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i.
Gideon lingered at the back of the church, watching Harrow. Everyone else was enjoying their evening meal in the dining hall, but Gideon had come here hoping to catch Harrow alone and there she was; stepping light-footed up the nave and swinging her chain in a circle at her side. The lead-filled pelvis dangled from Harrow’s stationary hand, while the moving part of the chain ended with a black iron spike.
Harrow's cloak was off and she was wearing a sleeveless shirt, but her hands and forearms were wrapped in bandages where the chain repeatedly pinched her skin. She stopped a fair distance from the altar, observing the row of candles left burning on top of it. The candlelight cast golden highlights onto her dark form, and Gideon could see the way her muscles shifted as Harrow threw the spike forward, the chain slipping through her fingers.
The spike shot at the altar, extending far enough to touch the top of a candle before Harrow yanked it back. The candle wick smoked, flameless, and the chain was once again rotating in Harrow's hand. Nothing else on the altar had been disturbed. She threw the spike forward again and again, each time snuffing out a single candle.
“You're getting good at that,” said Gideon, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. She strolled leisurely up the nave, giving Harrow time to coil the chain and compose herself.
“Reverend Daughter,” greeted Harrow, with all the warmth and affection of a tumble down the drill shaft. She was sweating, but her face paint had been sealed to perfection and was not smudged. “To what do I owe the honor? Do you need someone to kick a chair out from under you?”
“Ha fucking ha,” said Gideon, who was largely immune to Harrow's spite. “Time to put your party hat on, Nova, for I’ve brought you the very thing you've yearned for.”
“Your incredibly public and humiliating death?”
“Tomorrow, you're to officially duel Ortus for the position of cavalier primary.” Gideon watched for Harrow's response and wasn't disappointed; her face moved from shock to frustration and then sank, predictably, into anger.
“No,” spat Harrow.
“I think you mean, ‘thanks, Gideon!’” Gideon affected an unflattering imitation of Harrow’s voice. “Or, ‘gee wiz, Gideon! I’ll bring my lucky pelvis!’”
Harrow’s eyes narrowed to slits and she gripped Samael’s chain with both hands, making it clink unmusically. “Is it not enough for you to steal both my station and my birthright? Is it necessary for you to make a mockery of me at every turn?”
Thanks to years of discipline, Gideon was able to resist the urge to drag her hands over her face. “You've been harassing me about becoming the primary for half our lives, but God forbid I fucking give it to you.”
“The pity you show me is proof of your contempt!” Harrow snarled.
“Anastasia's tits,” sighed Gideon. She tugged the gloves off her hands and pocketed them as Harrow continued to berate her.
“And you blaspheme with every second breath! That you would even deign to think yourself worthy of my service–”
Gideon abruptly stepped into Harrow’s personal space and loomed over her. Harrow stood her ground, squaring her jaw and glaring defiantly up at Gideon’s disdainful scowl.
“In case this wasn't already clear, allow me to make it crystal,” said the Reverend Daughter, speaking in a low, controlled voice so that her words would not echo in the empty church. “I don't give a skeleton’s ass about what you think of me. I don't care about your one-sided rivalry with Ortus or whatever weird hangups you've got going on. I did not allow you to keep that chain so that you could squander your talent on party tricks and empty threats. You were made to serve the Tomb, and, at the end of the day, the Tomb is me .”
Harrow opened her mouth and Gideon’s hand came up, grabbing the short black hair at the base of her skull between clenched knuckles. Harrow’s jaw snapped shut and her eyes widened in alarm, her body taut with anticipation. Gideon's hand kept her anchored in place as she brought her mouth to Harrow’s ear.
“You are my creature,” whispered Gideon, “and I will use you however I please.”
Gideon felt the shiver that traveled up Harrow's spine and she pulled on her hair. She wasn't sure why she did it– to scare her, maybe– but she did not anticipate the outcome of such an action. Harrow made an unexpected noise; a shallow, breathy sound.
Gideon’s pulse jumped and her hand dropped away. She wasn't sure she could control her expression, so she turned away from Harrow with a dramatic swish of her robes and headed for the exit. “Your duel will take place before mass tomorrow morning. I'll be rooting for you, Supernova.”
Harrow did not immediately answer, but Gideon didn't turn back. Beneath her cloak, she held the wrist of the hand that had touched Harrow and nervously flexed her fingers.
“Don't call me that,” Harrow snapped as the Reverend Daughter reached the final set of pews.
“Only cavalier primaries get to negotiate their nicknames,” replied Gideon in a sing-song voice.
Gideon left the church and started walking towards the dining hall. The unforgiving cold of the Ninth's halls sank into her, but only when her hands were completely chilled did she finally put her gloves back on.
ii.
Gideon’s hand flew to her nose when she felt the hot trickle of blood on her upper lip. She abandoned the collection of teeth that she'd been working with and reflexively leaned back, so that it wouldn't drip onto the desk in front of her. She tipped her chair onto two legs and caught a glimpse of Harrow before the chair was pushed forward, slamming the legs back onto the floor.
“Fuckass,” said Gideon. She tried to keep her nose plugged with one hand while the other rifled around in her pockets.
“Do not tip your head back.” Harrow shoved a black handkerchief into Gideon's grasp. “The last thing I need is for you to choke to death on your own blood.”
Gideon held the cloth up to her nose and wondered how badly she'd smeared her skull paint. All she could smell was the sharp iron of blood and she closed her eyes as a wave of nausea passed over her. There was a dull ache in her temples. “That’s a shocker. I thought my death would be really great for you.”
