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Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - Ideas

It was a momentous day at Canaan House—that gorgeous corpse that sat upon a watery grave—when the shuttle carrying the Emperor of the Nine Houses landed. Everyone still alive was in their finery and luggage except Ianthe, who still could not be found after her bloody ascension.

There would be no feast, no pomp or circumstance. This was a rescue mission, a beginning of cascade of tragedies. The acknowledgment of power exchanging hands, thrones being taken, and seats being arranged began today.

The shuttle itself was non-descript, similar to the ones that would take throngs of Cohort soldiers to shepherd planets. There was an air of relief and embarrassment that hung in the air, as though this was a parent picking up their anxious child from a sleepover and not rescuing the remaining Nine Houses' scions from a death trap.

The hatch opened in the wet silence of a morning after a storm. No one came out at first. The scent of petrichor was still heavy in the air as the stark stench of antiseptic cleanser wafted through the air. The hospital smell was enough to start putting Gideon on edge, triggering a memory she had long tucked away. One that was sharp and wet and hazy.

Then, a man stepped out.

An ordinary man who made was God then made man again presented himself. His eyes were practically shut from the Dominicus' brightness. He looked the part. Brown skinned, wavy black black hair, average height. You could spot him easily on the 5th or the 4th or the 2nd on a given day. What set him apart was how he dressed.

His clothes—a pair of blue trousers and a white button-up shirt—were not polymer, but linen and cotton. His iridescent white robe hung on his shoulders and a laurel of finger bones and baby's breath adorned his head. He looked too natural. Too normal.

Then he opened his eyes.

They were monstrous, clearly beyond human comprehension. Black sclera held shifting oil-slick colored irises, which were rimmed with a stark opaque white. It was as though he could see through you and take you apart with a single glance.

Everyone froze. Except for Coronabeth, Crown Princess of Ida, who, almost too matter-of-factly, stepped forward with the 2nd's adept in nestled in a wheelchair. She was unkempt, the way a wife who spent all night taking care of a baby while her husband slept in the other room would be. Her hair was mussed and clothes were nearly pristine, save for a small blood stain on the front of her shirt. She bowed the best way she could before stating:

"It is an honor, My Emperor."

Everyone followed suit, bowing their heads and folding their bodies in supplication.

The monstrously normal man who became God lifted his hands up in embarrassment. Embarrassment!

"Oh, it's hardly time for that." he stated in a voice so fatherly and soothing it gave everyone goosebumps. This felt wrong. Gideon could feel Harrow fidgeting with her gloves as that otherworldly gaze settled on them. On Gideon. The Emperor's look became curious and Gideon's throat went dry. She had turned to stone under the veil Harrow let her borrow. For those few seconds, the world fell out from under her.

People don't just meet God. They certainly didn't in the comics and magazines she read. No one really knew what he looked like. All they knew was that to meet him, to see him, meant the end of your story entirely. A full-scale derailment of your life for the sake of his orders.

When those chthonic eyes shifted toward the group again, Gideon let out a slow breath and started to go for Harrow's hand for comfort before stopping herself. God lifted his right hand and a group of 50 Cohort soldiers filtered out of the ship and one Admiral. Two of the soldiers—no doubt the some of the best flesh adepts from the 3rd—went directly to Judith Deuteros and started triage before wheeling her inside the shuttle.

Another went to Camilla of the Sixth and she reflectively pulled away. She started getting escorted to the ship herself and looked back at the Warden in a panic. Palamedes gave her a knowing nod, and she was soothed. So much communication was given in such a small gesture.

A few others started for the house. The admiral, a barrel-chested man in his mid 50s with one hell of a mustache, stood next to the Emperor.

Palamedes was the second to speak, steeling his words.

"There were several casualties due to a number of causes, Your Highness." he started. "They're all in the morgue. Including Teacher's. The only one to died not due to the apparitions was…Duchess Dulcinea Septimus of Rhodes."

