a breath.

"If Sextus and I can't figure out a solution… how will I revive the Ninth?" Harrow asked, less to Gideon and more to the room at large. "How can I return with nothing to show for any of this?" she muttered lowly, eyes dropping to her hands laying fisted into her lap. 

Gideon frowned and glanced at her wife sitting there forlornly. Her little angular face was lined with an angry hopelessness. Gideon's grip on her shoulders tightened.

"Harrow," she called softly and sharp black eyes looked up to meet hers in the mirror. "I know that it's not… ideal but…I made an oath to you… and if you asked me to fulfill it… I would," she said. 

Harrow stared at her for several long moments. Long enough that Gideon started to get antsy. She also wasn't expecting the sudden explosion of anger. 

Harrow sprung forward, ripping her shoulders out from Gideon's hands and toppling the stool to the floor with a loud clatter. Gideon jumped back to avoid it.

"You are a fucking brainless, fool, Gideon Sise!"  Harrow snarled, whipping around to glower at her. 

Gideon blinked, mouth hanging open. 

"Huh…?" She barely got out before Harrow was taking a step toward her.

"Are all Cavaliers as completely moronic as you?" she raged as Gideon stepped back, still speechless.

"I am already a tomb for two-hundred souls. How dare you ask me to bear even one more! Yours least of all!" She continued stalking forward and Gideon retreated, till the back of her knees hit the side of the bed and she stumbled back onto her ass. This did not stop Harrow, who grabbed the front of Gideon's robes in her hands and jerked her close. "You would ask me to take a myriad of regret into myself all for lyctorhood?" 

Gideon's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth that she watched a shine come over Harrow's eyes. 

"I am… undone without you, Gideon… my life is lived at the mercy of your love and affections… you who have come to my side and stood by it unflinchingly…" Harrow stopped shaking her. Her hands trembling in Gideon's robes. "I could never bear the indelible weight of your loss at my hands…. Do not ask me to shoulder that burden…," She hiccuped with a barely restrained sob and Gideon finally managed to spur her body back into motion, wrapping her arms tightly around her wife's back and pulling her tightly into the protective cage of her arms.

"Hey… hey, it's okay. Forget about it, Harrowhark. It's okay," she mumbled into dark hair. She pulled the shaking necromancer fully into her lap and held her steady, rocking gently as Harrow sobbed into her shoulder. Gideon's chest throbbed at the anguished sounds.

How stupid was she? 

She pressed her face into Harrow's dark hair and murmured soft assurances to her till she quieted.

Her breath was still uneven and interspersed with little hiccups, but she leaned back to look at Gideon anyway, dark eyes bloodshot and wet. Gideon wiped a thumb gently beneath one eye at the remnants of her tears.

"I'm sorry," Gideon softly mumbled, pressing her hand to Harrow's cheek. She leaned into the touch, eyes drifting closed and taking a deep, shuddering breath. Her next words punctured straight through Gideon's chest like needles.

"Could you so easily, upon my command, run your sword through my chest and skewer my heart?" she asked and Gideon's throat choked closed at the suggestion, nausea bubbling up at the idea. Her jaw worked soundlessly. Words refusing to form. Harrow seemed to easily read the horror on her face though.

"Then how could you ask it of me?" she asked softly and Gideon's jaw snapped closed with enough force to rattle her teeth. Harrow's dark eyes seemed to pierce straight to the heart of her.

"I… I'm a Cavalier…" was the best she could come up with. "I'm supposed to be expendable…" She'd barely finished the sentence before a hand shot up and grabbed her by the face. A boney thumb and fingers pressed into her cheeks, puckering her lips painfully. Dark eyes glared at her with all the burning heat of dominicus. 

"You. Are not. Expendable," Harrow hissed. "Do you understand?" 

Gideon nodded.

"I'll not hear it suggested again," Harrow's voice was gravelly and low as she released her face before tucking her head back into the space beneath Gideon's chin and staying there.

"Okay," Gideon murmured. She sighed silently and then dropped backwards onto her back on the bed. Harrow made a surprised noise but didn't try to move, even as Gideon turned them onto their sides and continued to hold her tightly to her chest.

Chapter Text

When she woke the next morning, Gideon was stiff and tired, Harrow still balled up and cocooned in her arms. She could feel the mess of grease paint caked onto her face and grimaced.

She hated accidentally falling asleep in this shit. It itched and made her break out. A quick estimation told her there was no way she could slip out of bed without waking up Harrow. She was going to try though. 

She unwrapped her arm lying atop her and then carefully slid her legs backward till they were awkwardly half off the bed, just barely touching the floor with the tips of her toes, her spine in a twist. She grumbled silently. Now was the hard part. Sliding her trapped -and asleep as all hell- arm out from under Harrow. Her arm slid, slow as syrup between Harrow and the sheets.

She was nearly free when her wife rolled over and opened her eyes to look at her, nearly totally off the bed, back bent backward and her free arm sticking up in the air, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth.   

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice gruff with sleep. 

“Uh… trying not to wake you?” Gideon answered quietly. 

“You failed.” Harrow sat up, releasing Gideon’s arms and sending her toppling to the floor.

“Ow,” she grumbled to herself as Harrow slid out from under the blanket Gideon had half thrown over them. 

Gideon grunted as she moved to stand, looking at Harrow and the equally smudged and worn-away state of her face paint. 

“I’m gonna take a bath, join me?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the bathroom. Harrow didn’t even put up a fuss, she just nodded and Gideon hurried to fill it up with hot water. Steam was quickly filling the room when she heard Harrow shuffle into the bathroom behind her and chucked off her robes, letting them pool into a puddle at her feet, and started pulling off her long-sleeved shirt. Gideon watched over her shoulder as all that warm, brown skin came into view. 

“It’s going to overflow…,” Harrow glanced at her from the corner of her eye as she undid the snaps of her trousers. Gideon jerked back around and hurriedly shut it off the water before it could do just that. She could hear Harrow mutter something that sounded like ‘predictable’ under her breath but ignored it in favor of walking over to the sink and washing off her paint.

“Come here,” she beckoned before the adept could get into the tub. Harrow went and Gideon quickly wiped her face clean of yesterday’s paint. Harrow was strangely quiet and compliant this morning and it was honestly worrisome. “Are you okay?” she asked and Harrow nodded. 

“Yes, I’m just…” Harrow’s little mouth twisted up. “There’s… a lot on my mind,” she finally said and Gideon nodded. She placed a kiss on the furrowed skin of Harrow's brow.

They remained mostly quiet as they slipped into the warm water across from each other. Gideon sighed and sunk down to her nose, letting it soothe her sore body. Harrow watched her from the other side of the tub, submerged up to her shoulders. There was something in her gaze that Gideon couldn't quite parse. Either it was too early or it was because there were many things going on in her brain. It was usually the latter.

Gideon cocked a brow, a silent question. Harrow just shook her head before moving, wading across the tub and making the water slosh softly. She dropped herself totally on top of Gideon, who wrapped her arms around the small of her back and held her. Her dark head bobbed in the water, staring intently from equally dark and hazy eyes.

Gideon lifted her face out of the water. "What? she asked.

Harrow just shook her head and leaned in enough to press a kiss to Gideon's lips. She sputtered at the bath water, half laughing and returning the kiss. She reached up and pressed back the damp black locks and kissed that high, smooth forehead. Harrow made a pleased sound and let her hands rest on Gideon's collar under the surface. Her touch was light and Gideon held just a little tighter. Happily indulging this quiet, life-affirming moment they seemed to be having after the evening's unpleasantness. 

They stayed there till the water started to get cool and Harrow shivered against her.

"Come on, my Lascivious Lady," she declared, looping her arms around Harrow and raising them both out of the tub.

"What are you even saying half the time," Harrow scoffed against her as her arms wrapped around Gideon's neck. There wasn't an ounce of heat to the statement, in fact, it rolled soft and affectionate from her lips into Gideon's ears.

"Ya know… sappy bullshit," Gideon grunted, setting Harrow down and taking a towel to the both of them. Harrow didn't even meekly protest with her normal, half-hearted 'I can do it myself'. She just submitted to the physical affection and Gideon wasn't going to let an opportunity pass her by. She buffed the towel over that cropped black hair before pulling it away, letting the short black strands stand on end every which way.

"All dry," she declared and tested her luck by popping the towel at her wife's flat ass. Harrow jumped and whipped around, glaring at her. Gideon held up her hands placatingly but couldn't help her grin. Harrow turned, glaring, and grabbed the towel from her hands. 

"Be still," she grunted and went about running the towel over Gideon's skin. Paying far too much attention to the hard lines of her arms, hips, and thighs but Gideon happily let her.

"We need to meet up with Pal and Cam," she reminded and Harrow grunted but relented once Gideon was dry. "Come on, unless you wanna show up as is and give the other Houses something to really talk about," Gideon turned, chuckling to herself.

She yelped when the towel snapped against her ass.

~ ~ ~

Dressed and with a fresh coat of paint, they walked down the winding halls of Canaan, light filtering in through the towering windows and broken portions of the roof.

It was quiet and Gideon watched their surroundings as if the Second or Third would jump out at any moment and try to steal their keys. 

No one did.

"Good morning, Gideon, Harrow," Pal greeted them as they approached the dining hall. 

"SexPal, Cam," Gideon held up a hand in greeting. "I'm starving!" 

"When are you not?" Cam asked in lieu of a greeting. Gideon just shrugged. 

"Well, I'd hate to keep the two of you from energizing after such a busy evening yesterday. Why don't the two of you head in and eat while I have a word with Harrow away from the others?" He nodded toward the dining hall where she was sure the other Houses were having their breakfast.

Cam and Gideon shared a look. Neither wanted to leave their necromancers alone in the hall and it showed on their face.

Pal made an amused sound. "We'll be right outside the door," he assured them. "If anything happens I'll be sure to scream quite high and girlishly so you may come running to stab something." He smiled.

"That's the only way you know how to scream," Gideon grunted.

"I'm staying." Cam crossed her arms and stayed rooted to the ground. Pal huffed and Gideon rolled her eyes. 

"Fine, scream if you need me." She looked at Harrow, who scoffed and waved her away. 

"Go, you glutton," she said, overtly tinged with affection still. Gideon did as told.

The dining was full, with the Second and Third sitting at the far end of the table from the door, the Seventh right across from the Third and the Eighth in the middle, praying over their bowels of course.

Nearly everyone -save the Eighth - glanced at her as she entered. She ignored it and sat, within a minute, the robed constructs set dishes in front of her, and Gideon wasted no time shoving the eggs in her mouth. The room was mostly quiet, the sounds of cutlery on flatware and the clink of glasses on the table.

Gideon was halfway through her second helping when a busty shadow fell over her.

She looked up and found the bright and smiling Princess of Ida. The big one, standing beside her chair, back to the dining hall door.

"Gideon the Ninth," she greeted with a beaming and nearly glowing smile. 

Gideon, blinked, brows raised and lips still wrapped around her fork.

“Would you mind if I joined you?" Corona asked, batting her eyes at her.

What the fuck was she supposed to do? She nodded, if somewhat reluctantly. 

"Oh, excellent!" She settled herself into the chair next to the Cavalier, a wide smile on her face. "I was hoping we could talk, the two of us."

"Um… sure, what about?" She set her fork down.

"I was hoping we could talk about this nasty key business…," she said and already Gideon's internal alarm was blaring a warning signal. 

"Okay?" she said nonetheless, glancing over at the rest of the Third house sitting at the other end of the table. Ianthe was looking at her nails and Naberius was hunched over, looking like a kicked puppy. Hell, they probably had kicked him. 

"I've been thinking and all of this has been getting out of control, don't you agree?" she asked, setting her perfect chin atop the back of a manicured hand.

"I think we should be more concerned about what killed Magnus and Abigail," she said and Corona nodded emphatically.

"Oh, absolutely, she agreed, the smile falling from her lips and her violet gaze turning somber and thoughtful on the table. "We do…," said, then turned her gaze back to Gideon. "But to do that, I think we need to set aside the hostility and work together." 

Gideon's jaw clenched.

"So why the Ninth? Have you talked to the Second, the Seventh, or even the Eighth?" she asked. 

"Oh, you know how the Second is. They started this. And the Eighth? One would have better luck talking to the constructs," she laughed. "The Seventh I have not yet approached but The Sixth and the Ninth are the most reasonable by far. Seeing as you're from the Sixth and now of the Ninth, one might think you're the most reasonable of all." She fluttered her lashes at Gideon, who realized that she was being flirted with.

What was with these women? Her ring was very visible. It was right there on her hand!

"I think the best way to facilitate collaboration would be to return the facility keys to the third… along with the Second's key. After all, they started this mess and have proven they have no interest in working together. The Third however would be more than happy to work with the Sixth and the Ninth in this endeavor." She reached over and laid a hand on Gideon's arm, leaning in even as Gideon leaned back. "I think you and I in particular could have a very advantageous… relationship, don't you?" she asked, smiling in what she must have thought to be an alluring way. 

"No, I don't think so, Princess. Why does no one around here understand that I am happily married?" Gideon asked but Corona just leaned closer, somehow thrusting out her chest. Gideon was quite sure there were more buttons undone than normal.

"Oh? But Gideon…Aaaaghhh!" Corona screamed, her whole body was jerked backward, and her head snapped back.

Gideon's jaw dropped as her eyes fell on a snarling Harrow yanking the Princess of the Third back by a fistful of golden locks. Pal and Cam were running through the doors toward them.

"Keep your harlot hands off my wife!" 

She jerked violently and Corona went tumbling backward out of the chair and to the floor with another cry.

Then the room erupted into chaos.

The rest of the Third House jumped up and ran over, Ianthe snarling and Naberius with a hand on his rapier, which made Gideon fling herself out of her seat, hand flying to the hilt of her sword and ax, Cam already at her side, hand wrapped around her own rapier.