“I cannot obtain honor and glory for the Ninth House if I never get off planet. And, ideally, I would prefer that your death be incredibly public, as well as embarrassing.”
Gideon hummed in acknowledgement, cutting short their repartee. Harrow had become a lot more willing to converse outside of making threats of violence, though it hadn't made her any friendlier. Gideon hated to miss any opportunity to speak casually with her, but right now she was having trouble thinking. She made herself stand and went over to the ancient sofa. It was the only soft surface in her personal library and she sank gratefully into its sagging cushions. Gideon kept herself upright even though she very much wanted to put her head down.
Harrow’s tone shifted slightly, going from ‘cantankerous manservant’ to ‘beleaguered caretaker.’ “I will escort you to your cell.”
“I'm fine, just a bit lightheaded.”
“Then, I will leave you to rest.”
“Stay,” said Gideon. “Please.”
Harrow rolled her eyes, but she did not leave. After a moment of hesitation, she even sat down on the sofa when Gideon patted the empty cushion next to her. She did, however, flinch outright when Gideon leaned on her, resting her forehead on Harrow's shoulder.
“You should sit up,” repeated Harrow.
“It's not bleeding anymore,” said Gideon. She took the handkerchief away from her nose to demonstrate. There was red under her fingernails and staining her cuticles.
“My lady,” said Harrow, selecting an epithet that let Gideon know she was about to be reprimanded, “it would be best if we were to practice decorum, especially in preparation for interacting with the other Houses.”
Gideon held herself back from saying something sarcastic. She didn't need to foster an additional headache. “Are you thinking that the other cav-necro pairs will be all pomp and circumstance? I have begun to suspect that our situation is not as deviant as you believe.”
Harrow bristled. She moved away from Gideon on the couch, forcing her to lift her head. “What would be the basis for such suspicions?”
“I have been corresponding with some of the other Houses,” revealed Gideon. She rubbed her temples and smiled at the disapproval on Harrow's face, magnified tenfold by the skull paint. “Ever since the Emperor's call went out, we’ve been receiving letters.”
“Surely, the Reverend Father and Mother did not agree to you responding to these letters.”
“Yeah, no. They hate it big time, but they can't stop me.” Gideon shrugged one shoulder and her smile turned coy. “It’s given me insight into how the other Houses interpret the cavalier vows. For example, I've found out that the adept of the Fifth is married to her cavalier. Apparently, the courtship preceded the cavaliership, but it does make me wonder.”
“You are the most vexing when your mind wonders and wanders.”
“That's probably true.” Gideon knew that Harrow was likely thinking about the collection of anatomically incorrect constructs she'd crafted over the years. They varied from the classic rib cage with bone boobs, to the eclectic super long spine with too many arms.
Harrow chewed on the inside of her cheek and eyed the Reverend Daughter critically. “Your behavior lately has been… erratic,” she ventured.
“Has it?”
“Yes. Increasingly so.”
Gideon considered this and watched the subtle way that Harrow's jaw worked as she continued to worry her cheek. This was one of her tells– not as obvious as when she chewed on her nails– but this one meant that she was worried about something and didn't think she should talk about it.
When Gideon was younger, it had been easy to believe that things were exactly as they were presented to her. The Reverend Family existed to safeguard the Tomb. Intermingling with the other Houses diluted their faith. Gideon was blessed because she was a necromancer, and Harrow was cursed because she was not.
This worldview began to crumble when Gideon caught the Father beating the living hell out of Harrow after she climbed the Anastasian. Little by little, the shell encasing Gideon's world cracked and flaked away. With the arrival of the Emperor’s summons and the letters that followed, she gained access to something entirely new: an outsider’s perspective. Gideon began to ruminate over what all she could have done differently. She wondered what she could yet do to save the Ninth, and to protect Harrow.
Gideon stretched her arms over her head and, as she lowered them, one came to rest along the back of the couch. She leaned in towards Harrow again, watching her intently. Harrow averted her gaze, obviously annoyed.
“Reverend Daughter–”
“I know imagination isn't your strong point, but don’t you ever wonder?” Gideon took her time looking at Harrow's bitter, pointed face; her sharp cheekbones, her long eyelashes, the hard set of her jaw. She thought about how her mouth might look without the layer of paint on her lips. “Do you ever think about how different things could be?”
“You have listened to none of my concerns.”
“Not one,” replied Gideon. She tried to meet Harrow's eyes, but her gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the tattered rug beneath their feet. Gideon's heart rattled against her ribs, but she slowly pulled away.
Or, she tried to, but Harrow grabbed onto the front of her cloak and held fast. For a moment, neither of them moved. Harrow still wouldn't look at her and, when Gideon reached for her, she shoved her away just as abruptly.
“Wait, Harrow–” Gideon caught Harrow's wrist as she moved to stand. When Harrow flinched this time, Gideon recognized that it was in anticipation of being struck. She let go of her. “...Let Aiglamene know that I dismissed you early today. She'll probably want you to train with the rapier.”
Harrow nodded stiffly. She strode quickly to the door and yanked it open. “Fix your paint,” she snapped without turning her head, and slammed it closed behind her.
iii.
It was not typical of the Ninth House to revere the common dead. Once a person became a corpse, they were worth only the sum of their parts; bones to plow the leek fields, fat to be processed into soaps, hair to stuff mattresses and pillows. The Reverend Daughter knew this, and yet, she would still slip away from her duties to visit her mother's niche.
There were two things that Gideon knew about her mother. The first was that she’d had red hair. The second was that she had wanted Gideon to live. That was why her mother had died, because she had redirected the power left in her biosuit to the newborn she carried with her.
