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“Nav, what are you doing?” Harrow heard herself ask. The form of her cavalier dimly outlined in arylide by Camilla’s torch seemed to go preternaturally still at the question.
Gideon’s gaze bore into Harrow—who watched as the shades of amber and crimson rapidly flickered in and out of existence—as she replied, “The cruelest thing anyone has ever done to you in your whole entire life, believe me.” And after a brief hesitation, “You’ll know what to do, and if you don’t do it, what I’m about to do will be no use to anyone at all.”
The next seconds seemed to span the expanse of one breath and an eon as Gideon turned around and flung her arms wide. Harrow blamed her current fatigued state for the delay in her recognition of Gideon’s intent. She was going to sacrifice herself. Aiglamene had been wrong to accuse Gideon of disloyalty. She was the embodiment of devotion, of persevering dedication. One conversation, one understanding of what lay between them and Gideon would offer herself on a metaphorical platter on the off-chance that it would save Harrow. Harrow, who was unworthy and unwilling to be saved.
She rallied her strength but was too slow and had to watch as Gideon flung her arms wide. Necromancer and cavalier lunged in unison, the moment lasted a single breath and a myriad, and Harrow was powerless to stop gravity as it carried Gideon onto the iron fence before her... Harrow wasn’t even aware she had screamed until she skidded to a stop beside her fallen cavalier. She felt with crystal clarity when hot tears began cutting twin paths down her cheeks.
She wrenched desperately on Gideon’s shoulder, praying she had enough strength to at least patch the damage enough for Gideon to survive and escape like she had planned. She was confident in Camilla Hect’s ability to keep the girl alive.
Suddenly Gideon gave a yelp and a singular cough. The pathetic sound registered in Harrow’s ears before her knees hit the ground. Next, a whispered, “Stop. God... Please stop...” Harrow blinked as a strange shiver wracked her body and some of the vibrance of the world started to fade. “Harrow... Do it... Live. Please...”
It was that plea that broke Harrow. She did understand exactly what she was supposed to do. She found her voice broken by sobs, “I can’t... Not without you.” Harrow clutched the hand of the only girl who had ever stayed by her side, subconsciously aware of and horrified by the fading hue of the blood pooling below them. Gideon wasn’t just her cavalier primary. They were soulmates. Meant to be together. Determined by the whimsy of the stars. She had been granted a gift the day Gideon had literally crash-landed in her life and hadn’t even known until they had come to the Canaan House a week ago. Gideon had been, both literally and figuratively, the only shock of brightness, of color in a monochromatic world that was rapidly encroaching on Harrow.
A weak squeeze against her fingers was all Harrow felt. “You have to.”
Harrow began sobbing and entreating, “Don’t... Please. I’m sorry.” But as the colors of the world flickered again, she knew there was no other choice. And the Reverend Daughter at last understood how much the life of Gideon Nav meant to her as she watched the vermillion shade of her soulmate’s blood fade to gray, and she began the journey to Lyctorhood.
...
Less than twelve hours later, she knelt before the Necro Lord Prime and wept at his feet to return the life of Gideon Nav. But he refused her, and when he did, all Harrow heard was the funeral bells of Drearburh.