There was a deflating at the end of his statement, at the mention of Dulcinea. Gideon's face grew hot and she sniffed before looking away. Harrow's hand gently touched Gideon's shoulder. Gideon didn't flinch.

"Quite a party, don't you think?" creaked a familiar voice. Wild-haired and eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, was the wraith Ianthe Tridentarius. She still held Naberius Tern's eyes in hers like a mausoleum. It was clear that the soul integration process had finally taken hold. She was held up by two Cohort soldiers, that disheveled mess of a woman. She was being quickly carried into the ship.

Coronabeth whipped her head around, eyes bleary.

"Ianthe," She breathed heavily, following after her into the ship. Their conversation became hushed. Sextus, Gideon and Harrow were the only ones that remained. They all looked at one another, then the Emperor, and then each other again. There was a queasiness that settled in Harrow and Palamedes' stomachs, as if they knew their work was a secret. Ianthe's way was crude, and violent. Correct in the way a burnt roast was considered cooked.

The admiral stood to attention and commanded to them: "Please board the ship at once for physical examinations."

As they walked, Gideon, in spite of the social taboo, took Harrow's hand. Her grip was rough and her palms were clammy. She could feel those naked alien eyes on her again. She ignored Harrow's disconcerted "Griddle, please!" and kept going. She forced herself to believe it because she clearly was not cavalier primary Ortus Nigenad. She forced herself to believe she'd have her own story after all this.

"Do not blaspheme, Nav," Harrow replied around an hour later. They laid next to each other in separate beds. They had been given mandatory bedrest until their full examinations were given. They hovered 2 miles above the surface of the First House, giving the medical adepts enough thanergy to work with to tend to the other's wounds.

"I saw creepy so I said creepy! That's not blasphemy, that's an astute observation! His eyes are like black holes!" Nav said breathlessly. "Holy shit, he was so normal looking outside of that."

"He is God, Nav," Harrow started, "He's not supposed to look like the rest of us."

"Yeah?" Gideon said wildly. "He definitely doesn't."

A pause hung between them.

"We are heading back to the Ninth, right? Or are we getting taken to a different creepy ass house with different little challenges for this Lyctor shit?" Gideon asked.

Harrow folded her hands against her chest and began to consider this. Returning to the Ninth would mean failure and ultimately, the death of her house. She couldn't imagine asking the Emperor of the Nine Houses for a ressurection for the Ninth without something in exchange.

"I have no idea," Harrow replied thoughtfully. Her cheeks, made bare for the upcoming thorough examinations, flushed. Returning to the Ninth was more than just failure, it would reveal how she became entangled with her cavalier and how she would not be able to stop herself from continuing to indulge in that illicit entanglement.

Her mind wandered to last night. It started with initially clumsy kisses and the sound of rain. Then, hail and tongues and moans that vibrated her bones. Then, being nipped at the nape of her neck and finally stopping before they crossed a threshold saved only for the marital bed.

"I guess it's time for me to get checked out," Gideon said plainly.

"What?" Harrow stammered a bit awkwardly as she snapped back to reality.

"The speaker? They just called me." Gideon reminded her pointing to the ceiling. She slowly got up from her cot and cracked her neck. Harrow took in the sight of her…well, her. The small bruises on her neck and shoulders, the hint of scratches on her traps. She wanted to commit it all to memory in spite of herself. Gideon rolled her shoulders, brows furrowed and walked over to Harrow.

With the sort of knowing that came when trying to make a fluke happen twice, Gideon went to embrace Harrow, who in turn tried to return said embrace. For manners sake. They shared a quick kiss, as though they were sneaking a sweet from a pastry cart. It was wrong, they knew it was wrong, but they'd deal with the consequences later. Gideon pulled away, taking Harrow's hand in hers for just a brief moment before letting it go.