"Harrow, let her go!" Pal had grabbed the Ninth adept around the waist and was physically pulling her back while her hand remained fisted in Corona's luscious hair, trying to rip it out at the root and snarling.

"Release her this moment!" Ianthe snarled in Harrow's direction. Gideon pulled her ax free and took a half step forward. Naberius held his rapier out, pointed at her. 

They glared at each other.

"Everyone, please, let's all calm ourselves," Venus stood from her chair with the help of her Cavalier and her crutches. "We can take a moment and…" Harrow gave another vicious yank and Corona squealed. 

Ianthe was tired of waiting and rushed forward. Gideon moved to intercept but quickly dodged back as a rapier shot out at her. She slapped it away with her own blade but Naberius was on the attack. 

Till Cam's blade lashed out, sending him jerking backward as the two Cavaliers flanked him, swords at the ready. His eyes flickered between them. 

Harrow looked up just as the other twin came at her and dropped the first one in time to fling her other hand up, sending her bracelet clattering to the floor. It broke apart and every piece of bone grew into a full construct, rushing toward the waxen twin.

Ianthe sneered and threw up her hands.

Large globules of flesh immediately began to sprout from the closest constructs, covering their limbs and making them drop to the floor, writhing masses of gelatinous yellow fat. Among them, Corona crawled quickly across the floor, jumping up once she was safely out of the way and behind her sister.

"She's bloody fucking crazy!" she screeched, hair a knotted mess.

"That's my baby," Gideon mumbled to herself, still keeping Naberius at bay with Cam. 

Harrow reached into the pockets of her robe and threw two fistfuls of bone chips onto the floor, springing a small army of constructs as blood sweat broke out on her forehead. 

Protesilus grabbed up his necromancer and hurried out of the dining hall. Gideon caught sight of them from the corner of her eye as they fled. That was probably the wise thing to do at this point. 

"This is the Ninth's madness!" Silas stood from the table and scowled at Pal at Harrow's side. "Aided and abetted by the Sixth's rabid Cavaliers."

"Oh, fuck off, Octakiseron!" Pal snapped. The Master Templar turned red, the most color Gideon had ever seen on him.

"I'll not stand here and listen to this blasphemy another moment.” He started toward the door, his Cavalier following behind him.

Ianthe whipped up a hand and several gelatinous blobs of flesh interpierced with broken bone rose from the floor and rushed Harrow. Her constructs held off most but two slipped through and got near enough to reach her before Pal threw up a hand and a crackling shield of thanergy repelled the blob, the first exploded upon contact into blobs of flat, flesh and bone shards. The second went flying, toppling into Colum as he tried to pass. He hit the ground hard, the flesh construct laying atop him. Several bone constructs joined the pile-up, attacking Ianthe's flesh monstrosity. Colum kicked them off, sending the constructs flying, landing at Harrow's feet. With a flick of her fingers, they rose again in front of her and Palamedes.

"Enough, all of you!" Judith stood abruptly from the table, voice rising over the commotion.

"She attacked me!” Corona wailed at the Cohort Captain as she pointed accusingly at Harrow.

"Yes, after you blatantly attempted to seduce facility keys out of Gideon the Ninth!" Judith's accusing voice echoed across the dining hall, glaring at Corona, who had the decency to look abashed about it. "Have the good grace to accept the consequences of trying to seduce another person's spouse for personal benefit," the Captain sneered. Corona flinched, unable to look at the Captain.

"No one fucking asked you, Deuteros!" Ianthe snapped, fingers twisting and the lumps of flesh on the floor began to move and congeal. A hand on her arm stopped her.

"Enough, Ianthe," Corona said to her sister, who sneered but violet met violet and the younger scoffed, letting her hands drop. The blobs went inert and quiet descended over the room save the clacking of Harrow's constructs clattering to the floor.

"At ease, Camilla the Sixth," Pal called.

Gideon glanced at Harrow and caught her eye. The bone magician dipped her head and Gideon sheathed her weapons.

"We're done here," Corona said and started toward the doors with Ianthe. "Babs!" she called without looking back. The Third Cav glared at Gideon and Cam before pushing back his hair and went after his adepts. The Eighth, with a final scathing look, followed them.

"Well, that was more excitement than we were hoping for this morning," Pal sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, then he glanced over at the Second, still at the table. He met Judith's eyes and she gave a single curt nod. He stared back before nodding in turn. The Captain sat back down beside her Cavalier and continued to have breakfast as though a brawl hadn't broken out a moment before.

"I know that wasn't necessary and didn't help our standing at all but I won't lie…was kinda hot," Gideon admitted and Pal sighed heavily while Cam rolled her eyes. Harrow just held her head high. 

"She knew what she was doing," the Ninth necromancer asserted. "Hurry, grab your breakfast and come with me," she said, turning and walking back out into the halls of Canaan house from which she'd come.

Gideon grabbed up an armful of food and hurried after her. Cam looked at Pal, who was frowning but nodded. They followed Harrow down the halls. It was only when they were safely locked behind the red key's door did she stop.

"What is this about, Harrow?" Pal asked as Gideon and Cam sat their haul down on a table.

"This…." Harrow lifted her hand from the folds of her robes and dangling from her fingers was a key ring bearing one hatch key…

…and a thick, black, wrought iron key with curlicues in its head.

Chapter Text

“How the hell did you…?” Gideon blinked at the keys dangling from the keyring in her wife’s hand. Cam also looked suitably impressed. 

“When he fell…,” Pal hummed suddenly. “You made it look like your constructs were attacking Ianthe’s, but instead you used the chaos of the situation to get ahold of the Eighth’s keys… Well, color me impressed at your sleight of hand and deviousness, Harrowhark,” Pal looked at her with no shortage of amusement. 

“Was that your plan from the start?” Cam looked at the Ninth House necromancer, who lifted her nose but said nothing. Gideon snorted.

“No, she’s just a terribly jealous little thing and took an opportunity when it presented itself,” she said, making Harrow glare at her. “To be fair, Corona was trying to seduce me for facility keys though… Does no one understand what this means!?” She held up her left hand and pointed at her ring. 

“They do, they simply don’t care… you were also once known for your…” Pal trailed off.

“Womanizing,” Cam finished and Gideon gaped. 

“I was not!” she yelped. 

“You were a flirt.” Pal smirked at her and Gideon huffed. “Regardless, I’m sure that’s why they targeted you… despite your marital status. They know better than to try and approach Cam or Harrow… or even myself. Regardless, we have what we need now…” He turned to Harrow, still holding the key. He held out his hand and she dropped it into his palm. Long fingers curled around the head as she held it up, inspecting. “Now we can gain access to the last study.”

“It won’t be long before Octakiseron realizes what happened,” Cam crossed her arms and leaned against one wall. Pal nodded. 

“Yes, it won’t. More so, we’ve totally soured our relationships with the other Houses…,” 

“Except the Seventh,” Gideon said and Harrow scowled. 

“Yes… the Seventh alone might receive us if we needed aid… but… something feels off about the Duchess and I think it best we consider ourselves to be an island here. We will have to look after each other alone,” he said.

“I agree,” Harrow was quick to add. 

“You just hate her because she was coming onto me,” Gideon mumbled to herself but Harrow shot her a sharp look. She threw up her hands defensively. 

“We need to consolidate our position. We need to limit how often we go before the other Houses now… including for meals,” he said. “We now have five of the six in play facility keys.” He looked around and Cam nodded, frowning. 

“We need to return to our rooms quickly, gather everything of import and barricade ourselves in the final study,” Harrow said, and Pal sighed but nodded.

“I agree. We will only find the end of this through study and we are now the main targets… along with the Seventh…,” 

“Let her fend for herself,” Harrow sneered, turning up her nose. Gideon just rolled her eyes. 

“We can rest in the study and head back out later when the other Houses have gone and stock ourselves for supplies.” Cam kicked off the wall and Gideon nodded.

“We need to stash food,” Gideon agreed, nodding. They had some. She took every opportunity to bring food back to their room to snack on but it wasn’t enough for both of them to last on for very long. Much less them and Pal and Cam. 

“We’re in agreement then. We all know where the door to this key is, yes?” Pal asked, looking around as he held up the black key. They all nodded. “Good. Meet there in half an hour with everything you need.” He looked at Harrow, who nodded. 

Then they split apart outside the door, moving quickly. 

~ ~ ~

“We didn’t bring a hell of a lot to start with,” Gideon mumbled as she carried their two trunks down the halls of Canaan as quickly and quietly as possible. Harrow made an agreeing noise as they moved. It was quiet and it seemed the other Houses had also retired to their rooms. At this point, the only one capable of entering the facility was the Seventh. 

They found the door, sequestered low in the tower. Like all the lyctoral study doors, it was a solid block of black stone, bracketed in the wall between two pillars, it's dark keyhole in the middle of the door. The carved animal skulls leered at them from above and between them, but instead of the fat bellied animals carved around both pillars, were skeletons. Long, with more ribs then Gideon had ever seen in anything. 

They looked vaguely like the carved, scaled creatures, if they had been defleshed. 

She was observing the carving when Harrow stuck the black key into the hole and the door clicked. She pushed it open and hurried inside, letting it shut behind them.

Gideon stuck out a hand, feeling along the wall until her fingers found the light switch sticking out of the flat surface. She flicked it up and the lights overhead buzzed to life, dim at first but then brighter as they warmed. 

She blinked against the light as the room came into focus. 

A study, nearly identical to the other one Gideon had seen, and thus, probably very similar to the ones Harrow had been to with Pal and Cam while she was laid up. It was a long, square, spacious apartment, with a double glass door balcony facing the sea outside the tower. The bright and orange glow of Dominicus setting over the water shone into the room along with the rails of electric lamps throwing spotlights on the important points in the room. One end of the room was occupied by the laboratory with its laminate benches, and mostly empty shelves. There were far more bones in this room than there had been in the other study Gideon had seen with the Second House sigil. 

“Definitely getting Ninth vibes already,” Gideon said as she sat down their trunks and moved to the wall where a great and beautiful mosaic of two skeletons, hands outstretched toward each other. The one on the left, accepting a thorned rose from the one on the right, was inlaid into the wall in what definitely looked like carefully shaped chips of bone against a matte black stone like what the door was made of. Probably the same if Gideon had to guess. 

Harrow, humming in agreement, had already moved over to the laboratory. There was, however, no stone slab with a theorem engraved on it like there had been in the red key’s study. The large chalkboard, likewise looked like someone had hurriedly wiped it clean, leaving not a single number or letter in its place. Harrow quickly looked through the drawers with an ever growing frown. Gideon watched as she moved to the shelves and started pawing through the books with clearly growing agitation, pulling them down and shoving them back into place.  

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked when Harrow had glanced at a book cover and then thrown it to the floor with an angry sound. 

“There's nothing here,” she growled, turning to Gideon. 

“There's lots of shit here?” Gideon said, brow raised and Harrow made an exasperated sound. 

“There's nothing close to what should be her, Griddle!” she huffed. “There should be notes and books and diagrams of this part of the lyctoral theorem, but there's nothing. These are just normal bone and spirit magic books.” She moved about the lab, throwing open drawers and cabinets, searching, when someone knocked on the door.

Gideon glanced at Harrow, before moving toward the door and leaning against the solid stone. 

"What’s the password?” she called and caught the quiet sigh on the other side. 

“Gideon…,” Pal’s voice came muffled through the door.

“So close. The phrase we were looking for was ‘Gideon is a fantastic lover’ actually.” 

“Gideon!” Harrow yelled from across the room and she chuckled before opening the door, allowing Pal and Cam to step inside. 

“Glad as I am to know you're fulfilling both your Cavalier and marital bed duties, we do have more important things to do,” Pal said as he entered with his two bags. Cam held one in each hand as well as one slung over her shoulder. 

“Come on SexPal. People are dying and we’re the pariahs of the Empire at present. Gotta have some levity in there somewhere!” She threw up a hand as she shut and locked the door behind them.

“Well, I suppose there is that,” he said with an amused lilt to his voice. Cam rolled her eyes as she sat down the bags. 

“Don’t encourage her, Warden.” 

“Sextus, good, come here and look at this,” Harrow called and once he had set his bag down, he moved toward the laboratory. Cam shot Gideon a questioning look.

“Looks like everything important was cleared out of here.” She nodded toward the dusty and wiped clean blackboard and all the empty spaces in the book shelf. Cam hummed and set her bags down on the floor next to Pal’s before turning toward the stairs that led up to the living quarters. 

“Nothing worth note up there?” she asked.

“Dunno, we just got here like, five minutes ago. Haven’t looked at anything but the lab yet. Shall we?” Gideon gestured toward the stairs and Cam nodded. They moved up the steps and found a domestic setup much like the one in the other study. An arm chair and a small shin height table with a few bowls and cups on it. 

The main difference Gideon noted here was the two beds. Or rather, the lack of. There was one, full size bed in the middle of the raised area, with a nightstand on either side. Unlike the other study, the bed was unmade, blankets flipped back and rumpled. Upon closer inspection. It was not one bed but two like the one in the other study but they had been pushed together, presumably so the two people could sleep together. The remains of two people’s lives were left scattered around the area.

Bone, for one. There were several hunks of bone sitting in the bedside table drawer on one side but not much else. In the other was a whetstone and two pots of grease paint. White and black. 

“Very Ninth,” Gideon declared. “This was definitely the Ninth’s study,” she said, turning and looking down the stairs at Harrow and Pal. “There's grease paint and bones up here.” she called to them as they left the empty lab and started up the stairs. 

“Bones doesn’t necessarily make it’s Ninth…,” Pal offered and Gideon snorted. 

