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After bearing witness to the sordid tableau of Ianthe the First’s becoming and the Eighth’s demise, Harrow stopped in the middle of the anteroom that Gideon had been sleeping their entire time at Canaan House. “I will never become a lyctor,” she said, devoid of any inflection but true as a bell.
“Well, obviously, ” said Gideon, reassured. “I’m not exactly volunteering to die on my sword here.”
Harrow turned and tilted her head up to look Gideon straight in the eye. She looked nearly as vulnerable as she had in the pool, broken apart at the ruination of her plans for her house.
“If you fell on your sword for me, or for the Ninth, or at all,” she said, “it would be the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me. It would be the worst thing anyone could do to me.”
And then she did the most unexpected thing in a day full of unexpected things. She took a step forward, put her hand on the back of Gideon’s neck, and kissed her on the mouth.
Gideon’s lips parted in surprise and she had no idea what to do with her hands, dangling uselessly at her sides.
Harrow took a step back and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She was not looking at Gideon.
“I have no idea why I did that.” Her voice was stiff with something close to panic. She turned precisely on her heel and made to walk back into the room that had been solely hers their entire stay, probably to have a nice quiet panic attack.
Gideon lurched into action and caught her wrist. Harrow froze under her hand.
“Even if you don’t know why you kissed me,” said Gideon, sounding a lot calmer than she felt, “would you do it again?”
Harrow was still under her palm. “That depends,” she said, “on if you’re only saying that because every other girl you’ve ever met is either a weenie over someone else or the kind of crazy that includes mourning not being eaten by her sister.”
“I want you to kiss me again because I want to kiss you,” said Gideon. “Is that enough, Harrow?”
Harrow whirled around, eyes wide and dark, and bumped up against Gideon. This time Gideon put her hand in the short hair at the back of Harrow’s head when she kissed her.
They were both bad at it. The most experience either of them had at kissing was Gideon trying to give herself hickies on her arm. But that day, standing in the light of a world far brighter than their own, they had all the time in the world to practice.
This is Captain Judith Deuteros, Heir to the Second House under the Emperor Undying, long may he reign. Calling from Canaan House on the planet of the First.
This is the Mithraeum. We receive you, Canaan House.
Acknowledged. The heirs and their cavaliers have received knowledge of the lyctoral process and meditated on it and have taken all action they determined suitable.
What is the situation? How many new Saints have been born?
Ianthe Tridentarius the Third completed the lyctoral process with her cavalier, Naberius Tern, who is now dead. Crown Princess Corona Tridentarius the Third is inconsolable and not a necromancer. Silas Octakiseron and Column Asht the Eighth were both killed in an altercation with Ianthe Tridentarius. Dulcina Septimus the Seventh died of her previously-known illness, survived by her cavalier, Protesilaus Ebdoma the Seventh.
The Heirs and cavaliers of the Second, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Ninth wish to return to their houses with full honor, with trump and timbrel, as promised in the letter summoning each pair to the First.
Acknowledged, Captain, ships will be sent to retrieve you.
“Let me go and win honor for the Ninth again.”
“What? No.”
“Harrow, the Ninth needs people, and the only way it can get people is by getting people from other houses to come here. In a few years maybe, when you’re the Reverend Lady proper — they’re still dropping like flies, and you know that you and I are all the Ninth has.”
“And winning honor to the Ninth will help?”
“The Ninth has been dying for as long as you’ve been alive, Harrow, there’s no reason for anyone to want to come here.”
“And why should it be you?”
“Harrow, the Ninth needs you every day, and the Ninth almost never needs me. There’s no one else.”
“Aiglamene — ”
“Aiglamene only has one shin. Aiglamene says that I’m the most gifted swordsman the Ninth has ever produced. Harrow please, let me serve your house, let me serve you in this.”
“I can’t have my cavalier primary fighting as a common soldier in the Cohort.”
“Then make up some excuse, say I don’t have the background necessary to be primary. Say I served the Ninth with honor at Canaan House but I still need to prove myself in service to the Emperor. Let me, Harrow, please.”
“....”
“Gideon, what if I need you every day. Am I not the Ninth? Do I not —”
“Oh, Harrow. ”
ADDRESSING THE REVEREND LADY HARROWHARK NONAGESIMUS THE NINTH:
Salutations to our Lady of Penumbral Depths and those Mysteries contained within the Tomb that She and her House Guard and Hold sacred.
Dear night boss,
This week I got hazed and it was hilarious as shit.
Did you know that when you have non imported vat grown meat, they also vat grow the fat to make soap? I don’t know if you confiscated this specific publication from me, but in it there was a picture that heavily involved soap that did not inspire the feelings that it was meant to inspire. In me, anyway. (That’s what she said.) And we don’t make our soap out of bone so I can’t imagine there was anything special in it for you.
Anyway! Soap not made from human fat, they have it here.