“Hi, mom.” Gideon touched her fingertips to the ice-cold stone in greeting. “I'm leaving for the First tomorrow.”
The grave remained silent, which was typical. Gideon sometimes wished that she had been raised on the Fifth, where speakers to the dead might have aided her in reaching out to her mother’s ghost.
“I'm taking Harrow with me, as my cavalier. I know she doesn't trust me and, honestly, I don't trust her, either. But…”
Gideon closed her eyes and took a breath. Her mother had wanted her to live. She would want her to be strong, to endure. “I can do this. I will become a Lyctor and save the Ninth. And, I hope, I'll make you proud.” Gideon touched her forehead to the stone and let it rest there for a moment. “I love you. Sleep well.”
iv.
The Reverend Daughter marked the location of another useless door in her journal while her cavalier kept lookout. As much as Gideon was loath to admit it, she took to sneaking around Canaan House like a fish to water. She and Harrow still argued frequently, but both recognized that they were in direct competition with the other Houses and tried to put aside their bickering as they mapped the ancient and crumbling labyrinth.
Harrow delivered a solid tap to her shoulder and Gideon immediately heeded the warning, following her into the deep shadows beneath a stairwell. A moment later, she heard footsteps and the pale Eighth necromancer appeared, accompanied by his bulkier counterpart. Neither of them spoke, but they looked around warily as they continued down the hall without stopping. Long after they passed from sight, Harrow made a noise of frustration.
“He heard us,” said Harrow.
“Yeah,” agreed Gideon. She tugged playfully at Samael's chain, coiled and secured at Harrow's hip. “When you move, you sound like a jar of coins rolling down the stairs.”
“Like you're any better.” Harrow flicked at the bracelets of bone on Gideon's wrist as she batted her away from the chain.
“You won't wear the panniers! I have to lug the osseo around somehow.” Gideon was already in the habit of decorating herself with bone, but now she was practically festooned with it. Her ears were ringed with bone pins and strings of chips were hung around her neck and sewed into her robes.
“Then, you wear the panniers.”
“I’m a necromancer, Supernova. We aren't built to carry things.”
The nickname instantly ticked Harrow off and her voice edged on shrill when she exclaimed, “I am not your mobile luggage rack!”
Gideon stifled a laugh and flipped her journal open. She left Harrow fuming in the dark as she resumed counting her paces down the hall. The work continued, but a new worry lingered at the back of her mind: how much osseo would she need to win a fight against another necromancer?
Surprisingly, this concern was shared with the only person who had ever fought Gideon. Harrow approached her later that evening, after they returned to the Ninth chambers. She spoke with typical abrasiveness. “I want you to pierce my ears.”
Gideon’s first instinct was to tease Harrow, but curiosity got the better of her. “Why?”
“For bones.”
Gideon considered the furrow of Harrow's brow and the way her shoulders were squared. Her arms weren't crossed, but her fists were clenched and she unfurled her fingers when she noticed Gideon looking. Gideon's eyes flicked back up to meet Harrow's and she nodded. “Sure. Wash the paint off your ears and we'll get started.”
While Harrow was in the bathroom, Gideon used this brief moment of alone time to find her needle case and mentally prepare herself. It wasn't enough, and the reality of her task was worse than anticipated. To make use of the daylight, Harrow sat perched at the edge of an armchair by the tall windows that overlooked the saltwater. The sun was beginning to set and it cast a warm orange glow onto her sharp features. She had cleaned off the paint that usually concealed her ears, along with a portion of her jaw. It was the most of her face that Gideon had seen in recent memory– Harrow used the cavalier bed, but slept with the skull paint on– and she did her best not to stare.
After washing her own hands for much longer than necessary, Gideon opened the needle case. They were made from bone and she kept the one she preferred for piercing suspended in midair as she rolled up her sleeves. Gideon put her fingers under Harrow's chin and gently turned her head this way and that, tentatively touching her ears. She used a felt tipped pen to mark where the holes would go, and double checked the placement. Then, she rubbed the marks off with the pad of her thumb and started the whole process all over again.
Harrow watched the needle twirl and spin as it hovered over Gideon's shoulder. She obediently allowed her necromancer to maneuver her as desired, but her hands gripped the edge of the chair cushion. Harrow's patience reached its limit when Gideon marked her ears for the third time. “What's wrong with you?”
“I don't like needles,” said Gideon, which was true, but it was only half of the problem.
“I was under the impression that you conducted your own flesh modifications.”
“Yeah, but I don't like watching the needle go in. Sometimes, I just close my eyes and go for it.”
Harrow glared at her. “For each misplaced piercing in my ears, I will rip out one of your own.”
For some reason, this made Gideon smile. “My day is never complete until you threaten violence. Although, it hasn't always been directly at me lately, which has been interesting.”
“Are you jealous that I now have an abundance of idiots to wish harm upon?”
Well, that line of questioning was certainly going nowhere good. Gideon declined to answer, but listening to Harrow speak had helped to settle her nerves. She focused on the seldom used flesh theorems that she would need and wrapped a spell around the needle. Gideon held Harrow's ear carefully with one hand, keeping a square of leather braced behind the lobe, and punched the needle through. She did not look away.
Gideon slowly exhaled and used her hand to manually rotate the needle clockwise, carefully unspooling magic into the puncture. Harrow made a sound in her throat, but she didn't move until Gideon withdrew the needle, leaving behind a perfectly healed piercing.