“Okay, how about all the black and along with those bones?” She pointed at the mosaic on the far wall and the bits scattered across the tables. 

“Hm, granted,” he said. “What do you think, Harrow?” Pal turned and looked at his fellow adept, who was looking at the pushed together beds with interest. 

“Romantic with their Cavalier?” she asked aloud, seemingly more to herself than any of them. 

“Wouldn’t be the last time,” Gideon said with a grin as Harrow flipped back the blankets, ignoring her wife for the moment. Something was poking out from between the folds of the sheets and Gideon picked it up. It was a long, thin stick with some kind of spongy end at the tip and a little screen on the handle with a tiny pink plus sign in it. 

“The hell is this?” Gideon cocked her head and Cam looked over her shoulder at it, brows furrowed. 

“... an ancient pregnancy test,” she said after a moment’s study. 

“Ew!” Gideon dropped it back to the bed, face twisted up with disgust. Harrow grabbed it up next and looked at the little window. 

“A positive pregnancy test,” Pal said, looking at it. “Interesting….”

“Is it?” Gideon asked, frowning as she wiped her hand on her shirt. 

“Yes,” Pal said before moving to look through the bedside tables. She looked at Cam, who shrugged. Harrow however had already dropped the test and was walking quickly down the stairs toward the mosaic.

“Babe?” Gideon followed after her. “What’s up?” she asked as they stopped in front of it. Harrow was staring hard at it. 

“The skeleton on the left is wrong,” she said and Gideon blinked at the back of her wife’s head before glancing up at the art. She stared hard at it before glancing back at Harrow, who had turned to look at her. Gideon shrugged and Harrow sighed, gesturing to a small void of black in the skeleton’s back. It was missing a vertebrae. 

“Oh, yeah…. That means… what, exactly?” she asked and in lieu of an answer, Harrow held up her gloved hand, fingers curling slightly. Gideon watched as the little pieces of shaped bone that made up the thorns on the rose popped out of the wall with quiet plinks. Harrow twisted her hand and then slid across the wall, molding, fitting together to fill the void in the skeleton’s spine, then she lowered her hand. All was silent as they stood there, Gideon glancing around, waiting for something to happen. Finally, she turned to Harrow. 

“Okay… and that did wha-…” Whatever else Gideon was going to say was cut off by the sudden and loud ‘cha chunk’ of stone thumping against stone as a chunk of the mosaic fell outward and smashed against the floor, splintering into fragments at their feet. “What the fuck…?” Gideon peered into the cracked and jagged hole that had opened in the wall. 

“What is it? What did you find?” Pal came hurrying down the stairs with Cam right behind him, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.  

“Your torch, Hect.” Harrow called over her shoulder. The other cav pulled it off her belt and shone it into the hole. 

There, in the dark recess of the cracked open mosaic, was a small stack of leather bound books.

“How the hell did you know that was there!?” Gideon turned to Harrow, who was smirking to herself. She looked up at Gideon and scoffed.

“It’s what I would have done,” she said simply, as if it were obvious. Gideon just narrowed her eyes at her as she reached inside and pulled out the books. They moved to the table and sat them in the middle beneath the bright lights.

Pal’s fingers twitched with excitement probably as he picked one up and carefully began to flip through it. “This one’s the different theorems from the other studies,” he mumbled, eyes flickering quickly across the pages. “With some added notes and commentary on possible ways to refine them,” he said, voice spiking with excitement. Gideon picked one up and flipped through it. Every page was filled with charts and diagrams and numbers that made her head spin and immediately closed it and set it aside for Harrow to look at later. She was already getting a headache from trying to parse through the first page. Cam was looking at the book in Pal’s hand over his shoulder with intense interest. Gideon left the last book where it was on the table and turned to Harrow. 

Her wife had picked up another of the books. This one was different from the other three. It was smaller. Thick, but perhaps about palm sized and unlike its plain, black leather counterparts, this one was a pale, sage green, embossed with white flowers and curling, beautiful filigree along its spine and cover. Harrow’s eyes were glued to the pages, her mouth pressed tightly shut.

“Anything good in that one?” she asked and Harrow didn’t even glance up at her.

“Yes…,” she said softly, voice breathy with awe. The kind that set Gideon to attention. 

“Harrow?” Gideon called, “What is it?” she asked, finally making her spouse look up.

“The personal journal of Anastasia Novena…” 

Chapter Text

“Anastasia Novena… the founder of the Ninth House?” Gideon questioned and Harrow nodded, turning back to the book held carefully in her hands. She moved away from the table, to sit in the arm chair at the top of the stairs. She kept her eyes glued to the little book all the while. Gideon watched her silently for a moment before glancing over at Pal, who continued to read the theorem book, his own little notebook already pulled out and jotting down notes in a cramped and rushed hand. Cam looked up and caught her eyes before giving a little half shrug and leaning against the table beside Pal.

Everyone else seemed occupied but Gideon had no interest in the book and instead turned her gaze to surveying the rest of the room. The section designated for training caught her eye and she moved quietly across the room toward its smooth wooden flooring and weapons rack attached to the wall. There were a couple of rapiers slotted into it, slick and black, like darkness taken shape, very Ninth. They gleamed in the overhead lights. Gideon was drawn to the rack by something else though. 

Hanging beside the rapiers was a small, black metal straight sword. Gideon had never seen anything like it. She reached out and picked it up. It was perfectly straight, double edged with a single hand handle and no guard. The blade terminated at the start of the handle by a simple band of white ivory engraved with skulls. The black leather was smooth and supple under her hand as she picked it up and the ivory pommel, carved like a screaming skull balanced it perfectly. It was light, even lighter then she thought it would be as she swung it through the air. The blade cut through the air with a quiet and deadly sound. 

It was positively the most ‘Ninth’ thing she had ever seen. 

She turned it over in her hand, inspecting the blade with the edge of her finger when a glint caught her eye. An engraving on the blade, at the base of the metal near the ivory band. 

A.N

Gideon’s brow furrowed, tracing the letters with a finger and then set the sword gently back in its place on the rack.

“Anything interesting?” A voice made Gideon jerk but she relaxed when she glanced over her shoulder to find Cam standing there, watching her. 

“Maybe,” Gideon hummed, glancing again at the sword and then back up at Harrow at the top of the stairs. “We need to get food,” she said and Cam nodded. “They’re pretty occupied right now, wanna head out?” she asked.

“Sure. Warden, we’re going to get supplies,” Cam turned and called at the spectacled man bent over the table scribbling away. 

“Huh?” His head jerked up and he frowned at them, looking thoughtful. “I won’t try to talk you out of it, but do be careful,” he said and Cam nodded.

“No worries, SexPal, careful is my middle name.” She jerked a thumb at herself. 

It was a testament to how absorbed Harrow was in her book that she didn’t say anything to that. 

“We’ll leave our keys here with you,” Cam pulled her keyring out from seemingly nowhere and laid it on the table beside him. Gideon nodded and pulled her’s out of her shirt. The keys jingled far too merrily as she set them down.

“If we get murdered, at least our killers won’t benefit,” she joked. Cam rolled her eyes at the same time Pal sighed. She glanced up at Harrow, who was still absorbed in her book. “Let’s go.” She turned back to Cam, who nodded and they slipped out of the study, assuring the door shut good and tight behind them. The hall outside the study was quiet and still. It was also, especially dark after walking out of the study with its artificial and natural light. 

“Let’s go,” Cam said and moved silently down the hall with Gideon right behind her. They trailed like ghosts through the halls, stepping around corners with care and ducking into every alcove at the meerest sound. 

Gideon couldn’t help but think how if things had been different, Cam would have made the perfect Cavalier for Harrow and all her extra careful and paranoidness. It took a lot longer to get to the dining hall than normal with them stopping to duck around every corner and avoid every creaking floorboard but what Pal had said earlier was right. They had soured their relationships with the other Houses - out of necessity - but still. It was ‘us versus them’ and no one else could be trusted. The Third had proven that with their attempt to seduce keys out of her, veiled with talk of working together. 

She hadn’t been fooled for a second but that was besides the point.  

They had reached the point of no return and it was Team Sixty-Nine against the world. 

She took a moment to internally laugh at her own little joke. 

The Dining Hall room doors sat wide open and Cam peered carefully around the corner. 

“It’s empty,” she said and stepped out from behind the wall and walked quickly into the room, flagging down one of the constructs. Gideon followed, keeping an eye out. 

Cam gave it instructions and it turned and hobbled off into the kitchen without hesitation while Gideon pulled off her overcloak and fashioned it into a pouch to carry their rations. 

“Do you think we need anything else while we’re out here?” she asked and Cam appeared to be thinking, staring off into the middle distance quietly, then shook her head.

“No, the Warden has nearly all the medical supplies we could need already and I have weapons.” 

“Well, what else could we need?” she chuckled and Cam smirked. 

“Good evening Camilla the Sixth, Gideon the Ninth,” a voice called and Gideon jumped, spinning around to find Teacher standing in front of them. 

“Teacher,” Gideon said and Cam nodded. 

“Eating awfully late.. and without your necromancers at that,” he observed. 

“They’re studying,” Cam said and Teacher nodded his ancient head slowly. 

“I would expect nothing less from the Master Warden and the Reverend Daughter,” he said, folding his arms behind his back. “I am glad to see the two of you still well. Things have become… a mess,” he said solemnly and Gideon frowned. That was one way to put it. 

“I regret that things became this way.”

“If you really felt that way then you would have let the Second call for help after Magnus and Abigail died,” she found herself saying suddenly and the little priest looked up at her with unreadable eyes. 

“It is forbidden,” was all he said and Gideon scowled, fists clenched at her side. 

“They were my friends. What would you understand about regretting their deaths?” she asked harshly. The little priest just stared up at her with his unreadable eyes and a downturned mouth. Gideon suddenly wanted to hit him. 

She might have done it too, if not for Cam’s hand clapping down on her shoulder. The grounding presence made her tunneling vision widen once more and she mentally shook herself. She turned her gaze away from the priest.

“Don’t talk to me about regret,” she muttered lowly and ignored him. His footsteps faded away after a moment and Gideon let out a tired sigh. Cam’s hands, still sitting on her shoulder, gave a comforting squeeze. 

“The Fifth were good to all of us and they will have justice,” she said softly and Gideon nodded, closing her eyes and promising herself that whoever or whatever was responsible for their deaths would pay for it. She was going to make damn sure of it. 

She could never face Issac and Jeanne again otherwise. Or herself. 

The construct finally returned a good fifteen minutes later with a platter of food. Dried meats, nuts and a bag of apples. They took it all and hurried back to the study. They similarly, didn’t run into anyone on their way back. Gideon and Cam both hefted the couple weeks worth of food over their shoulders in their outer cloaks. Cam knocked on the door. Six long knocks, followed by six short ones. Their code.

A moment later, the door opened and Pal ushered them both inside.

“Good, you’re back. Everything went smoothly, I hope?” he looked between them and Cam nodded, walking over and setting her portion of their supplies down on the laminate benches.

“Ran into Teacher… but otherwise, didn’t see anyone,” Gideon grunted, setting her bag down as well. She looked up and found Harrow had not seemingly moved from where she had left her. Her eyes were still glued to the little journal in her hands. Gideon wasn’t even sure she had fucking blinked.  

They started unpacking and storing the food. They could drink the water from the bathroom faucet so they didn’t need to worry about that. They worked in silence, Pal returning to his own work, still filling out his book with notes and mumbling to himself on occasion about something or another. 

When it was done, Gideon looked at Cam. “What are we going to do about sleeping?” she asked. Even with the two beds upstairs pushed together, they were only big enough for two people. 

Even if they weren’t, Gideon couldn’t see Harrow willingly being snuggled up against Pal or Cam, no matter how good of friends they were. 

“Let’s have a look around, maybe we can find things to make pallets out of,” she offered and Gideon nodded. Cam dug around downstairs while Gideon moved up the stairs to the abandoned closet set in the far wall by the bed. Harrow didn’t even glance at her as she passed.

Sometimes, Gideon truly admired that single-minded tenacity. 

Most of the time, though, it was really annoying.

She slid the closet door open and found the wardrobe inside had been cleanly divided into two different sections. On the right, were the kind of things she had expected to find. Trousers and shirts of black, all men's based on the cut as she pulled one off the ancient metal hanger and examined it. The pants were short. They might fit Harrow. Samael Novenary was a small guy apparently. 

On the left, however, well, she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Trousers, shirts and dresses in all possible hues of bright, glaring color and pattern. Vivid as if they had just been washed and dried that morning before being hung up in the closet. One particular garment was of such an eye watering shade of magenta that Gideon could hardly look at the thing. 

She pulled out a soft, powder yellow colored sundress with little green flowers on it and grimaced. The thing looked like it should be a gaudy table cloth on Ida. She frowned at it before hanging it back up. It didn’t exactly scream ‘Ninth House necromancer’. She closed the closet door, having found nothing of use and moved on to some storage containers where she found an extra set of sheets for the beds. Maybe they could do something with that? 

She sighed and stepped back, looking over the room. It was starting to look like someone was sleeping on the floor. 

“We’re just going to have to each share a mattress,” Cam concluded and Gideon nodded. If Cam was fine with it, she could be, after all, her wife was small. Pal was tall, gangly and all elbows and knees.

“We should feed them,” she offered, nodding her head in the vague direction of the two necromancers fully absorbed in their books. Cam nodded and they dug through the drawer where they’d stored the food. She let Cam deal with Pal and moved toward the stairs, a ration bar in hand. They hadn’t had very many of them, at least not for all of them but Cam and Pal would eat other foods. Finding things to shove down Harrow’s gullet was a much more difficult task, and Cam agreed that they would save all of them for her.

