Work Text:
A button depresses with a faint CLACK. A tape recorder WHIRS in the background.
CAMILLA
(As if reciting) “Every morning the maple leaves. Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out ‘You will be alone always and then you will die.’”
Am I dead, Warden? Sometimes, I can still hear your voice.
She pauses for a moment. Then—
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
I'm doing this all wrong. Let's start over.
The tape halts, then suddenly, violently, REWINDS.
CAMILLA
Cytherea the First walked out of the sickroom two minutes after you died. She wore a bloodied bedsheet instead of a dress, but her wounds had already sewn themselves shut by the time the Reverend Daughter and I arrived on the scene. She looked better than she had the entire time she was impersonating Dulcinea.
If you were still alive — if I could still protect you, however slim the odds we’d both survive — I would’ve given more thought to my approach. Confronting a Lyctor directly was nothing short of suicidal, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.
You were gone. I lost sight of you, and then you were—
She cuts herself off with a shaky exhale. She pauses.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
Under standard conditions, sound travels through air at three hundred and forty-three meters per second. If you asked me to testify before God, the Sixth House Oversight Body, and our families alike, I would swear that you broke the laws of physics. The knowledge was instantaneous. My heart froze in its tracks the moment you died; the sound of the explosion only confirmed what I already knew.
I’m something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead, Warden. What are you?
Camilla Hect is a wounded, lurching animal; over the next few lines, it shows.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
I attacked Cytherea the First. I got inside her guard and hammered her with a flurry of blows. I pressed a knife against her throat, but she flayed the skin off my hand.
She trapped me in place with a theorem that drew on my own thalergy. I’ll submit for the record that radical thanergetic fission won’t kill a Lyctor, but it can temporarily drain their energy reserves. I couldn’t even draw blood. I could only watch as my body withered before my eyes.
Cytherea drove a bone spur through the meat of my shoulder while I was distracted. If the Ninth cav hadn't called my name, it would have punched through my spine. My instincts are good, but I was rattled. Am rattled.
She pauses. Slowly, fumbling for the words—trying to ignore her discomfort at addressing the subject—
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
Gideon told me that you loved me. That those were your last words. I was dizzy with blood loss. For a second, I almost believed her.
(Softly) You and I were always more complicated than that, weren’t we?
That was the line I used when Gideon asked about you and Dulcie. You were already in the sickroom, confronting Cytherea. Alone.
Her voice breaks. She takes a moment to compose herself. Then, in a desperate rush—
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
I should’ve been there, Palamedes. “Love” is a loaded concept, but so is “radical thanergetic fission.” I’m your cavalier. You should have used me. I wish you would have used me.
You told Gideon that I know what to do, but I don’t. Nothing makes sense without you. Remember that solar flare when we were kids? We ran on auxiliary power for a few hours before the Master Engineers got everything working again. Electricity was diverted to the essential systems, but I reached out and held your hand in the dark. Every time I close my eyes, I convince myself that you’re still next to me, and all I have to do is reach out.
I hope you managed to tether your soul to your bones. I hope the River is nice this time of year. I hope—
She laughs humorlessly.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
I hope that your clockwork still keeps time in a River bubble. You should give up eventually, if I can’t save you. It would be a kinder oblivion.
I know you won’t give up. But—
Concealed by the whirring of the tape, Camilla draws in a shaky breath. Holds. Exhales. It’s a familiar ritual, and for a moment, she forgets that she’s still recording. When she speaks again, her tone is low and subdued.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
After the fight with Cytherea, I collected ninety-six pieces of your skull. Eventually, I fell asleep in a puddle of your blood, clutching a shred of your cloak. It was stuck to a curved section of your skull. Parietal bone, I think, but I haven’t started to reassemble the pieces yet.
The fragments were everywhere. I swept my feet along the floor like we were kids again, breaking into the Sitta Memorial Library after curfew and trying to muffle our footsteps. I didn’t want to accidentally tread on pieces of your skull. I couldn’t risk crushing them further, snapping a tether that may or may not have already snapped.
When I woke up, everyone was gone. I bandaged and wrapped my shoulder. I trudged to the wing where Teacher and the priests lived. Captain Deuteros was dead by the time I got there. Her body was cold and stiff. I couldn’t have saved her, not with the resources at my disposal, but I would’ve liked to try. I’ll struggle to move her body to the morgue with one functional arm, but it’s the most I can do for her now.
(Pause) I should retrieve the electric transmitter box as soon as possible. Before the room starts to smell, if it doesn’t already.
She goes silent, considering.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
Evidence suggests that Ianthe Tridentarius took her sister with her. Either that or Coronabeth threw herself off a cliff. As far as I know, I’m the only living person on the First.