Gideon's stomach sank with its own knowing as she walked out their room. Harrow felt her belly squirm. They were in the aftermath of an event that would no doubt be historic for all their houses, but to what extent it would be eluded her. She sat in her cot, skin tingling from the ghost of Gideon's touch.

The sound of clattering dollies and boots on plex was all she heard for what were certainly minutes, but felt like hours. She heard whispers outside the doors, unsure if they existed or not. She heard skittering outside of her room, which she also couldn't figure out. Crux was not here to help her figure out what was what so she laid back in her cot and started counting the ceiling tiles.

Then came a "knock". Harrow ignored it.

Then came another, this time more demanding. It was accompanied by a greeting.

"It's Palamedes."

Harrow was initially cautious as she made her way to the door. If he wasn't there, she'd just look like a difficult patient. If he was, then she could talk. Anxiety started to nip at her psyche at the thought of examined by flesh magicians and them discovering her insanity. Its name was never used because—at least to Harrow—a name made it real.

It made her "unfit" despite her accomplishments and capabilities. She would be removed from her duties and stripped of her title despite living up to every edict, scripture and custom that the Ninth had. Her demand for a resurrection after her parents' violent mortgaging would go unheard. She'd be nothing but a madwoman, a schizophrenic fuck-up who needed to be removed from polite society.

She opened the door, and to a small amount of relief, stood Palamedes. He held a thick faux-leather bound journal, which held a similar thickness to Harrow's own. He stretched out his hand, reaching into the room.

"You mind if I step in?" he asked.

"I thought you'd be with Camilla," Harrow said, letting Palamedes in. She closed the door behind him. Palamedes took a chair next to the window and set his journal on the table that was next to it. He opened his journal and crossed his legs.

"Camilla is fine," Palamedes started, "Those flesh magicians are something else, you know."

Harrow felt her anxiety bite at her now.

"They're having us stay here while the situation is sorted and after that we'll have to meet with the Emperor." Sextus imparted to her.

Anxiety bit her bloody at the sound of having to face the Emperor Divine with her failures. She made her way to the chair opposite of Sextus as he settled on a blank page. He pulled a pen from his pocket.

"I think we can make our case then," Palamedes replied. "For a less violent way to ascend, Ninth."

The Master Warden gave her an ace. It was a simple thing, really. A perpetual energy transfer between two people. A siphoning from both to both. But a perpetual theorem between two people across space and time…

"I think it would be a difficult energy exchange. The way that Tridentarius described it was like she consumed and held the second soul within her."

Palamedes started sketching out a crude drawing of two people with arrows pointing to each other.

"I've been wondering about that. The energy transfer is easy if you know spirit magic or have 5th House adepts. The hard part is having work across time and space perpetually."

He then drew a blob with holes and stick next to it.

"I'm not a good draftsman, but it's a ship." Sextus continued. "More specifically, a battleship with a working stele."

"So your idea is to turn humans into steles?" Harrow caught on.

"Yes, and no. For adepts and non-adepts alike, using perpetual theorems is a death sentence."

"Not if you siphon." Harrow chimed in.

"Not if you siphon. The problem is with the energy source."

"Only lyctors can access the River without going mad or being torn apart. That's where the obelisks come from."

"But what if there was a way to build our own?"

"You cannot build in the River, Sextus." Harrow replied incredulously, working her fingers. "It's madness."

"What if you couldn't, say, build but stave off? Like making an air bubble in water?"

"It's still madness. Bubbles are fragile."

"Okay, bad analogy. A pocket, then."

"Even as a pocket, you could maybe fix a part of yourself to a place in the River, but for how long? And with what? How could you check that the connection hadn't fallen apart or invite whatever happened to Colum to happen to you?"

"All good questions, Ninth. Also, good questions for the Emperor."

Harrow froze.

"We are not about to present a half-baked theory, let alone a half-baked theory based on an impossibility or a nigh-impossibility to the Emperor!" she exploded.