“Hey,” she called softly as she crested the stairs. Harrow didn’t even make an acknowledging sound. “Harrow,” she called and still Harrow didn’t move, save to turn the page, eyes seemingly stuck on the ancient paper clutched in her little claws. “Harrowhark!’ Gideon barked and her wife jerked, turning to glare at her. “I know that must be the most interesting book in the world, but will you stop for just a minute and eat something?” she asked, holding out the wrapped bar. Harrow looked at it disdainfully and Gideon only just managed to keep from making an annoyed sound. “Please. Just eat it and then I’ll leave you alone,” she promised and that did it.

Reluctantly, Harrow took it and started chewing on it, though she had already gone back to reading. Gideon stayed long enough to watch her take several bites before deciding she would probably finish it and walking back down the stairs where Pal was absentmindedly taking bites of some dried meat with one hand and still writing with the other.

“Anything good?” Gideon questioned, knowing she would at least be acknowledged by her former necromancer. He nodded, and swallowed the bite in his mouth. 

“Yes, theories on how to streamline the other theorems. I would need to run some numbers of course and a few precautionary trials but based on what I’m seeing, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work…” he trailed off and Gideon frowned.

“Okay, so the parts that will still kill me and Cam are working better than ever, great…. What about the ‘making it go both ways’ thing we talked about?” she asked and Pal looked up from the book, focusing on her and he sat back.

“Right, yes. Well, there are still two other books for me to look through and this is just another look at the existing theorems made by the other lyctoral pairs. I’ve yet to see the theory of this study’s inhabitants. Besides that, I’d like Harrow’s thoughts on it when I have it and at the moment, she seems quite preoccupied…” He glanced up at where Harrow was still mindlessly chewing on her nutrient bar and reading.

Gideon sighed but nodded. “Right…”

Pal smiled reassuringly at her before going back to work. Gideon could feel frustration bubbling up beneath her skin and turned to Cam. 

“Spar?” she asked. Cam looked at her for a long moment before nodding and they moved over to the training area and unsheathing their blades.

They must have spent over an hour trading blows and parries. She didn’t keep track, didn’t think about everything going to shit outside this room and being enemy number one for every other House. She simply focussed on not letting Cam skewer her alive. By the time they were done, Dominicus had dropped well beyond the horizon and all the warm golden light had gone with it. She was wonderfully exhausted with sweat dripping down her face and soaking the front and back of her shirt. She unceremoniously dropped to the ground and laid back, letting her hot face press against the cool floor and listening to her erratic heart beat slow back to its normal pace, dutifully thumping in her chest. Cam slid down beside her and immediately started stretching. 

Gideon groaned but sat up and followed along, delighting in the way her shoulder and arms burned. She didn’t even bother looking up to see where Pal and Harrow were, she knew. There had been no movement or sounds outside the occasional mutter and the flipping of pages. 

“We should go move the beds apart,” Cam grunted and Gideon nodded, but she didn’t make any move to stand. Cam rolled her eyes as she stood but held her hand out to Gideon anyway. The ginger smiled tiredly and grabbed the offered hand, letting Cam help haul her to her feet. 

She spotted the pregnancy test on the bed and with great reluctance, picked it up and set it on the bedside table before they pulled off the top blanket and pushed the two beds apart, leaving a few feet between them. Just enough for practicality sake. There wouldn’t be much in the way of privacy here.

Gideon mournfully kissed goodbye the chance of any romantic encounters with her wife for the foreseeable future. 

“I’m gonna clean off.” She looked at Cam, who nodded up at her from the floor where she was sitting with her bundle of weapons and a whetstone. She moved past Harrow and down the stairs to the bathroom. It was spacious with a large tub and she wasted no time filling it to the brim and slipping into the near boiling water with a sigh. Now that the adrenaline from training had ended, as well as the rush of everything that had happened today, from dining hall brawls and everything else, Gideon felt exhausted. Her muscles were unwinding and she let her eyes slip closed, leaning back against the tub. She wasn’t entirely sure she would mind at this point if she just slipped down under the water and drowned.

When she dozed off ten minutes later and slipped below the water, she quickly changed her mind as she came coughing and spluttering to the surface.

“Fuck,” she grunted, wiping the water off her face and taking large gulps of air. Shaking her head, she climbed out and dried off, dressing quickly. Everyone was still where she had left them, occupied by their books or their weapons. She moved up the stairs and plopped herself on what she had now deemed to be her and Harrow’s bed and let her eyes slip closed. The familiar sounds of weapons being sharpened and pages being turned lulled her into a deep and restful sleep.

~ ~ ~

The next time Gideon woke, she was alone, sprawled out on the twin sized bed. She blinked against the sleep crusting her eyes and turned her head, squinting in the dim light to see Cam, curled on her side and spooning the tall and gangly Warden of the Sixth, his limbs curled up to his body and drooling out of the corner of his mouth. She felt herself smile and then pushed herself up onto her elbow, glancing around. The armchair was empty and she frowned, pushing herself out of bed

Dominicus was rising over the horizon, its warm orange glow was seeping in through the open balcony doors and stretching across the floor. Along with a small, dark shadow.

Gideon padded quietly down the stairs, well aware that even the smallest sound would have Cam jumping out of bed. 

She moved to stand in the open balcony doorway, watching as Harrow sat at the edge, legs dangling over as she watched the glowing star of the system rise above the endless stretch of sea before them. 

“You never slept did you?” she asked, voice low and scratchy. Harrow jerked, turning to look at her over her shoulder. Her black gaze was so intense that Gideon almost found it hard to look at. 

“No,” she finally answered. Gideon grunted and moved forward, folding herself to sit beside her necromancer in the warm light of dawn. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked after a moment of silence had passed between them, Harrow seemingly intent not to say anything else. 

“I finished the journal,” she said as Gideon rubbed an eye with her fist and yawned. 

“And?” she asked.

“They were together,” Harrow said and at Gideon’s confused look, elaborated. “Anastasia and Samael.” 

“We found a positive pregnancy test in their pushed together beds, I could have told you that, babe,” she said and Harrow grunted. 

“No. They were married… in secret…,” she said and Gideon cocked a brow. “They attempted a perfect lyctorhood.” She reached down and picked up the little green book and then turned to face Gideon. “Her notes and theorems are in the other books. A way to exchange parts of the soul and create a loop of energy between Adept and Cavalier. She was so sure that they had cracked it.” Harrow’s voice was low and tight. “They even invited the Emperor Undying to come and watch their attempt… but something went wrong.” She clutched the book tightly in her hands, bitten nails leaving marks in the leather and Gideon frowned. 

“What happened?” she asked and Harrow shook her head. 

“It doesn’t say… simply that the Emperor claimed it was going wrong… and to save her life… he killed Samael,” she said and Gideon sucked in a sharp breath. “She begged the King Undying to kill her too… but he refused. She did not know until later she was pregnant and only that forced her to keep living.” Harrow turned her gaze to the journal and her thumb caressed the cover. 

“That’s…” Gideon wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

“Gideon…” Harrow looked up at her and Gideon waited. “All of my House's traditions were birthed here,” she said. Gideon frowned at that.

“What do you mean?” 

“The Ninth was, as it is told in this journal, on track to be more akin to the Fifth in its ways upon conception… Till God killed Samael Novenary.” She turned to look at the burning form of Dominicus rising into the sky.

Gideon’s brows furrowed as Harrow‘s clutch on the book tightened. “I don’t understand,” Gideon said and Harrow’s mouth twisted. 

“Anastasia went back to the Ninth alone… or rather, not alone…and in mourning. The Ninth House's customs of black garb were born of her dressing in mourning clothes till the day she died, sealing herself within the tomb upon its completion years later…”  

“That explains the clothes I found,” Gideon said and Harrow looked at her curiously. “The closet upstairs has a bunch of clothes in it. Her stuff I assume, all colorful. His stuff was all black though… What about that and the grease paint we found in the bedside table?” she asked and Harrow tapped the book.

“All was explained in here. Samael dressed himself in all black and adorned himself with the paint of his own volition. He enjoyed… ‘the gothic style’ as it was described in the journal. Black and images of death. The face paint was implemented as a tribute to him, the Ninth's sacrifice.”

“One guy is why I have to wear face paint all the rest of my life?” Gideon joked lightly but Harrow was frowning, her brows pinched between her eyes tightly. “Harrow?” 

“My House was built on mourning, Gideon.” She looked up into golden eyes. “A sorrow that has transcended the ages. A tomb constructed for God’s greatest enemy and secretly, a memorial carved from a grieving heart for its lost love,” her voice was low and soft. “Bereavement, handed down through the generations…” 

“Does… that upset you?” Gideon felt lost, unsure what Harrow was feeling right now. Normally, she could read that sharp little face like a book but Harrow’s face was a confusing jumble of things.

“Yes…it upsets me,” she said but there was no heat in it. “It upsets me that the Ninth has always been a place of loss and grief, handed down my family line… It upsets me that this was asked of them. That it’s being asked of us.” She let go of the journal with one hand to reach out and grasp Gideon’s left hand in hers, grip tight. “I could not bear to repeat it…,” she murmured, jerking Gideon’s hand to her chest and dropping the book entirely to hold the Cavalier’s bigger hand between both of hers. 

“Harrow…”

“I won’t. I will return to the Ninth with you or not at all,” she whispered heatedly, eyes squeezing closed as she held tight to Gideon’s hand. “There will be no third memorial on the Ninth…, ” she hissed.  

Without a word, Gideon reached out with her free hand and pul

led Harrow closer, gathering her precious sack of bones into her arms and onto her lap where she held her tightly. Harrow dug her head sharply into the space beneath her chin and stayed there.   

Chapter Text

They stayed that way for a while, sitting in silence. Gideon ran a hand through Harrow’s hair and watched Dominicus rise. It was probably at least an hour before Harrow finally extracted her face from Gideon’s neck to look at her.

“You okay?” she asked softly and Harrow nodded, sliding her hands up to wrap around Gideon’s shoulders.

“Yes…,” she said. “I am… concerned about the lyctoral process,” she murmured.  

“Concerned…,” Gideon repeated and Harrow sighed quietly. 

“I am afraid,” she admitted this time. “Afraid that even if we can deconstruct the process of how to do it… things may end the same. That the history of the Ninth is fated to repeat itself…that I will lose the thing most precious to me…,” she murmured, breath hot against the skin of Gideon's neck.

Gideon hummed softly, still running her fingers through Harrow’s hair. 

“Maybe,” she finally said and felt Harrow stiffen in her arms. “But, and not to doubt your great, great, however many great’s grandparents, but Anastasia wasn’t you… and they didn’t have Camilla Hect and Palamedes Sextus. ‘Sides, I would put my soul and life on the line every time if it’s you I’m betting on,” she said with a soft smile. Harrow’s eyes - a deep, glowing brown in the light of the rising sun - flickered across her face, searching. She must have found what she was looking for, because she nodded, reaching up to run a hand down the side of Gideon’s face. 

“And Samael Novenary was no Gideon Sise,” she said softly and Gideon felt a shiver run up her spine just before Harrow leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. When she released her lock on Gideon's lips, she remained leaned in, forehead pressed to Gideon's. 

“We can do it,” Gideon murmured and Harrow hummed. 

“Yes… I believe we can… but I will attempt nothing without being beyond certainty of it working. I will not risk your life without guarantee,” she murmured into the space between them.

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you.” Gideon smirked and Harrow huffed, finally leaning back to give her a tired look.

“G'mornin…” a voice grumbled and Gideon looked over her shoulder as Pal, scruffy and drowsy, walked by with a wave before he headed into the bathroom. 

“Morning, SexPal!” Gideon called. “Mornin’ Cam,” she called to the other Cavalier, stretching on the floor at the top of the stairs. 

“Morning,” she called back. 

“Alright… food,” Gideon declared and Harrow made a face but stood from Gideon’s lap all the same. The Cavalier jumped up after her, stretching her arms overhead. A series of pops followed and Gideon made a pleasurable sound. “That’s the stuff,” she groaned and Harrow hummed, moving inside. Gideon strode over to the drawers and pulled out a ration bar and an apple for Harrow and a fistful of dried meat and nuts for herself. Harrow took it with less than zero enthusiasm, making Gideon roll her eyes but she unwrapped it and took a bite nonetheless. “I just remembered something,” Gideon said around a mouthful of meat and Harrow merely cocked a brow in silent question. “If ‘ol Sam was the one who liked the spooky shit, what about this?” She moved to the training area and came back with the straight sword, showing it to Harrow, pointing to the initials carved into the base of the blade.

‘A.N’

“Ah, she mentioned this in her journal.” Harrow took the sword in an unfamiliar hand. “Samael had it made for her. He was teaching her how to use it… she couldn’t bear to take it with her when she left…,” she said, twisting the blade this way and that, admiring the shiny, black, Drearburh steel with nostalgic melancholy. Gideon couldn’t help but reach out and correct her grip before someone lost a finger. 

“You’re holding it wrong,” she huffed and Harrow rolled her eyes even as her lips quirked upwards.  “Maybe I should teach you,” Gideon offered half jokingly with a smirk.

“Maybe…,” Harrow hummed, handing it back. Gideon blinked wide eyes at her. 

“Harrow, so glad to see you among us once more,” Pal announced as he exited the bathroom and walked across the room toward them. “Did you find anything interesting in Novena’s journal?” he asked and Harrow nodded. Cam walked down the stairs to join them.

“Yes. They discovered the way to perfect the ‘eightfold word’,” she said. “The process of lyctorhood.” 

“Eightfold word,” Pal repeated, testing the term on his tongue.  

The next hour was spent eating breakfast, mostly by Cam and Gideon, while Harrow and Pal discussed the pertinent parts of the journal, opening up the other books they had yet to touch as well. 

Gideon had to force the rest of the nutrient bar down her wife's throat with expected amounts of bitching and complaining, but eat it she did.