“I did not realize you were still practicing flesh magic,” said Harrow, pinching the lobe between her fingers to test it.
“It’s gross, but useful. Now that we're here, I kind of wish I had been more interested in other schools of necromancy.” Gideon gestured for Harrow to turn her head so that she could pierce the other ear. This one went much more quickly. “I think a generalist education would have been helpful for figuring out the labs.”
Harrow took a pair of bone pins and disappeared into the bathroom to check that her ears weren't crooked. Gideon continued to stand by the windows and she watched the sunset. The view was obscured somewhat by the landing dock, but she marveled at the colors that saturated the sky and reflected off the dark water. It was a much prettier sight than anything the Ninth had to offer, and she wondered what other worlds she and Harrow might travel to.
“Your work is satisfactory,” announced Harrow upon her return. “Let's do the rest.”
Gideon turned away from the window and blinked stupidly at her. “The rest?”
“Did you really think only one pair would suffice?”
By the time the sun had finished setting, Harrow's ears each boasted a line of bone pins ringing the outer cartilage. She admired her new adornments in the bathroom mirror and Gideon leaned in the doorway, watching her.
“You certainly look like a Ninth cav,” said Gideon and she thought, suddenly, of Ortus. “But don't ask me to do the scarification bit. I can guarantee that would come out wonky.”
“I have enough scars,” said Harrow. This was the closest she had ever come to talking about the time that the Reverend Father had beaten her half to death, and the time that followed in which Gideon had tried her best to patch her up.
Harrow's eyes found Gideon's in the reflection of the mirror. In her void-black eyes, Gideon could see all the questions she wouldn't ask: Why did you help me? Did you learn flesh magic for me? What do I owe you for this?
Gideon smiled and said, “Quit hogging the bathroom. I have a hot date with the tub and I refuse to reschedule.”
v.
The library was the only room above the facility hatch that echoed its utilitarian aesthetic. Ancient books and binders were lined up on shelves that were all made of plain laminate. The tables were the same, but, a long time ago, someone had attempted to make the place more homey by adding a few shaggy rugs and plush chairs. These items were moldering the same way that everything on the First was moldering, but Gideon was used to lounging on furniture that was perpetually threatening to give out. She sprawled comfortably on an armchair and listened to Abigail Pent speak animatedly about Lyctoral artifacts.
“So much of what we know about the Lyctors has been sanitized. But here, we have unprecedented access to some of their original materials– personal correspondence, even! There is an opportunity here to develop a more thorough understanding of the humanity that the saints ascended from.” The Fifth adept gestured to the table situated between herself and the cavalier-husband, which was laden with books and the occasional time-battered flimsy. There were even pieces of real paper, kept carefully stored between protective sheets of plex.
“If you truly are able to call a Lyctor’s ghost, I would very much like to see that,” said Gideon. She knew that her appearance was off-putting to the other Houses– between the skull paint, the hood she never lowered, and the archaic sunglasses– but Abigail Pent had come to know Gideon through the letters they had exchanged. She smiled congenially and conversed with her as though they were longtime colleagues.
“Oh, she absolutely can,” said Magnus Quinn, though he seemed equally proud and discomfited by this assertion.
“Not a fan of ghosts?” asked Gideon. Her mouth quirked with amusement. “That’s a little…”
“Ironic, yes. However, I find that the key to a good marriage is the pursuit of separate interests,” said Magnus. He added, “I do not enjoy the hunger of the dead.”
Gideon couldn't help but like Magnus. She had never before met someone so affable. He was even consistently polite to Harrow, despite her active bitch face and the stubborn silence she maintained around them.
Gideon tried not to think about Harrow right then. That morning, they'd had an argument regarding the level of collaboration that should be entertained with the other Houses. Harrow had stormed off, but Gideon knew that she was likely skulking around with the more suspicious Princess of Ida. Fucking hypocrite.
“For a ghost that old, the feeding would have to be substantial,” mused Gideon. She very casually continued, “It seems like it would be difficult, given the limited material you're working with. Surely, that would be a barrier even to summoning a not quite so dead ghost? A more fresh ghost, if you will?”
Abigail smiled bemusedly. “You're quite keen on my work, Gideon.”
“The Ninth House is somewhat lacking in spirit magicians, so your school of necromancy is immensely fascinating to me.”
“Is that so? I thought your House might have acquired a few skilled pilgrims, given that your cavalier has such diverse spirit energy. Or, is that perhaps an ancestral tradition of the Locked Tomb?”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve counted more than a hundred signatures contributing to Harrow,” Abigail said brightly. “I suspect that the true number is closer to double that, but she never lingers long enough for me to be certain. If she is willing, then I would love to–”
“As I mentioned, I am not well versed in spirit magic,” Gideon cut in, the warmth leaving her smile as quickly as a body jettisoned from the airlock of a shuttle. “I would thank you not to repeat that observation in the presence of my cavalier. I suspect that she will not wish to speak with you, and I do not want her to be self-conscious about it. You understand, of course?”
Abigail was too well mannered to comment on Gideon’s sudden change of disposition. She nodded in agreement, but there was an intensity to the way her eyes never left Gideon’s face. It was as if she were trying to peer beyond the skull paint, and more besides. “Of course. It’s not my intention to make either of you uncomfortable.”
“Excellent.” Gideon pushed herself up from the armchair. “All this talk of hunger has me wanting lunch. Please excuse me, Lady Abigail. Sir Magnus.”