"We're not presenting it wholesale." The Master Warden corrected Harrow. "The ghouls roaming Canaan House weren't our fault, so it's not like we're disqualified from becoming Lyctors. We just need time. So we're asking the Emperor for time."

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Invalid

"I'm sorry?" Harrow replied sitting in a hospital gown in front of two doctors. The examination room was starkly white and austere in its furnishings. It was sterile synthethis weave on polished linoleum underneath cool-toned lights. Her feet dangled from the edge of the examination table. She desperately wanted to start picking at the skin on her fingers, but everything in her had to display competency, capability, and consistency. Even while hearing the small chimes of the Ninth call bells in the background.

"Well, there are two ways to go about this, Reverend Daughter." said one of the doctors. She was a middle-aged, brown-skinned spirit adept with kind eyes that seared into Harrow. She looked at her clipboard and the flimsy. "According to our records, you have had a proper check-up in…7 years. We'll have to do a full work up for you."

Shit.

The flesh adept standing next to her, an olive skinned waif with impeccably neat hands smiled calmly. Her copper curls were tied in a low bun with a twee collection of hairpins.

"You'll need to answer a number of questions, Ms. Nonagesimus." she said with a sort of sweetness that made Harrow feel unpleasantly naked. This was an interrogation disguised as comfort.

The next 10 minutes feel probing. Every time she heard that pen squeak against the flimsy, marking her measurements, she squirmed. The flesh adept did not hide her concern when Harrow stood on the scale. They both were adepts. They knew what to expect.

"149cm, 39kg." the flesh adept noted with concern. "Ms. Nonagesimus, you're underweight."

"All adepts are underweight." Harrow replied snappishly. The flesh adept chuckled.

"Yes, by non-adept standards. But for adept standards, you're still very underweight." she said gently. There was squeaking on the flimsy as she wrote some notes. She set her clipboard down on a table next to her. "I'm going to check your lungs and heart."

The flesh adept walked up to Harrow who squirmed a little. She placed her impossibly warm hand on Harrow's sternum and listened.

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" she asked sweetly. Harrow did as asked. There was that curious expression again. "One more time?"

Harrow breathed again. She heard the bells again. Soon, after there were hushed, distant whispers.

"Good…," the flesh adept started. The dragging of the last syllable meant questions, concerns. "I'm going to have Patty look at you."

She had just touched her chest. Shit, shit, shit. Harrow thought. Patty, the spirit adept placed her hand on next to the flesh adept. Her face twisted in confusion. Harrow felt dread pooling in her stomach. They both lifted their hands and were silent. They shared a knowing glance.

"Sorry," Patty started after a moment. "It's just…hm, Mina, how to do I put this…"

Mina steepled her fingers.

"We need to ask a few questions before running some tests, Reverend Daughter." Mina replied. "Is that okay?"

Harrow gripped the edge of her hospital shift. Mina picked up her clip board and flipped one of the pages before writing something down. To say no would invite a whole host of problems, so Harrow reluctantly nodded. Patty pulled up a chair and sat near Harrow. The Reverend Daughter could tell that Patty was running through a list of symptoms. Could they really tell her insanity from just her chest?

"Do you have any twin siblings?" Patty asked.

"No."

"Have you ever had any kind of organ or marrow transplant?"

"No."

"Pregnancy? Even if terminated?"

"No."

"Before coming to Canaan House, did you have any long-term exposure to foreign thanergy?"

Harrow paused. They didn't find her insanity, but they found something worse.

"As in travel?" Harrow replied, trying the steer the conversation away from the unspeakable.

"Sure, but also it can be from repeated medical procedures, repeated exposure to other people's thanergetic blooms upon death, mass casualty events. Anything like that ring a bell?"

There was an opening. She could take it. Turn her mental illness into an accident. An occupational hazard of working in the Ninth House. She could be seen as competent though overachieving and still be The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus in name and power.

"I have aided 163 people in my House through their final rites since I was 10." Harrow admitted. "It's tradition."