The majority of the day was spent in silence. Mostly. Harrow and Pal clustered themselves at the table with Anastasia's books, reading, jotting down notes and mumbling to each other. Occasionally, breaking out into quiet, heated arguments about one bit or the next.

Cam sat cross legged on the floor, carefully sharpening and polishing the variety of weapons she had brought with them while Gideon did sit ups and push ups till her body burned, a good three hours of work before she flopped back onto the floor and stayed there. It wasn't until sometime later, as she lay on her back on the floor in the puddle of afternoon sunlight shining into the room like a lazy orange cat, that Cam finally looked up at her.

"I brought you something," she said suddenly. One golden eye popped open. 

"Tell me it's 'scandalous Seventh Sorceress'," she said and a pen came flying across the room to smack her in the face. 

"Ow," Gideon chuckled, glancing in her wife's direction and winking at her little glaring face.

"No," Cam answered flatly and Gideon pouted. The Sixth Cavalier stood and moved to her trunk and flipped it open. Gideon propped herself up on an elbow and watched curiously. 

Then squealed in joy, making both necromancers jerk up.

"My two hander!" Gideon jumped up and grabbed the proffered blad in her hands. The weight was familiar, comfortable.

She felt powerful holding it’s several feet of steel in her hands. 

"Just in case we need it…," Cam hummed, pulling her own dual, curved swords from the trunk and strapping them around her waist.

"Now we're talking!" Gideon grinned, running through a few quick swings. The blade sweeping through the air.

"If you take off your own head, it will defeat the purpose of trying to perfect the lyctoral process so you don't die," Pal called with no shortness of amusement. Gideon scoffed. 

"Like I would ever," she said, slinging the blade to rest on her shoulder. "Spar?" she asked, turning to Cam, who nodded.

Harrow sighed as the sounds of grunting and metal on metal ran through the apartment. Pal just smiled and turned back to the task at hand.

It was long after the two Cavaliers had tired themselves out and sat, resting on the bed upstairs, playing with some cards they found, that Pal finally stood from the table.

"I think we're nearly ready to try some… practice runs."

Gideon and Cam both looked up at that.

"How do you practice ripping out your own soul?" Gideon questioned, cocking a brow at the two necromancers.

"By practicing establishing a connection between adept and Cavalier before we try pulling anything out of its place. Based on what we have seen first hand, and Anastasia Novena's notes, hand copied from the other lyctors of old, the eightfold word is named as such because of the eight steps in the lyctoral process. At least, the way they did it," he explained.

"Preserve the soul, analyze it, take it into yourself, fix it in place, incorporate it, consume the flesh, reconstruct the spirit/flesh relationship, and turn on the power," Harrow listed to the Cavaliers.

"Well that all sounds lovely," Gideon grunted and Cam made an agreeing sound.

"Yes, well, we're going to tweak it. After much study and discussion, there's no reason that the process can't be facilitated both ways. However, some…. Practice is required," he said, turning to look at Cam, who stood and moved down the steps. Gideon hauled herself to her feet and followed. "We need to practice establishing a simultaneous connection between both souls. Neither of us are spirit magicians, so this will be… interesting," he hummed and the two Cavaliers exchanged a look.

"That's what you wanna hear before someone starts fucking with your soul," Gideon mumbled to Cam, who snorted.

"Camilla, shall we?" Pal asked, holding out a hand and Cam stepped forward and laid hers in it without hesitation. They stood stock still, Pal taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. "I'll guide you. You should be able to feel it…," he said softly and Cam hummed.

Gideon stood beside Harrow, arms crossed and on the outside, to her, it looked like nothing was happening. She leaned down and whispered to Harrow. "Can you see anything with your necro eyes?" she asked and Harrow nodded, not taking her eyes off them.

"He's establishing a connection," she mumbled. Gideon would have to take her word for it. She couldn't see anything, till the faintest glow started to emit from their hands. Then they began to shake minutely. Pal's hands clenched around Cam's, his brow furrowed and jaw moving. Gideon frowned, body rigid, waiting for… something.

A few minutes had passed when finally, the shaking stopped and the glow receded. Their eyes popped open at the same time and they both sucked in sharp breaths, eyeing each other with a powerful intent.

"Sextus…?" Harrow called. He held up a hand, his eyes closing again and he released a much calmer breath.

"It worked," he mumbled and Harrow jerked. "We were able to create a closed circuit between us… there were some… unforeseen effects…," he murmured and Harrow cocked a brow but Pal just shook his head. "Would be best if you experienced it for yourself," he said and Harrow hummed.

"I could see the connection," she said softly. “I could see your thalergy latch onto Hect's and then hers pull back…" Harrow was staring intensely at some spot just past the Warden of the Sixth, thinking, then she turned suddenly to Gideon. "Now us." She was looking intensely into Gideon's eye.

"Feeling up my soul? Sign me up." Gideon grinned and held out both her hands. Harrow made an annoyed sound but pulled off her gloves with her teeth and stuffed them into the depths of her robes before sliding her hot, fine boned hands into Gideon's. 

"You'll know when to take hold," was all she said before closing her eyes and Gideon followed suit. There was just darkness at first. Darkness and the warm hands holding hers. 

She wasn't exactly sure how long she stood there, a minute or two maybe, before she felt it.

Like, tendrils of light slipping through the crack in a wall. They were warm and soft, grazing against her. She wasn't really sure what she was supposed to be doing, but she took a breath and could picture her own hands in her mind's eye, reaching out and grasping the nebulous feeling prodding at her. 

Then her world exploded in a burst of light and sound, color and emotion. It was so overwhelming that, for a moment, she felt nothing - weightless and formless - then reality snapped back in place, with what felt like an almost audible twang, like a stretched rubber band. Emotions that very much were not her own bubbled inside her. A sudden sense of nervousness pulsed inside her chest. Nervousness, worry, both strong enough that they very nearly covered the other emotions hidden beneath them. It was a struggle at first, to right the jumble in her head enough to figure out that what she was feeling was Harrow's emotions. She could still feel her own, they were on the surface, but Harrow's were swimming around in the shallows, visible yet muted. Like someone saying talking through a closed door. That worry was morphing to awe and amazement, parting the other emotions like clouds of mist.

Gideon wondered…

She concentrated on her own feelings, specifically the ones she felt first thing in the morning when she opened her eyes and found Harrow's sleeping face nestled into the crook of her elbow, always sharp but relaxed and unpainted. Totally at ease in a way she never was when  awake. Thick, dark lashes laid against her cheek and her breath was soft and even.

Those mushy, sappy, feelings of unfettered affection she felt for her wife and necromancer bloomed in her chest, warming her core.

There was a brief stutter along their connection and then everything else was burned away in the wake of a new emotion bright and hot as Dominicus. 

Love and adoration strong enough to burn away all other thoughts.

It made Gideon's breath catch in her throat. She basked in the warmth even as she burned.

Then, it was gone in an instant and she felt cold. Cold and alone in her mind once more. Her eyes flung open just as Harrow's did and they were both left gasping for breath.

She caught Harrow's black gaze and there, she could see those emotions in her face, but now, now she knew what they felt like, to feel how Harrow felt, to feel her inside her chest, in her mind. Knew what it felt like when they commingled and she suddenly wanted nothing less.

"I- I see the effects you spoke off," she breathed. "The rush of emotion is..  distracting…"

"To say the least," Pal mumbled, glancing at Cam before returning his attention to Harrow. "We will certainly need time to adjust to wading through another person's emotions inside us, before we'll ever be able to concentrate fully enough to complete the theorem."

"I agree." Harrow nodded.

"For the moment, I think we should take a brief respite. I need some air," Pal said as he moved toward the balcony. Cam followed and shut the doors behind them. 

Silence descended on the little apartment for a long moment.

"That was-" Gideon had barely started before a hand fisted into the front of her robes and jerked her down into a bruising kiss. She barely had time to blink before Harrow's hands wrapped around her neck and her tongue licked into Gideon's mouth

"Harrow," she groaned into her wife's mouth, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against her.

"Bathroom," Harrow grunted and Gideon didn't need telling twice. She scooped Harrow up and dashed into the bathroom, closing the door behind them with a slam. 

Gideon broke the kiss and set Harrow on the edge of the sink. The necromancer moved on to biting and sucking at the pillar of her throat, making Gideon groan, hands fisting into Harrow's robes.

"I could feel all of you," Harrow murmured against mouthfuls of skin. "As if we were one… and it…." Harrow stopped, still mouthing at her neck. 

"It felt good," Gideon finished, not wasting any time in shoving her hand down the front of Harrow's pants, making her squeak. Gideon sucked in a breath. "God, you're so fucking wet already," she groaned, fingers working through the slick with long strokes that brushed Harrow's clit. She growled against Gideon's ear, hips jerking and her hands clawing down the plane of Gideon's back.

They didn't have long but Gideon was determined to scratch the itch. Harrow nails dug into her wife's powerful shoulders and made loud gasping noises into her neck, squirming against her as two fingers slid straight up to the third knuckle inside her.

"Gideon," she gasped and Gideon knew this was not going to take long at all by the high, reedy noises Harrow was making. She doubled down, pressing the heel of her palm against Harrow's clit and grinding. Harrow choked and Gideon turned her head and bit the shell of her wife's ear in time with the thrust of her fingers.

The cry that came out of Harrow echoed loudly off the walls and was soon drowned out by the babbling of: "God…fu- yes, Gi-Gideon!" And decidedly slapping wet sounds of Gideon's fingers slapping against Harrow's soaked cunt.

She curled her fingers and pressed hard against her clit and Harrow went taut, screaming into her shoulder before going limp against her.

Gideon leaned her head back and looked at her shaking wife, panting against her.

"You okay?" she asked softly and Harrow nodded, letting her fingers uncurl from where they'd been digging into Gideon's muscles and leaned her head back. She looked wonderfully wrecked. Sweat was beaded up on her forehead and her paint was a smudged mess half rubbed off on Gideon's shoulder and neck. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to still open and panting lips. Harrow made a pleased sound against them.

"Think you can stand?" Gideon asked softly and Harrow seemed to be thinking, which made her grin before the Scion of the Ninth nodded and Gideon helped down. She wobbled a little but otherwise stood on her own.

"What about you?" Black eyes looked up at her and Gideon had to be blind and dumb to not see the desire lurking there.

"Raincheck, babe. We're going to be missed soon," she said and Harrow reluctantly agreed. She spent the next few minutes cleaning up before they went back out into the room. 

Pal and Cam were sitting at the tables, speaking in hushed voices but turned to look at them as they reappeared.

"...hey." Gideon raised a hand. 

"If you two are finished, shall we try again?" he asked. Harrow flushed and started to say something but Pal held up a hand. "No need to explain or for us to speak of it. Cam and I also experienced a…. powerful blowback, though, not the same as the both of yours. We need to perfect this part of the process or we'll never be able to concentrate and maintain the theorem to completion." He stood from the table. 

Harrow nodded, straightening herself.

"So, shall we try again?" he asked.

"I'm down for another go." Gideon grinned. Harrow flushed and Cam snorted.

"No doubt." 

Gideon stuck her tongue out at her.

"Alright. Down to business then." Pal clapped his hands together.

Chapter Text

"I think… we're finally becoming desensitized to the full force of each other's emotions," Pal declared late afternoon three days later. His Cavalier nodded. 

"Gideon and Harrow haven't had to run into the bathroom to have sex in at least six hours," she grunted. 

Harrow glared hotly at the Sixth Cavalier.

"She's not wrong," Gideon shrugged, sitting back on her hands on the floor. She also did not need to have her soul tethered to Harrow's to know that she was mad. "They can hear us and you know it!" She flung up a hand. Harrow sneered. 

"The point is, the more exposed we are to our partner's thoughts and feelings, the easier it becomes to focus. This will be… not the hardest part but the most distracting I think," Pal said.

"Harrow's soul is very distracting…"

"Obviously," Cam mumbled with a smirk. Gideon shot her a look.

"As I was saying. It's very loud. Constant emotions… Believe it or not."

Harrow grunted, crossing her arms and glowering at all of them. Gideon just winked at her.

"Regardless, I think very soon we will be ready to make our attempt. There's nothing else we can practice and have gone over every bit of the theorem six ways from Sunday. There's nothing left to do," Pal said, reaching up and pulling his glasses off his face to wipe at the lens. "Do you agree?" He turned and looked at Harrow, who was biting the inside of her cheek.

"I think you're right… but I would still prefer some time to perfect the soul splicing and ensure it's as minimally distracting as possible for when we make our attempt," she said and Pall nodded.

"Of course, and I agree, however, we are on a time limit. Our resources are running dry and we're still enemy number one, for better or worse. We need to act soon."

Harrow nodded, still looking thoughtful and distracted. 

"Perhaps we'll give it a break for the rest of the evening though, hm?" He looked around and Cam nodded. Gideon shot him a thumbs up and he nodded. "Very well. If anyone needs me I'll be going over my notes." He took his notebook and headed up the stairs toward the living area. Cam stood, stretching her back and followed without further explanation.

Gideon glanced over at her wife, still standing silently in the middle of the room. She didn't need to have her soul spliced with Harrow's to see the worry lurking in her face.

She caught her eye and without a word Harrow turned and made her way to the balcony doors. Gideon rocked herself up to her feet and glanced back up the stairs. She caught Cam's eye before turning and following Harrow out onto the balcony. She closed the doors behind her.

She was standing at the railing, staring out at the vast expanse of sea that stretched endlessly before them. 

"So, what's the matter, my osseous overlord?" she asked, sidling up beside her and bumping Harrow's shoulder with her own. Harrow was frowning at the sea, hands fisted on the railing. 

"I… I do not feel ready to attempt the theorem… but Sextus is right. There is nothing left to be done but try." She didn't look happy about this.