Telling the group of us that they made the soap in the bathrooms out of failed cadets really only got the Fifth. He’s got brown hair but still manages to be the pinkest person I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think he could go completely pale until then. He was there all spooked and trembling, looking at his hands all horrified, and the Seventh just swoons a little, tilts their head just so to emphasise the bags under their eyes and says “Such is to be my fate — at least it is some solace to be useful in death (instead of just sighing about being dramatic all the time, which, as far as I can tell, is their main occupation in life). Aidu, (that’s the Fifth) Nav, please use the sacrifice of my body well in service of our Kindly Lord and His armies. Elan, (that’s the Third) you can go choke.”
Elan’s the only necro in our little group, and she looked horrified at this story but it was for a bullshit gross flesh necro reason instead of any rational ‘human byproducts are gross’ reason. I used to think that your secret kinky dreams must be weird as fuck, oh mistress of ancient bone unkissed by any sun, but I’m pretty sure any flesh magician off the street would have you beat.
So she was like “Ugh that’s not even true but it would be *such* a waste they should give that human fat to me so I can bathe in it to keep my eternal youth and curse my enemies. I could use that to give Yaral (that’s the Seventh) a dramatic wasting disease that starts at the tongue.” (That’s not actually what she said but it’s close enough. Gross necro bullshit, insult, etc.)
And then I get in there and ask wait, what’s soap made out of on the Third, if they’re using their human fat to fry their enemies in super extra gross boiling oil instead of making soap. And then they all look at me like they’ve somehow forgotten I’m head spook in charge in your absence, no matter what creepy shit Elan says about the slick reflections of runes drawn in human fat in the candlelight. My special holy extra spooky black version of the uniform is firmly in place and my skeleton paint is impeccable. That morning I saw some Eighths and I put my middle finger up at them.
That’s a lie. The Eighths here go “hem hem” down their nose just looking at me. Once I smiled at one real big, showing off those good ol mouth bones, and he skittered away and bumped into a wall, it was great.
So I think I might have reverse-hazed them? I told them in general terms how the extra stuff of the bones is used and turned into all sorts of things. Implied there were dark and solemn rituals too secret to do more than hint at.
Turns out in other houses they just vat grow animal fat like they vat grow meat. Makes sense, I guess. That’s some cultural exchange going on right there! Best part is, the hand soap here isn’t made of people, which personally makes me feel a lot better, if a lot farther from home.
I’m farther away from the Ninth than I’ve ever been. From you. Even when we went off planet, you were… closer than you’d ever been before, really. Slowed down enough or I ran fast enough that I could just reach out and touch, if I had dared. And you are the Ninth, my lady, and now I hold you in my head and my heart and you’re written in the marrow of my bones, but that’s not the same as having youin my hands.
Over my lifetime I’ve had a lot of different feelings about the possibility that you could be in any room I walked into. Shouldn’t be surprising that I have a new feeling at its absence. I knew I would miss you Harrow, but
Write me soon, okay?
P.S. No one here actually has much of an idea about Ninth light sensitivity, so they let me wear my sunglasses pretty much all the time when I’m not actively swinging a weapon. That part’s pretty great.
FROM GIDEON NAV OF THE NINTH HOUSE, CADET SECONDARY IN HER FIRST YEAR OF TRAINING IN THE COHORT
ADDRESSING GIDEON NAV OF THE NINTH HOUSE, CADET PRIMARY IN HER FIRST YEAR OF TRAINING IN THE COHORT:
Salutations to our Vassal in Humble Service to the Emperor Undying, the Kindly Prince, Bending her Might and Power to Service of the Empire Wholly while retaining the Faithful Tradition of her House.
Griddle,
I used to have a dream that the sanctuary in Drearburh was the inside of the giant ribbed chest of a giant that had been holding its breath for the entire myriad of its existence. And I would be standing there as it breathed out all at once, watching the stone that had held up the ceiling crumble and fall and come down and down and down on me until I was crushed flat and Drearburh was no more.
I haven’t thought of that dream in years.
What I mean to say, I suppose, is that the Ninth feels smaller without you here.
There are no new stories, just the same ones told over again in nearly identical permutations. A death, since you’ve been gone. Rites. New planting, new harvesting. Speaking in front of the people as myself instead of a proxy is barely novel enough to be new at all.
I am expanding my necromantic studies more rapidly. Sextus has challenged several assumptions made by various authors and has suggested some experiments to test them, which have not all been a complete waste of time. But still rest assured that you are the primary topic of conversational gossip. When we received the news that you had already progressed to cadet first class I almost think I saw Aiglamene look pleased.
I miss you, Gideon. You’re not here, and I know we agreed about this plan, but you’re not here and it’s terrible. I almost wish that you’d run to the Cohort sooner so I wouldn’t know what I was missing, so that I could attribute the ache of loss solely to anger or pain, and not
Your absence is noted here, Nav. Your letter was appreciated, and we look forward to the next.
Enclosed is one container of paint for your holy face, both colors, so that you can continue to bring the full weight of the history and power of the Keepers of the Locked Tomb to bear in your appearance without having to resort to crude gestures.
FROM THE REVEREND LADY HARROWHARK NONAGESIMUS THE NINTH