"Hm." Patty stated. Mina scribbled down her notes. "That could explain it."

"Explain what?" Harrow asked, as if she didn't know. She was no spirit adept or flesh adept, but she was familiar with mothers having their own thanergetic blooms with a little mix of thanergy from their children. Soul chimerism went as flesh chimerism, except it was a meager haunting of a person's soul.

She could be 'haunted' and still be the Reverend Daughter. She could still make her case to become a lyctor, to save her house. The whispers grew louder, and distinct. She hid her discomfort for her hallucinations under the discomfort of being haunted.

"Reverend Daughter, you have the most complex case of soul chimerism I have ever seen." Patty stated, weaving her fingers into a basket. "We'll need to run some tests still, but you are a medical marvel."

"Nope," Gideon replied. "Never had one."

"Not a single one?" a hen-pecked flesh adept asked incredulously. Her pushed up his glasses and ran a hand through his dark curls. He pulled up a paltry file on Gideon's medical history.

"Never was considered. Before I became cavalier primary, I was just a servant, Dr. H."

"I see that in your files," Dr. H replied. "The DNA is still running through our data base to figure out your parentage."

"Look, all I know is that my mom died shortly after I was born and her body ended up on the Ninth. Other than that, there's zilch."

"Her body ended up on the Ninth?"

"She was in the area I guess, but I wasn't born on the Ninth technically," Gideon replied. "At least that's what I'm told."

A small ping came from Dr. H's tablet. His eyes grew wide before trying to settle back into professional composure.

"I'll be right back," he murmured hurriedly before leaving the room. Gideon's heart sunk. Her mind briefly flitted back to the Emperor's gaze, peering into her. She shook her head before cracking her neck.

When doctors left the room, it was never good. Gideon sat under the cool humming lights. The spirit adept left quickly after realizing she wasn't haunted, but the flesh adept, Dr. H, stayed. He was initially very curious, noting her height and her weight and surprisingly good health compared to her necromancer.

Gideon's mind found home in her memories of Harrow, hoping it'd calm her down. The way she smelled of sweet ash, and the faint smell of incense in her skin comforted Gideon. The way her small frame fit into the crooks of Gideon's. The way her ears would stop twitching when she slept. She had always been a little distracted, like she could hear things and see things no one else could.

Gideon thought of Harrow's soft belly, about the only thing soft on her body. How she rested her head there after their heretical make out session. How she could sleep for a year hearing the churning and squirming of her guts. How Harrow for the first time since they arrived at Canaan House didn't sleep so fitfully. How she hadn't disappeared into someone else after deaths of the 5th house's adept and cavalier like she did for a month after her parents died. How she needed those little rituals everyday. How Gideon now wanted to help her with them instead of screwing with them.

Somewhere in her, she wanted Harrow to have help, because deeper inside of her, Gideon knew that she wouldn't always be there.

The door opened. It was Dr. H.

"A bit of a software malfunction," he said, waving his tablet and giving an easy smile. Gideon relaxed. "We seemed to have gotten an error when trying to figure out who your father was."

"I guess there's a poor John somewhere out there looking for me." Gideon chuckled. Dr.H returned her laughter.

"Well, we usually have parental medical records to see if there are any medical histories, but we simply cannot find your parents."

"Not even my mom?"

"Well, we did find her," Dr. H started, before pulling up a seat. "We'll have to get into contact with my superiors."

Gideon could feel herself tensing up, particularly in her hands.

"Is she someone important?" Gideon said a bit wildly.

"Yes. Quite."

There was a childish part of Gideon who immediately wanted to ask who. She wanted to ask if she was governor or lieutenant. What House did she belong to and would she have to move there? If she'd be able to kick Crux's ass for defiling her bones and making them work instead of sending them to their rightful home?

However, those questions were stopped by the murmuring and movements outside the door. An oddly polite knock came. Dr. H walked up to the door and opened it.