"You can do it," Gideon said and bumped her again. Harrow growled, spinning to face her. 

"How can you just… be so blase about this!?" she snapped. "If I fuck this up you will die, Gideon!" Her voice raised and cracked with a desperate tinge to it. "How can you so easily put your life on an experimental process in which the only known test resulted in the death of the Cavalier?" She shook her open hands at her wife.

Gideon hummed and shrugged. This seemed to be the wrong answer and Harrow made a loud, aggravated sound.

"You are impossible," she hissed and Gideon smiled.

"I know… here." She held out her hands. Harrow cocked a brow. "Connect us," Gideon urged and Harrow frowned. "Come on," Gideon wiggled her fingers at her and Harrow frowned but took her hands and closed her eyes. Gideon followed suit and within a moment she felt the telltale signs of Harrow's necromancy at work in her. Those tendrils, Harrow's soul reaching out to hers, appeared and Gideon took hold, pulling it in and molding Harrow as close as she possibly could. She had gotten good at this over the last couple of days. She was able to reel in her spouse's sometimes reluctant spirit, which always gave in within moments.

The familiar noisiness of Harrow's thoughts filled her mind's peripheries along with her bubbling emotions. Gideon relaxed against them. The normal love and annoyance was there but they were being drowned out by fear and anxiety pulsing throughout. 

Gideon breathed and let her own shine through. Harrow's thoughts all seemed to quiet.

"Gideon…," Harrow mumbled softly and her grip on Gideon's hands tightened as she got hit with the full force of Gideon's unwavering trust and loyalty. Her immovable faith in Harrow's necromantic ability. Soon enough, the connection was carefully dissolved and Harrow fell forward, her head buried in Gideon's chest. Her hands pulled free to squeeze around Gideon's waist and hold tight.

Gideon wrapped her arms around her and tugged her in close. "I know you're still unsure," she mumbled. "But I know you can do it and I'm ready to jump in," she murmured against Harrow's hair.

Harrow let out a shuddering breath against her before pulling back to look up at her. 

"I know you're ready… you've been ready since before we even had an alternative where you didn't need to die," she said gruffly and Gideon smiled, making Harrow sigh. "But you're right. Sextus is right. There is nothing left to do but make our attempt… "

"Hey, where's all that Ninth House pride when you need it?" Gideon asked, reaching up to run her hand through short black hair. Harrow grunted.

"My pride is not worth your life, beloved," she muttered and Gideon smirked. 

"Such sweet words, I think I'm gonna swoon," she said and Harrow pulled back enough to hit her. Gideon chuckled before leaning down to kiss her.

Then the balcony doors swung open, making them both jump.

"What the fuck?" Gideon spun around to find Cam standing there, frowning fiercely.

"We have a problem."

“What, what is it?” Harrow untangled herself from Gideon and took a half step. 

Cam’s mouth just thinned and Gideon frowned. 

A problem was one word for what they found waiting inside for them. 

Silas Octakiseron, with his Cavalier in tow, stood near the door with Pal.

“What is he doing here?” Harrow sneered at the Scion of the Eight, who merely gave her a distasteful side eye as they approached.

“I’m afraid the Eighth has come bearing some… disturbing news.” Pal turned to them, frowning, brows furrowed behind his glasses. 

Harrow regarded the washed out man with no small amount of suspicion. 

“Despite your theft of brother Asht’s keys and the unseemly behavior of the Ninth and the Sixth as a whole, I felt it only right to bring news of what has happened today to your attention,” he said but he looked lke he would rather have been anywhere else honestly. 

“Well?” Gideon asked, crossing her arms and the Master Templar shot her an acidic look.

“Today, the Seventh finally answered my demands for satisfaction for the infraction that occurred the night of the Fifth’s untimely demise. Protesilaus the Seventh is dead,” He said flatly, making everyone but but his pasty nephew jerk.

“You killed the Seventh Cavalier?” Gideon balked at Colum Asht, who shook his head.

“No.”

“He just said…” 

“I said that he was dead,” Silas interuppted. “He has been dead for weeks.”

“...huh?” Gideon blinked.

“Brother Asht appeared to have struck an unintentional killing blow, and the Duchess worked herself up into such a grieving fit, she began coughing up blood and has fallen ill, so much so that she had to be escorted away by Teacher. However, while the Second, Third and ourselves were moving the body of Protesilaus the Seventh, it was noticed that there was already a certain.. palor and coldness to him. After an examination, it has been determined that he has been dead weeks now.”

“That’s impossible,” Harrow snapped and Silas turned up his nose at her. 

“Come and examine the corpse for yourselves if you so see fit. I only came to deliver this news, along with the news that the Second have decided to put an end to everything,” the necromancer of the Eighth declared. Which made Pal grunt and press a hand his face. 

“What does that mean?” Cam frowned, eyes narrowing. 

“They were going after the radio in the priests quarters to hail the Cohort,” Colum said solemnly. 

“Of course they are,” Pal grumbled. “What about the Third?” he asked.

“The other matter of our visist. The Third have defiled the corpses of the Fifth,” Silas said and Gideon felt her blood jump to a boil. 

“What!?” she snarled, taking a half step forward. Harrow’s hand shot out and pressed against her. She stopped but was still glaring at the Eighth. 

“Just as I said,” Silas huffed. “They went into the freezer and cut something out of Pent and disappeared. I came not just to relay this news but to… enlist the aid of the Sixth and Ninth as the Second have gone off and the Seventh is entirely indisposed.” He looked between Harrow and Pal, who glanced at each other. 

“I suppose we have a duty to see what the Third have done. As well as have a look at the body of Protesilaus the Seventh.” He looked at Harrow, who nodded. 

“Very well,” she said.

“There is one more matter,” Silas turned his eyes to Harrow. “The matter of the keys…”

“We’ll not be handing over this study key. If that’s what you’re going to ask,” Harrow said. Gideon and Cam shared a quick glance before turning their attention to Colum. He looked tired and made no motion to go for his rapier or buckler. 

“The facility key,” Silas said with no small amount of sourness in his voice. Harrow looked prepared to refuse, no doubt out of nothing but spite. 

“I think that would be more than fair,” Pal said before Harrow could even open her mouth again. She shot the Warden a look. He merely gazed back for a moment. Then Harrow scoffed and looked at Gideon, nodding her head toward Silas. Gideon blinkled but did as bid and fished the ring of keys out of her shit and pulled off one of the facility keys and tossed it to Colum, who caught it and stowed it in his pocket. 

“Now we may go,” he said and turned and waltzed out of the room, his nephew-Cavalier behind him. 

“Well… shall we?” Pal held out a hand and with some reluctance, they went. They followed the Eighth to the freezer, where now, along with the remains of the Fifth, the Seventh Cavalier now laid with them. 

Pal and Harrow went straight to the body of the Seventh and began to examine him. Gideon hung back, glancing at the bodies of the Fifth. The sheet that had been placed over them was thrown back and she clenched her fists, taking a deep lungful of cold air and trying to keep any bile from rising. A gentle knock on her shoulder made her look at Cam, standing beside her and giving her a sympathetic look. 

“By the Emperor, Octakiseron. You didn’t say you took his head off.” He turned and looked at the Eighth, who scoffed. 

“That was not brother Asht’s doing. It was during the moving of the body that his head all but fell off.” 

“It was a clean cut… certainly not from a rapier,” Harrow mused aloud, examining the bottom of the head where it had been removed from the rest of his body. 

“I take it that was the tip off?” Pal asked, looking at Silas, who nodded. 

They examined the rest of the body before finally coming to the conclusion that, yes, he’d been dead since before they ever arrived on the First. 

“How is that possible?” Pal murmured and Harrow frowned.

“I have heard of a technique that allows one to puppet a corpse. It was attributed to the Seventh. At the time I dismissed it as rumor and conjecture…”

“Yet a dead man has been walking among us, speaking even, for weeks now,” Pal added. “We will need to talk to the Duchess,” he concluded before moving to examine the Fifth. “Something was cut out of Abigail… by Tern’s trident knife… something metal…”

“The key,” Harrow suddenly said. “The missing key, Sextus!” 

Pal’s head jerked up, he was staring at them but he seemed far away, thinking. “God, you’re right… Abigail and Magnus fell from the top of the facility ladder, meaning they were returning… They completed a challenge. They had the missing key…”

“Whoever killed them hid it in Abigail’s body… but why?” Cam was frowning hard.

“Why is the question…” He ran his hand through his beard. “We need to talk to the Duchess.” 

“We need to deal with the Third,” Gideon growled, drawing their attention. Harrow caught her eye for a moment and then nodded. 

“The Seventh… neither of them, are going anywhere anytime soon. The Third however, are able bodied and on the move.” 

“What of the Second?” Silas reminded and Pal frowned, brows furrowing.

“I think we’ll need to split up,” he offered and none of them looked happy about it. “Cam and I will go with the Eighth and see what the Third has done. You and Gideon should check on the Second,” he suggested as they moved out of the freezer and back out into the kitchen.

“Are we sure that’s-” The rest of Gideon's sentence was cut off by the loud and echoing clatter of bones hitting the floor as all the constructs around them shuddered and fell apart. “What the fuck?” Gideon gaped at the piles of inert bones now laying sprawled across the kitchen. 

“Something has happened. We need to move,” Pal said and they were. The dining hall was much the same, devoid of people and the fallen bones of the constructs laying around the floor. 

“We're going to track down the Third in the locked study. The two of you had best find the Second.. And both of you, be careful,” were Pal’s parting words before they part ways. 

Gideon and Harrow hurried through the halls toward the priest's quarters. It was a pretty, whitewashed passageway, totally out of kilter with the rest of Canaan House. The light bounced off the walls from the clean, wellkept windows. There was no need to knock at the doors or yell to find the action; at the end of the corridor, there was an absolute pile-up of bones, sashes, and the laid-out body of the other wizened priest. He had collapsed flat on his face with his arms outstretched, as if he had tripped while running. The bones were all piled up outside a closed door, as though they had been trying to get through it. Gideon led the fray, crunching through the bones, hand on the hilt of her sword before throwing open the door. Inside, Captain Deuteros looked up, somewhat wearily. She was sitting in a chair facing the door. Her left arm hung uselessly at her side, wizened and crumpled. Gideon did not want to look at it. It looked like it had been put in a bog for a thousand years and then stuck back on. Her right arm was tucked up against her stomach. There was an enormous crimson stain spreading out onto the perfect white of her jacket, and her right hand was clasped, as though ready to draw, around the enormous bone shard shoved deep in her gut. Teacher lay unmoving by her side. There was a rapier buried in his chest, and a dagger through his neck. There was no blood around the blades, only great splashes of it at his sleeves and his girdle. Gideon looked around for the lieutenant, found her, and then looked away again. She didn’t need a very long look to tell that Dyas was dead. For one thing, her skeleton and her body had apparently tried to divorce.

“Deuteros…,” Harrow started. 

“He wouldn’t listen to reason,” said Judith, in measured tones. “He became aggressive when I attempted to restrain him. Binding spells proved—useless. Marta used disabling force. He was the one to escalate the situation—he blew out her eye, so I was compelled to respond … This didn’t—it didn’t have to happen.” Two professional Cohort soldiers, one a necromancer, one a cavalier primary; all this mess for one old man. “Don’t just stand there,” Judith spat. “Do something for her.” She nodded toward her very dead Cavalier.

“She’s dead, Deuteros,” Harrow said with an attempt at some softness. 

“Then don’t touch me. We did what we came to do.” Gideon’s eyes were drawn to a machine in the corner. She hadn’t noticed it because it seemed ridiculously normal, but it wasn’t normal at all, not for Canaan House. It was an electric transmitter box, with headphones and a mic. The antenna was set out the window, glowing faint and blue in the afternoon sunshine.

“What did you come here to do?” she asked, turning her attention back to Judith.

The Second necromancer shifted, grunted in pain, closed her eyes. She sucked in a breath, and a bead of sweat traveled down her temple. “Save our lives,” she said. “I sent an SOS. Backup’s coming, Ninth … it’s just up to you and the Sixth to make sure nobody else dies … He said I’d betrayed the Emperor … said I’d put the Emperor at risk … I entered the Emperor’s service when I was six.” Captain Deuteros’s chin was drooping. She lifted it back up with some effort. “He wasn’t human,” she said. “He wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. Marta put him down—Marta … Go tell them she avenged the Fifth.”  

Harrow had gone to stand over the quiet, punctured corpse of Teacher. She dropped to his side like a long-tailed crow. All Gideon could do was watch, smell the blood, and feel absurdly empty about all of this. 

“This man was a shell filled with a hundred souls,” said Harrow. The captain’s eyes flicked open, and stayed open. “He was a thing of ridiculous power—but I doubt he had killed anyone before today. I would be astonished if he had a hand in the deaths of the Fifth House. There is something a great deal more dangerous than an old experiment loose in the First House, and he could have helped us find out what it is. But now you’re going to die too, and you’ll never know the whole story.” The whites of Judith’s eyes were very white, her carefully merciless face suddenly a picture of hesitation. Her gaze moved, more remorselessly than Gideon’s ever could have, to her cavalier; then she returned it to them, half furious, half-beseeching.

“How far away is the Second? How long do we have to wait for Cohort backup?” Gideon asked

“The Second’s not coming,” said Captain Deuteros. She smiled, tight and bitter. “There’s no communication with the rest of the system,” she said, hoarsely now. “He didn’t lie. There was no way to reach the Houses … I got through to the Imperial flagship, Ninth. The Emperor is coming … the King Undying.” 

Next to Harrow, Teacher gurgled.