Gideon briefly bowed to them both, then turned in a flourish of black fabric and headed for the auto-doors. She swept through the halls of Canaan House, her blood pounding in her ears. After she felt that she'd gone far enough, she ducked through one of the useless doors– the ones that led to nothing interesting.
This room had a pile of busted up furniture in one corner and part of the ceiling was caved in, but Gideon was alone. She put her back to the closed door and slid down it, curling into herself and hugging her knees to her chest. Gideon squeezed her eyes shut and sighed bitterly.
So, this was the price she would have to pay for learning the means to contact her mother: Harrow. If the method of her conception were to be revealed, the entire Ninth House would be at risk for retribution, but Gideon had no doubt that the worst of it would fall on her cavalier. It wasn't fair.
Gideon gave herself five minutes to wallow. When her time was up, she took a deep breath, collected herself, and decided that she really did need something to eat. Gideon tried to reassure herself as she headed for the dining area, remembering that all kinds of opportunities would become available to her as a Lyctor. There would be plenty of chances later. Her mother wasn't getting any deader.
vi.
Gideon drifted in and out of consciousness as she was carried through the labyrinthine halls of Canaan House. Which was a shame, because she really wanted to know how Harrow managed to get them up the ladder to the hatch. Everything felt distant and muddled, plus the constant movement didn't help. She wished that Harrow had picked a more romantic way to carry her, instead of being hefted across her shoulders. Gideon supposed that was just the price she had to pay for being willowy and gorgeous and a whole head taller than her cavalier. Could Harrow even see around her when she did the whole half-step-behind thing?
“Shut up,” muttered Harrow, right before dumping her burden onto a plush surface. Gideon recognized her bed and realized that they were back in the Ninth quarters.
“I thought you were going to yeet me into the sea,” said Gideon, rolling onto her back and patting the mattress fondly. Her throat was scratchy and she coughed.
“The temptation was there.”
Harrow left the room and Gideon stared at the door frame she disappeared through. She was very, very tired. Her body felt like a dishrag after it had been wrung out– with the exception of her head, which felt like her brain was pushing against the boundaries of her skull. Her eyelids drooped, but snapped open when Harrow reentered her field of vision. Gideon couldn't help but smile as her cavalier loomed ominously over her. “Hey, you.”
Harrow slammed a glass of water onto the nightstand, miraculously not spilling any of it. She shoved her hands under Gideon's armpits and hauled her up the bed so that she was leaning against the headboard.
“Be gentle,” wheezed Gideon. She started to laugh at her own joke but coughed again when Harrow thrust the glass of water against her chest, forcing her to take it.
“You are an idiot and an embarrassment,” groused Harrow. “Do you know how shameful it was to have to rely on the Sixth for help?”
Gideon drank deeply from the glass, downing half of it at once. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, smearing flaking paint and dried blood onto it. Her lips were cracked and she could feel them start to bleed anew. “I'm super sorry that you had to talk to people.”
“That is not –”
“Shh,” pleaded Gideon. She winced as she tried to move into a more comfortable position. “I usually love getting scolded by you, but I have an incredible headache.”
“Now you want to be quiet, after yammering the entire way back,” complained Harrow at a slightly lower volume.
Gideon had no memory of this. “What did I say?”
Harrow crossed her arms over her chest. Her skull painted face might have been impassive to anyone else, but Gideon could read her distress in the crease between her eyebrows and the way her mouth turned down at the corners. “Why did you go there alone?”
“I thought I could handle it,” lied Gideon. Harrow's expression curdled and Gideon amended with a sigh, “I worry what it would ask of you.”
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Harrow. “Why do you not wish for me to accompany you in the facility?”
Gideon drank the rest of the water to buy herself some time. Harrow watched her with barely restrained hostility. “The laboratory I've been working on… it involves a dangerous, unseen component that is only accessible by a second party.”
“And, what? Were you too fucking shy to ask me about it?” Harrow delivered a light smack to Gideon’s elbow, jostling her arm and making her drop the glass onto the bed. “When you called me your creature, I did not realize you meant to keep me as a domesticated pet.”
Gideon stared dumbly at Harrow while her overtaxed brain attempted to function. “I worried you,” she said softly, realizing the truth of it as she spoke.
Harrow snatched the glass up and, for a brief moment, Gideon thought she would throw it. Instead, Harrow stalked out of the room. There was the sound of the tap in the bathroom running, then Harrow returned and slammed the refilled glass down on the nightstand once more.
“I became your cavalier primary so that I could bring honor and glory to our House,” intoned Harrow the Ninth. “I will not permit you to impede me.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” said Gideon. She meant it as a joke, but thought about it for too long and accidentally soured her own mood. “Especially to gross, tall blonde weirdos.”
Harrow raised her eyebrows and gave Gideon a wry look. “You made yourself unavailable to me. I had to occupy myself somehow.”
“Don't say it like that.” Gideon sighed and closed her eyes. She needed to have a word with Harrow regarding the Third House, but it could wait until after she had a nap. “Thanks for the save, Harrow.”
Harrow hesitated before answering, but all she said was: “Do not leave me behind again.”
“Okay,” agreed Gideon. She could already feel herself drifting off and barely registered Harrow's touch as she unfastened Gideon’s cloak and began to remove her boots. “Never again.”
vii.
Before the shuttle had even landed, Gideon thought that the First House was beautiful. She adored the spectrum of blues that colored the sea and sky, the variety of green and growing things, and the warmth of the sun. But, as it turned out, looking was very different from experiencing.
Gideon fucking hated being outside. Every time she stepped out onto a veranda or accidently exited a building, she beheld the vast and inescapable expanse of the saltwater that surrounded Canaan House. The boundless distance and the fathomless depths had her turning a one-eighty on her heel as she exclaimed aloud to herself: “Nope!”