The room disappeared from around Gideon. Those eyes peered at her again. She moved backward on the examination table. Any noise in her throat was caught and killed.

Dr.H moved quickly, scrambling away from the Emperor of the Nine Houses, the Kindly Prince as he walked over and sat in a chair as if her were a teacher. He had a searching look on his face, rigid for a second. When he relaxed, Gideon didn't. Everything in her body was screaming to run, to do something, but this was God.

"Spitting image," his said partially to himself. He smiled and chuckled. "I'm not going to eat you. I can promise you that human meat isn't on the menu, Gideon."

Gideon forced a laugh.

"So…," Gideon started, "My mom must have been someone really important for you to show up."

"In a way, she was, Gideon." The Emperor said crossing his arms. "She'd never expect her daughter to become cavalier primary to the Reverend Daughter."

There was a part of Gideon that warmed at the thought of her mother being proud of her. That her mother even had dreams about what her daughter could have been gave her solace. The ghost of love was better than none at all, after all.

"I planned on meeting with everyone as a group, but things have changed. I need to speak with both you and The Reverend Daughter alone."

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Vows

"What did you do?" Harrowhark snapped while slipping into her nightdress. Night had settled on the shuttle and the heaters shuddered on not too long after. Their bedss were pushed together, covered with a large comforter. Harrow was at once grateful and annoyed at the seam that separated them.

"Nothing. The doc scanned me, then some error came up and then I met God. He knew my mom or something and wanted to speak with us." Gideon responded quickly, slipping into a night shirt. Harrow stopped buttoning up her dress around her lower back. She was partially bent over, giving Gideon a view of her knobly, smooth back. Her cheeks flared at a memory of one the stories in her mags. "You want help with that?"

By way of acquiesing, Harrow let her buttons go. Gideon walked behind her and pulled at the black glass buttons at the small of her necromancer's back. She inhaled the scent of sweet thurible smoke.

"Your mother?" Harrow replied, needing information and coversation both as a distraction from Gideon's hands and to gain some clarity of the situation.

"Mhm," Gideon murmured. Her mind was clammering with thoughts and emotions. Fear, mostly. She'd long wanted to join the Cohort, and her mother's importance would guarantee her that. God knew her, but at the same time…

"As far as our records show, she was apparently traveling from outside of the Dominicus when she had you. Other than that, everything else was redacted." Harrow supplied, feeling relief at Gideon finishing up the final buttons on the back of her neck. She turned toward her cavalier. "We've had immigrants from outside of the system, you know. Those from sheparded planets, but that one…we never were allowed to see it. I believe my parents petitioned to have those records but they were only allowed to be accessed by the First House."

"So you knew my mom was important and never told me?" Gideon started incredulously. "After all this time?"

"Griddle, we didn't know who she was. For all we knew, she could have a resident from a planet that hadn't fully been sheparded yet and the name wasn't in the system yet." Harrow pleaded. "It takes at least a decade to do and by the time the census came around my parents were…gone. For 2 years."

A soft silence came between them, the same one in the pool. Harrow crossed her arms and let out a sigh from her nose. Despite everything, there was still an oversight, a loose end. Depending on the circumstances, everything would be revealed because of her unwillingness to push for those records. The future was uncertain, whether it be her ability to complete the theory Sextus had considered or the resurrection of her House.

Harrow's face cracked a little, her eyes becoming open and vulnerable. She covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

Before she could think it, Gideon spoke.

"You think they're gonna take me away tomorrow?"Gideon asked hushedly. "I mean God, The Emperor, knew my mom, and as far as I know my mom's not a lyctor so…"

"Griddle, listen to me," Harrow started, her mind working. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I can figure something out."

"That didn't answer my question."

"That question doesn't have an answer I can give without lying to you."