When we first arrived at Canaan House, Teacher promised us that we wouldn’t be forced to continue onwards, through single or mutual failure or by choice. I think that was a lie, Warden. Only the Emperor’s new Lyctors were supposed to leave this place alive. What use am I to the King Undying, a cavalier without my necromancer? A Warden’s Hand with no Warden?
I’m a liability, now that I know the truth about Lyctorhood. No wonder they left me here.
She allows the tape to run. Then, more fragile than we’ve ever heard her—
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
How long before you lose coherency and drift away, Warden? How long until I’m truly alone? Ghosts attached to immobile objects aren’t supposed to be able to linger past the forty-day mark, but it’s you, Palamedes.
(Softly) It’s always been you.
I don’t even know if you’re in there now. I’ve been hearing your voice, but you don’t have so much as a mandible. How could you be speaking to me?
Pause. Camilla picks up on some inaudible cue.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
Shit. I think the battery is about to die—
A button CLACKS an imperceptible amount of time later. The tape recorder WHIRS once again.
CAMILLA
Canaan House is a wreck. Its structural integrity was always questionable, but the fight with Cytherea should have condemned the place. It’s a small miracle it hasn’t collapsed around me and finally sunk into the sea.
I didn’t care about the risk. I’d already been to the sickroom — arguably, the least stable room in Canaan House.
I climbed the stairs to our quarters and grabbed new batteries for the tape recorder. I wanted to lie on your pillow and never get up, but if I stop moving, I’ll die, too.
I went to the morgue and discovered that the bodies were gone. Captain Deuteros must have still been clinging to life when the Emperor’s flagship arrived; they didn’t take her body, but they even dragged Gideon the Ninth off the railing where she killed herself. I can’t think of another reason why they would take one corpse but not the other.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
When I grabbed the tape recorder, I told myself I was making these recordings because I didn’t want to die a mystery. I was lying.
I wish I could say this was the first step in a revenge plot that outlives me, but that isn’t true, either. It took the Emperor ten thousand years to call new postulants to the First. He only got two this time instead of the eight he wanted, but I doubt he’ll announce another round of Lyctor trials in our lifetime. Even if Canaan House weren’t the wreck that it is, the dust would need time to settle.
All of the Houses will have questions tonight. I wonder what he’ll tell the Sixth. We love our hard evidence.
As fallible as your psychometry was here, it taught us that Canaan House was held in some degree of stasis for ten thousand years. Already, it’s obvious that the preservation was tied to Teacher and the priests; the disrepair gets worse by the hour.
I doubt the archival tape we brought will survive as long as we need. I’ll try to preserve everything when I die, but—
Camilla’s voice breaks.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
I want to die, Warden. Or maybe I just don’t want to be alone.
You only brought the tape recorder with us to the First because your thoughts moved faster than your hands, and you liked to brainstorm out loud. Whenever I wasn’t there, it was a surrogate rubber duck, but it was always a poor replacement. A tape recorder could never talk back.
I’m going to be the only person on the First House for the rest of my life, however long that is, and then it’ll be uninhabited once more. You’ll never hear these messages, much less respond, but I’m still glad we packed so many batteries.
I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Not really. But I guess I’ll get used to it.
The recording ends with a CLACK.
You get the drill. This time, the soundscape is muffled. Camilla is lying under a mountain of blankets, cradling the tape recorder to her chest. Her voice is small and exhausted.
CAMILLA
It’s been difficult to get out of bed recently. I haven’t stopped entirely, but I’m slowing down.
Twice a day, I eat and then I go to the window and send an SOS using the electric transmitter box. Teacher wasn’t lying. Neither was Deuteros. There’s no communication with the rest of the system. No way to reach the Houses, only the Imperial flagship.
If God is offended that I’m still alive, he hasn’t sent anyone to kill me yet. I don’t think I’m worth the effort.
Camilla’s voice trails off. She shifts within her blanket nest, falling asleep despite her best efforts. The tape recorder comes to rest against her bag of bones. She cradles them both to her chest.
CAMILLA (CONT'D)
(Drowsily) The blankets still smell like you, Palamedes. I can pretend that you’re still here. I dream that we’re lying in bed in the Master Warden’s quarters, and nothing can hurt us anymore.
Camilla drifts off, but the tape recorder continues to run. There’s a long moment of silence. Then, borrowing Camilla’s intonation, stringing her words into new, halting phrases—
PALAMEDES
[There’s] [way to reach] [Palamedes]. [still here], [still here], [still here].
The tape recorder whirs as Palamedes searches for the right words. He has to trawl deeper in the tape than he expects, and he still can’t find her name. Finally—
PALAMEDES (CONT'D)
[will survive as long as we need]. [love] [you], [Warden’s Hand].