“You draw him back—to the place—he must not return to,” said the dead man, with a thin and reedy whistle of a voice around the blade in his vocal cords. His whole body wriggled. His dead eyes no longer twinkled drunkenly, but his tongue slithered. His spine arched. “Oh, Lord—Lord— Lord, one of them has come back—” His voice trailed off. His body collapsed to the floor.

“Give me her sword,” Judith grunted. The rapier was too heavy for her to hold. Gideon laid it over the necromancer’s knees, and Judith’s fingers closed around it. The steel of the hilt was bright in her hand. She squeezed down until her knuckles were white. 

“At least let us get you out of here,” said Gideon, who thought it was a shitty room to die in. 

“No,” she said. “If he comes back to life again, I will be ready. And I won’t leave her now … nobody should ever have to watch their cavalier die.” 

Harrow stiffened from where she was standing near Teacher’s corpse, glancing over at Gideon before finally moving back toward the door. 

The last Gideon ever saw of Captain Judith Deuteros was her propped up on the armchair, sitting as straight as she could possibly manage, bleeding out through the terrible wound in her gut. They left her with

her head held high, and her face had no expression at all. The sight of her Cavalier was still fresh in Gideon’s mind as they hurried down the halls of Canaan toward the once locked study. 

Chapter Text

The sight they came upon had not been even close to what Gideon had been expecting when they threw open the study door.

Naberius Tern was lying flat in the middle of the floor, dead as a doornail in a pool of what she presumed to be his own blood, not far away lay the bodies of Silas Octakiseron and his Cavalier, also swimming in a crimson lake. Pal and Cam stood panting on the other side of the room while Coronabeth Tridentarius sat on the floor and wept loudly. The words ‘You Lied To US’ was slapped across the wall in fresh black paint.

“What the hell happened here?!” Gideon could hear the raggedness in her own voice as it echoed through the room. 

“Perhaps you first… I think it will be shorter…,” Pal mumbled.

It was shorter but no less terrible once they had been briefed on everything that had been happening in Canaan House.

“So, Tridentarius has ascended to lyctor… the traditional way,” Harrow was frowning hard at the body of Naberius Tern.  He was a prick, sure, but even he didn't deserve that.

“The Second, and Eighth are dead… and the Imperial flagship is on its way…” Pal was frowning equally as hard. 

"What should we do, Warden?" Cam looked to Pal, whose fingers were twitching at his side. He took a deep breath and glanced at her before turning to Harrow. 

"We need to complete the eightfold word and attain lyctorhood ourselves before we end up dead next," he said and Gideon felt her palms grow damp with sweat.

Harrow's jaw clenched and her brows furrowed. Gideon could see the twitching of her hands, indicating her rapid thoughts.

Slowly, she jerked her head in a nod.

"Yes, we do."

"What about them?" Gideon nodded to the bodies of the Eighth and Tern on the floor, as well as Corona who continued to wail that her sister had not taken her instead. Pal grimaced.

"There's nothing we can do for them and we need to move," he said solemnly. 

"We can come back for them." Harrow looked at her and she sighed but nodded.

“The Seventh is also alone now,” Cam reminded and Pal stilled for a moment, looking deeply thoughtful before letting out a long sigh. 

“Yes, and I’m going to go talk to her, Cam why don’t you-”

“No,” the Sixth Cavalier said before he could even finish his sentence. “I’m not leaving you alone,” she said with finality. The Warden of the Sixth grunted but dipped his head. “Very well.” He didn’t even bother putting up much in the way of an argument but like Pal, Gideon knew that it was wasted breath. 

“We will go and speak to Lady Septenarius.” 

“And we will begin preparing.” Harrow looked at Gideon

They parted ways just outside in the hall. Harrow looking at the Warden of the Sixth. “Be careful Sextus. I don’t trust Septenarius.” 

Pal nodded. “Neither do I,” were his parting words before he and Cam hurried down the hall in the other direction. 

“Let us hurry,” Harrow mumbled and then they were hurrying down the eerily quiet halls of Canaan and back to the Ninth House study. Gideon eyed every shadow and dark shape with suspicion, her hand never leaving her rapier till they were safely back in the study. Harrow made a beeline for the table where everything had been left and quickly started flipping through the books. When she found whatever she was looking for, she threw off her robes, letting them fall to the floor, and then began digging through the drawers. 

“Gideon, Sextus, and I have discussed this at length and have decided that using blood wards on the floor will help increase our chances of success.”

“Okay?” Gideon watched her pull some things out of the drawer and turned to face her. A bowl in one hand and a knife in the other. 

“Give me your arm,” she said and Gideon didn’t hesitate to hold her arm out. The sting was sharp but brief as Harrow ran the blade across the meat of her arm. Bright, red liquid dripped into the bowl. Once Harrow seemed satisfied with the amount, she pressed a hand to Gideon’s arm and sealed it shut before yanking up her own sleeve and likewise opening up her own flesh. It poured into the bowl, mixing seamlessly in a sea of red with Gideon’s. “Clear the floor.” She looked up at Gideon, who started pushing the meager amount of furniture and things back against the wall as Harrow dipped her finger into the bowl of blood and began drawing lines on the floor. 

Gideon stood back and watched her work with exacting precision, drawing lines and shapes in their blood across the wooden floor with an intensity that Gideon was very familiar with. Finally, she stood up and looked at her own work with a critical eye before nodding and turning to Gideon. “We’re ready,” she said and Gideon’s chest tightened. 

“Should we wait for Cam and Pal?” she asked and Harrow chewed her lip thoughtfully. 

“It would be prudent to have another set of eyes to-” The rest of that was cut off by a voice outside the door.

“Harrow, Gideon, open the door!” Pal called and Gideon jumped up, carefully hopping over the blood work on the floor and flinging open the door. Her Sixth siblings stumbled inside quickly, shoving the door shut. Pal was panting like a lizard and even Cam seemed short of breath.

“What, what happened?!” 

“Venus Septenarius is not… She’s..” Pal was working to get his breath back.

“Venus is a lyctor,” Cam said and Pal nodded emphatically as his Cavalier began shoving things in front of the door. 

“Help me,” Cam barked and Gideon hurried to help her start shoving things in front of the door. 

“What?!” Harrow shouted. 

“She’s Cytherea the First. One of the original lyctors. She’s the one responsible for the deaths of the Fifth,” he said and Gideon’s head whipped around to face him. 

“What? Why would one of God's hands come here to kill the heads of his Houses?” Harrow turned to Pal, who had finally gotten his breath back.

“I didn’t have the time to ask as many questions as I would have liked,” he snapped back. “But based on what she did say, it has been orchestrated to draw the Emperor back to Canaan… she did actually mention you, Gideon.” Pal turned and looked at his former cavalier, who blinked back at him, while Harrow tensed. “‘Gideon of the golden eyes is proof of his lies’… that was what she said.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?!” Gideon threw up her hands and Pal shook his head. 

“I haven’t the slightest clue… but while she was talking, I was able to use my necromancy to push her blood cancer into a critical state.”

“Which only pissed her off,” Cam grunted as she finished shoving a table in place in front of the door. 

“Yes, it did do that… I had intended to do more, but Cam pulled me away before I could. I believe we lost her for the moment but time is short. We will need a lyctor to fight a lyctor.” He looked at the ward painted across the floor in drying blood and his eyes hardened. “It seems you’re ready.” 

“As we'll ever be,” Harrow breathed and the two fell into a long moment of silence. Then, finally, Pal let out a long breath. 

“Well, as the wards have been set up for you and Gideon, I suppose you’ll be going first,” he said and then moved toward the books sitting on the counter and picking it up. Harrow followed and glanced at the one in his hand before her attention turned to the small, sage-green book sitting nearby. She picked it up and held it. Didn’t open it, simply held it and stared at the cover with a deep, contemplating look. Gideon moved up behind her and wrapped an arm around her, startling her but she quickly leaned back into the touch. 

“It’ll be okay, Harrow,” she mumbled softly into her wife’s ear. “I trust you.”

Harrow turned her head, her forehead pressing into Gideon’s cheek for a long moment before pulling out of her grasp and setting the book back down. Then she spun around to face her, that telltale intensity and determination painted on her face as clearly as her sacramental paint.

“Let’s begin.”  

They moved over to the wards, Cam and Pal standing off to the side, watching silently. There was no sound in the room other than their quiet breathing.

Then a loud smashing sound from somewhere seemingly far off in Canaan, made them jump.

“Cytherea,” Pal murmured and Cam frowned. Gideon’s head jerked toward the door and her fingers twitched toward her sword and ax. 

“Griddle, forget about that and focus on me. Don’t smudge any of the lines, step carefully,” Harrow instructed. Gideon turned back to face her and nodded. Stepping carefully over the ward till she met Harrow in the middle. She held her hands out, palms up. Harrow didn’t hesitate to slip her own into Gideon’s. They were clammy and Gideon gave a gentle squeeze, prompting Harrow to look up at her from their joined hands. She smiled and then winked. 

Harrow scoffed, but there was a telltale curl at the corners of her lips and her grip tightened as well. Another crash, worryingly, somewhat closer, came from somewhere outside. Cam’s hand was on her rapier and Pal was also glancing at the barricaded door but Gideon didn’t take her eyes off Harrow. 

“No matter what happens, don’t stop. If need be, we will hold her,” Pal said and Harrow nodded and with a final glance at Gideon, closed her eyes, prompting the Cavalier to follow suit.

She listened to the sound of Harrow’s breathing turn deep and measured, hers fell in sync, and then she felt that warm squirming feeling in her as Harrow reached out with her soul. She grasped it tightly with her own as soon as it was near enough and then Harrow was lacing them together and her world became double. 

Her feelings were still at the forefront but once again she could feel Harrow’s, her determination and trepidation both as she continued to more fully lace their souls together. More complex and complete than they had ever done before. The feelings were becoming stronger than they had ever been before. Then everything stilled and she felt more than heard Harrow take a deep breath before a new sensation rippled through her. An insistent tugging and something told her to pull back. 

So she did.

It was stuck good though. Her jaw clenched and she mentally dug in, pulling as and pulling as she was pulled back, like trying to be sucked up through a straw. Her whole body went tight with a deep buzzing. Pain, nothing like the pain from avulsion, but pain all the same, deep and aching. It erupted from somewhere inside that she couldn’t pinpoint. Like someone was trying to jostle loose all her bones. 

Then it was sharp and she couldn’t help the pained sound that forced its way past her lips.

A spike of fear shot through her, but she knew right away that it wasn’t her own. It was cold as ice dripping down her spine but she grit her teeth and clasped Harrow’s hands all the tighter. 

‘Don’t stop. I’m okay’  

She forced the thought into a nebulous feeling along that bond that was thickening between them. She pressed it and pressed it till the foreign stab of fear had lessened once more into a dull background feeling, behind the deep concentration and pain that was sparking from her toes to behind her eyes. The tearing continued and the pain sharpened but it felt like whatever they were both tugging on was soon to come loose. 

A loud bang came from even closer now and Gideon flinched, her grasp slipping but she clenched her eyes all the tighter and held fast. She was vaguely aware of Pal and Cam speaking to each other in hurried tones but she heard none of it and tuned it all out. Everything but the feeling of Harrow somewhere in her head and clasped between her fingers.  

She didn’t realize she was sweating till she felt it drip against her eyelids. Something, something was ripping out of her core, its last few threads popping loose as it tried to hang on. 

“Gideon…” It was barely above a whisper and she would never be sure if it came from within or without. 

“Harrow…” 

The strands popped loose and then the room seemed to explode in a heated blast of thalergy that sent Gideon flying off her feet and tumbling across the floor. She hit the ground hard but her insides were reeling just as much as her outsides. Everything was a bright, loud blur and her body was buzzing. She felt dizzy and nauseous and she wanted to vomit. There was a searing pain burning behind her eyes and in her chest but it was quickly fading and she blinked open her eyes. The blood ward was sizzling away in dried flakes and they had kicked up a giant cloud of dust when they were flung through the air. Gideon coughed and blinked hard through it, searching.

About eight meters away, Harrow was also pushing herself up to her hands and knees. 

“Are you alright? Did it work?” Pal asked breathlessly, watching them. 

That was a good fucking question. She felt… Strange. She managed to stumble across the room and dropped to her knees beside Harrow.

“Harrow?” she beckoned and the necromancer looked up at her and Gideon’s breath caught, eyes widening.

Likewise, Harrow stared back at her with wide, amazed eyes. 

Amazed, golden eyes . 

“Your eyes,” Harrow murmured, reaching up and laying a hand against Gideon’s cheek. She could feel the breathless wonder pulsing beneath her sternum and realized that it was Harrow, a now permanent fixture inside her.

“You're the one with the pretty gold peepers now,” she smirked and Harrow jerked up, quickly turning and running into the bathroom. Another wave of exultant awe and joy pulsed in her chest. She could see Harrow from here, staring at her now amber eyes in the mirror. 

“Amazing,” Pal breathed as he stepped closer. “Your eyes… Harrow’s eyes… How do you feel?” he asked excitedly, as if there wasn't a loud crashing sound coming from somewhere down the hall. 

“Weird… I can feel her… here.” She pressed her hand over her chest. 

“And what about you, Harrow? How do you feel?” he turned to the Ninth adept as she walked out of the bathroom. She frowned, seemingly taking stock of herself, and then held up a hand. Five constructs sprang up almost instantly from the bits of bone that had been lying on the floor and with the barest twist of her fingers, they melded together and grew till they resembled a familiar, bladed-arm chimera.

“Powerful…” she answered softly. 

“The connection?” he questioned and with a flick of her wrist, the monstrous construct all but vanished into dust. She pressed her hand to her chest, the same place where Gideon could feel Harrow in her own. 

“It’s complete… a bond made of our intermingled souls…” 

“Well, so much for your divorcing me when this was all said and done plan, eh?” Gideon asked with a grin. Harrow shot her a look and she could feel the exasperation. That was going to take some getting used to. Pal snorted.