If it were not for the presence of the doors that needed to be mapped, Gideon would have gladly restricted herself to indoor-only activities. So, really, she could blame SexPal for informing her that there were places that could only be accessed from the outside. The Reverend Daughter ought to curse the Sixth House and swear a vendetta against Palamedes Sextus for the predicament that she and her cavalier currently faced.
The Ninth House had never been subjected to variations in atmospheric conditions. So, as far as Gideon and Harrow could tell, the rain had come out of nowhere.
“It’s probably not poisonous,” said Gideon.
“I dislike your use of the word ‘probably,’” said Harrow.
“Palamedes did mention that some of the damage to the exterior structures could have been caused by corrosive precipitation. But, also, that would have been a very, very long time ago. I bet it's fine.” Gideon carefully extended her gloved hand towards the falling rain, and Harrow slapped it down.
“We should wait it out.”
They were on a path that ringed the outside of a building. Both stuck close to the wall since there was no guard rail to prevent a fall into the saltwater below. When the rain began, they immediately ran to the closest covered area and were now trapped together beneath an awning. The rain itself didn't seem to have a very forceful impact, but sometimes the wind would whip it around and send it spraying unexpectedly at them. After ten minutes of this, some of the horror wore off. Gideon pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and began to remove her overcloak.
“Reverend Daughter–”
“Relax, we're the only idiots here.” Gideon wadded the cloak into a makeshift cushion and sat on it, leaning her back against the dilapidated wall. She tugged off her gloves and undid the top buttons of her shirt. “It's warm out. And– humid? Is that the word?”
“Hm,” said Harrow, which could have meant anything. She had turned away when Gideon began to disrobe and glared out at their surroundings, which were mostly water. Even though the sky was filled with dark gray clouds, she did not remove the vellum that shielded her eyes. But she did eventually push her hood back when the wind kept slapping it into her face.
“Do you have a knife?” Gideon reached under herself and tried to dig around in her cloak without getting off of it. “A clean one? Mine’s got blood on it.”
“Why?”
Gideon finally found what she was looking for and triumphantly held an apple up for inspection. Harrow inclined her head just enough to see it, looking back over her shoulder.
“Do you need to…” Harrow critically eyed the mottled pink and yellow thing. “...skin it?”
“The skin is fine. I want to cut it into pieces.”
“Can't you just bite it?”
“Not if I want to maintain the integrity of the sacramental skull.”
Harrow made a derisive sound. She took the apple and, after a moment of consideration, cracked it in half with her hands.
“Oh,” said Gideon. She smiled foolishly as Harrow passed it back to her. “Ha, wow.”
Gideon happily crunched on her apple and listened to the rain. The sound no longer bothered her as much as it used to, though she still wasn't sure about touching it. It was nice to take a break, to just exist in a shared space with Harrow. Gideon’s mind wandered and she watched her cavalier’s cloak move with the wind. Harrow stood at the edge of the awning, shoulders squared as though she were ready to do battle with the rain. Gideon didn't understand how she could look at the sea for so long and not feel at least a little insane about it.
Harrow usually kept her hair shorn, like a good and proper nunlette, but it had grown a little long. Gideon could no longer see her scalp peeking through the wiry black tangle. She wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.
The thought embarrassed her, and Gideon chewed aggressively on the apple stem before swallowing it. She sucked the last of the juice from her fingers, knowing that she had probably messed up her face paint anyway, and tried to find something else to occupy her mind.
As if on cue, Harrow sighed explosively. She gave up on her psychic battle with the weather and, surprisingly, came and sat next to Gideon. She pulled the vellum off her head and crumpled it in her hands. “This is a waste of time.”
“It’s not so bad,” said Gideon. “I mean, I don't love the threat of being melted, or the unobscured view of the water, but the air is kind of nice. It smells cleaner outside, or something.”
For once, Harrow didn't seem to feel like arguing. Or maybe it was the fact that the rain would prevent her from storming off angrily if she did. “Where did you even get that thing?”
“What, the apple? I followed some of the kitchen constructs and found a tree that makes them.”
“Seriously?” Harrow scoffed.
“Food isn't rationed here like it is back home. They have it just lying around and growing in all kinds of odd places. There's plenty in the cold storage, too.” Gideon frowned. “The constructs here are weird. Have you noticed that?”
“Yes. Their design is leagues ahead of your own.”
“Hey now,” said Gideon, but without any heat. Further astounding her, she saw the corner of Harrow's mouth twitch with a small smile that she repressed.
Whatever mirth Harrow had felt, it left as quickly as it came. She crossed her arms and leaned back on the wall with a far off look, staring at something a million light-years away. She spoke quietly, her words nearly lost in the patter of raindrops. “If we were home right now, it would be time for the evening prayer.”
“Are you homesick, Supernova?” Gideon asked incredulously. “What's there to even miss?”
Harrow shrugged in response, but Gideon remembered how she had cried in the shuttle when they left. “Do you prefer the First House to the Ninth?”
“I don't know. Sometimes. I like the sunlight and the food, but I don't like the insects or the death traps. It's just different.” The wind kicked up briefly, sending a cool spray of mist onto Gideon. Instead of burning her skin off, it felt rather refreshing and she smiled. “I mean, a lot of this sucks ass. But at the same time, I'm having fun.”
Harrow was unmoved. “As I said, erratic behavior.”