“Not to cut this short but…” Cam started just as something slammed against the door and everything pushed against it shuddered. “...angry lyctor?!” she yelled.

Gideon ran across the room to grab her two hander. It felt good and solid in her hands as she gave it a few experimental swings. She felt admiration welling up in her chest and it took her a moment to realize it was not her own. She glanced at Harrow, who was watching her with a bright, golden gaze. That was really going to take some getting used to. 

The door gave another creak as something slammed into it with full force. The furniture shoved against it shuddered and dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. 

“I suppose we don’t have time to make the attempt ourselves,” Pal frowned as he moved away from the door to flank Harrow, Cam on Gideon’s other side, double blades in hand. 

“Probably not…” Gideon adjusted her grip and when Harrow lifted her hands, she could see it. The thalergy gathered around her fingers like a glowing miasma. She could see it moving and gawked. She must have been feeling a certain way because Harrow glanced questioningly at her. She just shook her head and turned back to the door as it slammed again and again. The walls cracked and plaster drifted to the floor. 

Then the door exploded inward in a burst of cracked wood and splinter, the furniture clattered across the floor, and looming in the doorway was a waned figure holding a rapier. 

Then a solid, spiked wall of bone flew across the floor and slammed fully into the figure, and careened into the wall across the hall.

“Run!” Harrow commanded and she didn’t need to tell any of them twice. They bolted out of the room and down the hall. The sound of splintering bone followed them.

“We need more room to fight,” Cam yelled and Gideon wracked her brain. 

“The dining hall!” she yelled, and then they were careening around the corner. The sound of something big and heavy thundered down the hall behind them. 

The dining hall was empty when they ran inside. Who was left though to inhabit it? Them and, somewhere in Canaan, what remained of the Third. 

They spun and faced the door, hands up and swords at the ready. 

The loud clacking of bones slowed till out from the darkness of the hall, appeared Venus…or rather, Cytherea. She held her rapier in one hand and looming behind her was a monstrous bone construct. A fretwork of bones, a net, a lace of them—long stingers of teeth, a nesting body, a construct so big that it turned one’s bowels into an icebox. The hulking construct filled the room behind its mistress, stretching itself out and expanding, pulverizing the walls on either side of the dining hall room doors. Its great bone head lolled and loomed above them, masklike, with its hideous molded lips and squinted-shut eyes.

“So, here we are, all that remains,” the lyctor said as she stepped into the room. Her eyes flickered over the Sixth before landing and staying on the Ninth. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she beheld Gideon’s golden eyes in Harrow’s face.  “Two perfect little lyctors… Yes…. he lied to us. Lied about everything…” The lyctor’s voice was a low moan laced with agony as she beheld them. 

“Why?” Gideon asked and then those soft but steely blue eyes were back on her, boring into her. 

“To draw him back here… to kill him.” That was the only explanation they got before the construct shot forward on its spidery legs with crazy speed for something of its size. Harrow threw up her own construct, a great, horned thing that looked like the stuff of nightmares but it careened head-first into Cytherea’s and held. 

Cam dipped around the left and Gideon the right, both dashing toward the lyctor. Cam got there first and slashed at Cytherea, who managed to parry the first blow but Cam kept coming and the lyctor barely had time to lift her rapier and block the whirlwind of blows. She definitely didn’t have time to block Gideon’s swinging, overhead strike. She didn’t dodge it either and screamed as the two-hander cleaved through her left forearm, severing it just below the elbow. She threw up her hand and a wall of bone and stringy pink tendon shot up and out at her, shoving her away but it left her back exposed to Camilla. Gideon couldn’t see, but she heard the lyctor scream again. 

Now that she could see them, it was easy to send her sword lancing through the strings of thanergy that ran through the wall and it crumpled to the floor, giving her a clear view of one of Cam’s swords stuck through a blob of distended skin in her back that oozed a black and yellow pus. As well as Pal, having flanked his Cavalier, hands thrown up and winding a thanergetic barrier around her. It didn’t seem to bother the old lyctor at all and Gideon watched her hand shoot up, untangling the web and reconfiguring it before it blasted back at the Sixth, sending them both careening across the floor. 

“Gideon!” The call came after she was already dancing to the side, she could feel Harrow coming long before she saw or heard her. She was suddenly at Gideon’s side while the two massive constructs smashed against each other. “Wha-”

Whatever Harrow was about to say was cut off by the thundering crack that boomed across the room. The floor was splintering into massive fractured bits and cracks were spidering up the walls. 

“Fuck!” Gideon only had time to turn and wrap her necromancer in her arms before the entire floor collapsed and they all fell in a cacophonous boom. 

Gideon hit the floor below them with a deafening crack and knew immediately that she had just broken more bones than she cared to think about. Everything had fallen silent, save the clattering of masonry falling and settling to the floor below. Dust and ash filled the air as Gideon squinted against it. 

What about Harrow? There was a spike of worry being driven into her heart but it was quickly assuaged when she felt a soothing pulse in that place inside her that she was quickly learning was where Harrow’s soul resided in her. She blinked her eyes open against the dust and looked down to find that familiar, little black head pressed against her chest. It moved and then amber eyes were looking back at her.

“You okay?” She asked and Harrow nodded, pressing herself up. 

“What of you?” she asked and Gideon grimaced. Then Harrow’s hands were on her, moving, searching and she frowned.

“You broke a lot of bones,” she mused. “They are already almost healed…” she murmured and Gideon realized, yes, the pain was already fading to nothing.

“Lyctor shit?” she grunted, sitting up and Harrow nodded, sliding off her. She pushed herself up and beheld the debris-filled room. The two constructs were still wrapped together and struggling. Then, a hunk of stone was shoved aside and Cytherea the First stood out among the rubble, blood running down the side of her face. Her severed limb still dripping blood and she snarled at the two lyctors before lunging toward Harrow. 

Gideon couldn’t say what brought it to mind but she was suddenly reminded of Cam and Pal telling them of how Ianthe fought with Tern’s rapier and grabbed the one still hanging from her waist.

“Babe, catch!” she tossed it and Harrow automatically caught it. 

“What am I meant to do with-!” Then Cytherea was on her and as if being puppeted by an actual swordsman, Harrow whipped the rapier up, parrying. She seemed surprised by her own movements but then she was on the attack. She moved with a very familiar grace, including Gideon’s tendency to leave her left side open. She couldn’t help but watch as Harrow ducked beneath a jab and thrust her arm out and struck her own blade straight through the ancient lyctors right shoulder. She jerked back, looking at the rapier sticking out of her shoulder with some kind of wonder. 

“So this is perfect lyctorship…,” she murmured. "Loveday… what could have been…"

Gideon managed to jerk herself out of her stupor and shot forward, sword held high and swung with all her might. Cytherea only managed to turn to look at her before the blade of the two-hander sliced through her neck like butter. Her head went flying across the room in a spray of blood and the room fell silent.  

The headless body slumped to the floor just as the giant, monstrous construct across the room fell away to dust. Gideon stared at it, blood oozing out into a lake at her feet. The lyctor lay motionless. 

She’d done it… they’d avenged the Fifth.  

“Gideon,” Harrow called, making her look up.  “The Sixth,” she said, and Gideon gasped, turning and running across the room. 

“Cam, Pal!” she called, wading through the rubble and dust. No sound greeted them and a solid ball of dread dropped into her stomach. “Palamedes, Camilla!” Gideon began digging through the debris and the feeling of dread only intensified as Harrow’s own joined it, which she really didn’t fucking need right now. She flipped over a piece of stone and found a pair of cracked spectacles with bent frames and blood splatter on the glass. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes beginning to sting and then Harrow was at her side to look at whatever she was looking at and again a fresh wave of despair ran over her. “Fuck… no,” she croaked, breath stuttering. Harrow wrapped a hand around her arm and squeezed comfortingly. Gideon choked on her next breath. “Fuck!” she shouted, trembling. 

“Gideon…” Harrow’s voice was soft and gentle as she pressed herself into the Cavalier’s side and squeezed her. Tears were starting to well up in her eyes and the grief coming off Harrow only exacerbated her own, creating a loop of tightly knotted pain in her chest.  

“A little help,” a muffled voice called and Gideon jerked her head up in the direction. She pulled out of Harrow’s now lax grip and ran to a rubble pile in the corner. With a flick of her wrist, Harrow’s skeletons were hauling away the stones, revealing the battered and slightly bloody Scion of the Sixth and his Cavalier lying overtop of him, shielding him. 

“You're alive!” Gideon cried, falling onto the two and wrapping them in a tight hug. Pal made a pained grunt but smiled just the same as he patted her shoulder. Cam groaned. 

“A little worse for wear but… Yes… The lyctor, is she…?” he looked at Harrow between squinted eyes and she nodded. 

“Dead,” she said.   

“Good,” Cam grunted when Gideon finally released them and carefully slid Pal’s glasses onto his face, just as she had done a number of times growing up. He adjusted them, blinking, and smiled. 

“Let me have a look at you both, Sextus.” Harrow knelt beside him and Gideon levered herself to her feet. She barely felt tired, hell, her broken bones had healed themselves in a matter of moments. This lyctor shit really was all that. 

The rejuvenated Sixth stood and surveyed the battlefield, including Cytherea’s corpse. 

“Well, excellent work. I suppose all that remains is for Cam and I to make our own attempt at ascension…”

The loud and unmistakable sound of a shuttle somewhere outside roared through the cracked walls of Canaan. 

“The Imperial flagship,” Harrow muttered, and Gideon glanced at her. There was a jumble of emotions going on, but there was certainly excitement in there.  

“Shall we then?” she turned to them and Gideon bobbed her head but froze when she saw Cam and Pal glance at each other. 

“Guys?” Gideon asked. 

“Cam and I have discussed this and we think it would be prudent… not to go with the Emperor,” he said. 

“What?!” Harrow spun to face them fully. Gideon just blinked, mouth hanging open. 

“There are too many inconsistencies and concerning accusations, by his own hands at that.” He glanced at the headless body of Cytherea the First. “The fact that a perfect lyctorhood was possible but he encouraged his disciples to kill and eat their Cavaliers… I don’t trust the Emperor. The Sixth can’t go with him,” he said, turning to look at Harrow. 

The excitement dulled inside her, leaving a grim acceptance coming from her wife.

“I can’t say I disagree with you, Sextus,” she said finally. “There has been too much said and done here, shown to us that can lead to nothing good… but… only the Emperor can renew my House… That was why I needed to become a lyctor.” Her hands were clenched at her sides. As if she couldn’t look the Sixth or Gideon in the eyes.

Pal reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, making her look up. Pal just smiled and nodded at her.

“I understand, Harrow and I could not ask you to give up the chance to right the grave crime your parents committed and left upon your shoulders… nor would we ask you not to go with her.” He turned his clear, gray gaze to Gideon. “Cam and I, however… I think there are a great many things concerning the King Undying that require… looking into… and who better to do it than us?” he smiled and looked at Cam. 

“And your lyctorhood?” Harrow asked. 

“We will ascend,” he said. “I think it would only improve our chances of looking into everything… just as having lyctor allies among the Emperor himself would,” he said to Harrow, who stared back for a long moment before bobbing her head in a single nod. 

“He’s here to pick us up though… there's no way to contact anyone else outside the First, you’ll be stuck here,” Gideon said with no small amount of rising hysteria at what she was hearing. 

“Don’t you worry about us, Gideon. You should know better than anyone, no one can stop Camilla once she puts her mind to something.” He grinned and Cam rolled her eyes but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “Now. You best hurry before they come looking. Cam and I will hide.” He took a step forward and wrapped the Ninth House Cavalier up in a tight hug. Gideon squeezed him back, perhaps a bit too tight but she couldn’t help it. Then Cam was in her arms. A tight squeeze and then she stepped back, looking meaningfully at Gideon and giving her a final cuff on the shoulder.  

“Harrowhark.” Pal turned to Harrow.

“Palamedes,” she said quietly, and then before she could stop him, the Warden was squeezing the Reverend Daughter to him. Harrow’s hands stilled, stuck out on either side of the Warden, before slowly circling his back loosely. Then he pulled back. Cam just offered the Lyctor a nod. 

“When things settle and it’s safe to do so… we will find a way to contact you,” he promised, looking between them.   

“You better,” Gideon grunted, voice tight. Then, with a last smile, the Sixth picked their way through the rubble and disappeared deeper into Canaan.

Gideon’s whole chest was tight like there were rocks sitting on it. There was no telling when she would see Cam and Pal again. It was possible that she never would. That drove a spike through her chest.

“Gideon,” Harrow beckoned, a gentle hand on her arm. “We must go,” she said and Gideon bobbed her head. 

The landing field was quiet, save the large Cohort ship now sitting in its dock and Ianthe Tridentarius standing there, waiting. She turned and looked at them over her shoulder as they approached. 

“Fashionably late, hm?” she drawled as she looked at them, then frowned and turned fully, regarding them with tense, calculating eyes. “What have you done?” she asked, frowning fiercely, staring into the pair’s mismatched eyes. 

“Lyctorhood… the correct way,” Harrow said and the dark look in Ianthe’s face spoke volumes. She scoffed and turned back to the ship as several Cohort officers, chests full of shining bars, marched toward them.  

“Results are results,” she said and strutted forward to meet them, leaving them alone. 

“Gideon…,” Harrow started and she already knew what her wife was going to say.

“Don’t be sorry,” Gideon said before Harrow could say anything. “I would have chosen to go with you anyway. One flesh, one end, yeah?” she looked down at the golden eyes shining up at her from Harrow’s face with her own, new black ones. 

“One flesh, one end,” Harrow agreed. “Shall we?” she asked and Gideon nodded. 

Then they were moving toward the imperial ship together.