“You were saying that before we even left. I think you're different here, too.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Harrow. She uncrossed her arms so that she could chew on her thumbnail. Some of the paint had flaked off Harrow's lips, and Gideon could see the startling pink of her mouth.
It must have been a trick of the gray light, but Gideon thought that there was a raindrop on her cheek. She reached out and touched it, sweeping the pad of her thumb lightly over Harrow's skin.
There was a flash of movement, and a hot burst of pain bloomed in Gideon's hand. Harrow’s teeth sunk into her skin, biting the metacarpal and proximal phalanx of her thumb. Gideon’s first instinct was to yoink her hand back, but she forced herself to be still. She could feel the tremble in Harrow's jaw and knew that she was also restraining herself, not biting down as hard as she wanted to. Gideon met Harrow's baleful stare, and winked at her.
“Alright,” said Gideon, “next time, I'll ask first.”
Harrow released her and slapped Gideon's hand away. She scooted along the wall to the opposite end of the dry area, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders. She turned her face away from Gideon and looked out into the rain.
When it became obvious that Harrow would be sitting like that for the foreseeable future, Gideon examined the bite mark with interest. She lifted her hand to her mouth and brushed her lips over it, feeling the shape of the indentations in her skin.
viii.
“They didn't come in here,” muttered the Fourth House adept. Gideon was pretty sure his name was Isaac.
“They did so,” argued Jeannemary, who Gideon remembered more clearly. The young cavalier had taken a shine to Harrow ever since the Ninth's practice duel with the Third. “...Okay, maybe they didn't. I don't hear them anymore.”
“Let's check the next one.”
Gideon listened to the terrible teenagers as they moved farther away. She bent her head to try to see through the foliage and felt Harrow grab the neck of her cloak, either to stop her from moving or prevent her from falling. The Fourth House went through the mesh flaps that separated this greenhouse from the next, and Harrow released Gideon's cloak.
“Ugh,” said Harrow. She had been couched on a branch but now unfolded herself to sit on it, letting her legs dangle in the air. “Good riddance.”
“They're harmless,” said Gideon. She had never climbed a tree before, but it was easier than expected, especially with Harrow lending her a hand here and there. The ancient, gnarled apple tree had a great many branches that spread outwards, encouraging more horizontal growth than vehicle. All the better to conceal oneself in, plus free snacks! She looked up through the branches at the dappled sunlight on the leaves and fruit.
“No one here is harmless,” Harrow reminded her.
Gideon did not think this was true. Regardless, she sighed and started to look for the best way to climb down, but Harrow shook her head.
“We'll have better luck avoiding them if you don't move.”
“I'm not that noisy,” complained Gideon, ready to rehash a worn out argument. To her surprise, Harrow ignored her in favor of plucking an apple. She lifted it to her nose, sniffed it, and made a face.
“I cannot understand why you enjoy these. They are far too fragrant.”
“You don't like anything that doesn't taste like the color gray.”
Harrow tossed the apple to Gideon and smirked as she fumbled to catch it. Gideon nearly had it, but it rolled out of her hands. She stretched out her arm and tried to snatch it, but her fingers barely grazed its red skin. Gideon felt a swooping sensation in her stomach as she began to fall.
Harrow grabbed onto her cloak, but Gideon was already too far off the branch. Her head slipped through the collar, knocking her sunglasses loose and leaving Harrow with just a handful of fabric. Gideon groaned as she impacted the ground below, landing on her side. They hadn't been that far up, but it still sucked. Luckily, even though most of the greenhouse flooring was stone, there was a forgiving patch of earth beneath each of the fruit trees.
Gideon had only just rolled onto her back when Harrow appeared next to her, having made a much more graceful descent.
“Is anything broken?” asked Harrow. She glanced around to ensure that they were still alone and saw nothing beyond the rows of planter boxes and fruit trees.
“Only my pride. Perhaps my dignity.”
“You had neither to begin with,” said Harrow. She held out a gloved hand, which Gideon took, and helped her to sit with the trunk of the tree propping her up. Harrow dumped the cloak on the ground and crouched beside Gideon, retrieving a small cylindrical object from her pocket. She clicked it and a light came on.
“Since when do you have a pocket light!” exclaimed Gideon. She watched as Harrow peered intently at her, shining the light into one eye and then the other, all in a very familiar way. “Oh, I see. You'll sass me about getting too chummy with the other Houses, then you go off and make friends with Camilla the Sixth.”
Gideon sulked, feeling broadsided by this unexpected betrayal; that silent, skulking Harrow the Ninth was socially inclined only in the absence of the Reverend Daughter.
“I told her that you were prone to bouts of stupidity of an injurious nature. She was sympathetic and offered some suggestions.”
“And you took her advice!”
“Yes. It has been… useful.” Harrow turned off the light and put it away without taking her eyes off Gideon’s face. “Any head pain or nausea?”
“No.”
“What is your name? Where are you from?”
“Now you're just playing medic with me. And not even in a hot way.”
“Give me your arm and then I'll leave you alone.”
“Not even trying to deny it,” grumbled Gideon. She held out her arm and allowed Harrow to push aside the sleeve, but was unprepared for this; Harrow biting down on the fingertips of one of her own gloves and pulling it off with her teeth.
For the first time in Gideon's strange and wretched life, she was grateful to have the skull paint to conceal herself. She felt her entire face get hot and looked away as Harrow held her bare fingers to the inside of Gideon's wrist. After an undetermined length of time, Harrow released her.
“Pulse is slightly elevated, but you seem otherwise fine,” assessed Harrow, tugging her glove back on. “Any brain damage is likely a preexisting condition and not the result of recent gravity-related trauma.”
Gideon took her arm back and fussed with the sleeve, profoundly embarrassed by how much Harrow's touch had affected her. She had minimal experience with physical affection– if a few vague memories from childhood counted as ‘experience’– but she did harbor an innate need for it. She was sometimes ashamed of how badly she craved it and wondered if Harrow ever felt the same way.
Or perhaps Gideon's affliction was singular. For all her life, she had felt isolated from the people around her, restricted from making any real or meaningful connections because of her role as the Reverend Daughter. Why should this be any different?
Gideon watched Harrow pluck her sunglasses from the grass and grimace at them, but she was careful when folding the little metal arms. Their fingers brushed as the sunglasses were passed to Gideon, and the ache of her wanting was suddenly greater than her shame. A question tumbled from her lips before she could second guess herself. “Can I kiss you?”
“No,” Harrow responded without hesitation. “Why must you persist with–” She began to gesture vaguely, but aborted the motion halfway through. Harrow pressed her lips into a thin line and blushed black under the face paint.
“I don't know,” admitted Gideon. She became flustered under Harrow's scornful and disbelieving stare. “I really don't, okay? I just– it feels important. That's all.”
“You are being nonsensical.”
“Yeah, yeah. ‘Erratic behavior.’”
Gideon's heart hurt and she dropped her gaze to the sunglasses in her hands. She began to put them on, but was startled by a crunching sound. Her head snapped up and she discovered that Harrow was holding the fallen apple and had taken a large bite from it.
Harrow glowered at the fruit as though it had personally offended her. The last time Gideon had seen her this disgusted was when she'd taught a construct how to twerk. Regardless, Harrow dutifully, painfully, noisily chewed the bite into mush and forced herself to swallow it. She gave up on the rest and dropped the remaining apple into the grass, wiping her mouth on her arm and ruining part of her paint.
A laugh began to bubble in Gideon's chest at the sheer absurdity, but she stopped when Harrow moved closer. She kneeled in front of Gideon, placing a knee between her thighs and bracing a hand against the tree by her head. Gideon swallowed nervously and looked up at Harrow's face, which was tight with concentration. “Harrow?”
Harrow beheld her with the same intensity she always did, but now there was something else to her expression; a strange sort of fervor that she usually only had right before a fight. She leaned in and said, softly, “Close your eyes, moron.”
Gideon closed her eyes and dug her fingers into the grass. Harrow's mouth tasted like apples.
ix.
“Why are you so freaked out about this? It's just dinner.” Gideon was still dressed in her nightclothes and currently had little interest in anything besides breakfast.
“It is not just dinner,” asserted Harrow. She tossed the invitation onto the low table in front of the sofa. Gideon watched as she began to pace throughout the Ninth quarters, disappearing briefly into both the bedroom and bathroom as though she were conducting a full perimeter check. Harrow had finally stopped sleeping in her skull paint and her bare face was scrunched in vexation.
“That's true. There will also be dessert,” said Gideon brightly. She grinned and dodged Harrow's outstretched hand as she swatted at her without breaking stride.
“It is either a trap, intended to kill off all the competition at once,” said Harrow, “or worse, it will be some impossibly vapid social exercise.”
“Yeah, that's absolutely worse than death,” agreed Gideon with no small amount of sarcasm. Ever since Abigail revealed that she knew there was something unusual about Harrow, Gideon hadn't been as friendly with the Fifth. Still, she couldn't bring herself to suspect them of subterfuge.
The next time Harrow passed by, Gideon slipped her arms around her waist and held on, dragging behind her like an anchor. Harrow staggered stubbornly forward for a few steps, then stopped.
“You are not taking this seriously,” complained Harrow. She slapped lightly at Gideon’s arms but soon gave up.
“Of course I am.” Gideon hooked her chin over Harrow's shoulder, hugging her more tightly. She knew Harrow could shove her off if she really wanted to– she could probably even grab her arms and flip her straight through one of the long windows that overlooked the water– and was grateful that she didn't. “This is a formal invitation that has been extended to the Ninth House, not just you and me. We should go for appearance’s sake.”
“And so you can eat a dessert.”
“I’ll even eat your dessert! You don't have to eat anything and I won't make you talk to anyone if you don't want to. But you can't roll in there with your murder glare set to ten thousand.”
“I will not make my visage more palatable for the comfort of others.”
Gideon pressed a kiss to Harrow's neck, just behind her ear, and smiled when she felt her shiver. “What can we do to relax you? Do you want me to make some constructs for you to smash?” Gideon’s hands gravitated towards Harrow's hips. “Or, something else?”
“I do not understand you,” said Harrow evasively.
Gideon smirked and pressed another kiss lower on her neck, delighting as Harrow once again visibly reacted, her breath stuttering. “I think you understand me perfectly well.”
The tips of Harrow's ears went red. “Let's work on the laboratory in the facility first. Then, perhaps, the other thing.”
“It does feel like we're close to figuring it out, doesn't it?” Gideon considered their progress and smiled. “Alright. First we beat the bone daddy, then we make-out sloppy style.”
“You're disgusting.” Harrow pulled back on Gideon's fingers so that she was forced to release her. She did, however, brush her lips over Gideon's knuckles before shoving her away. She headed back into their bedroom to dress for the day and Gideon trailed behind her, grinning from ear to ear.
“The first few weeks kind of sucked, but I think Teacher oversold how dangerous this shit is supposed to be,” said Gideon. “I bet it'll be nothing but sunshine and good food from here on.”