Another silence came between them as Harrow knelt next to the bed, her hands clasped in prayer. She closed her eyes was silent as she started her evening prayers to the Tomb. Gideon knelt next to her quietly. She didn't know what to do next, but she saw Harrow eyebrows scrunch and her shoulders tense. Her necromancer let out a shuddering sigh and whispered faintly for protection.

Gideon observed Harrow as she kept praying. The way her lips mouthed her pleas, the way her weaved fingers gripped each other, the way her toes curled underneath her. Deep within Gideon's heart, a small prayer bubbled to the surface.

Protect her. Whatever happens to me, just, I don't know. I just want to keep her safe.

Harrow opened her eyes and unfolded her hands. They were wet, a melange of longing, fear, and determination percolating behind them. She met Gideon's eyes and Gideon felt a certainty that she hadn't felt since her first attempts to leave the Ninth. They were both children that barely crossed the threshold of adulthood in body, but long since crossed it in experience. They knew each other with a familiarity seldom acheived in life.

Gideon planted a kiss on her Harrow's nose. The noise that sprang from Harrow's mouth—an unbidden "Eep."—made Gideon giggle. Gideon climbed into bed, and Harrow after her. They embraced each other and Harrow placed the cool tips on her fingers on Gideon's lips, tracing over old scars she gave her gently. Gideon kissed them and Harrow felt brittle. It was all forbidden, but fuck forbidden.

"Gideon Nav," Harrow asked with a chilly sweetness. "What if tomorrow, you're no longer my cavalier?"

It was two questions disguised as one: one of fear, one of invitation.

"I'm still yours, either way." Gideon replied. "I think I'll always be yours."

"Truly?" Harrow asked, staring directly at her cavalier.

"The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried. The Lord do so and so to me, and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee," Gideon started.

Harrow gripped her cavalier's nightshirt like her prayer beads and buried her face into her chest.

If I forget you, let my right hand be forgotten,” Harrow finished. “Add more also, if aught but death part me and thee.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - Exchange

Morning came with whispering prayers, more illicit kisses. Gideon felt braver, bolder with it came to touching Harrow. She started to become familiar with the small squeaks and moans that encouraged or discouraged her. An accidental slip of Gideon's knee between Harrow's nightdress caused her to pull away immediately. Somewhere inside of her, Gideon believed—foolishly—she could still be unattached romantically. That as long as it was just first base, that they could eventually chalk up these little trysts as a childish mistake. An enmeshment between necromancer and cavalier gone wrong. Too much proximity, too little supervision.

Harrow held Gideon's face in her hands and pulled her cavalier down for part 2(3? 4?) of their makeout session when a knock came at the door.

The two peeled themselves away from each other long enough to have Harrow answer the door. In the doorway, crisp in Sixth House greys, was Palamedes and Camilla.

"Mornin', Sex Pal." Gideon said.

"Good morning," Palamedes started quickly. Like a shadow, Camilla followed. She was right as rain, her wounds completely gone. "I was told you weren't going to be at the meeting this morning—breakfast?—breakfast meeting."

The inevitable was waiting for them. Both Gideon and Harrow knew it. A meeting with the Emperor meant hiding what they were to each other. Strictly professional and traditional.

"Yes," Harrow said a bit tightly.

"Something was off about my medical record and the big man upstairs wants to talk to both of us about it."

Palamedes raised his eyebrows and Camilla squinted her eyes in confusion.

"Is it because the siphoning exercise didn't give you brain damage?" The Warden asked. "I'm still trying to suss that out."

Gideon shrugged. Any way she could keep the mood lighter while she was staring down the barrel of being ogled at the Emperor Divine was a way she'd take.

"It might,"

"Sextus, you came here for a reason, I presume."

"Yes," Palamedes started. He pulled his journal out and started turning the pages quickly. He stopped at a spread of almost child-like drawings. "The theory."

"Theory?" Gideon asked, dreading the beginning of of a lecture of intricate necromantic bullshit.

"The Megatheorum." Harrow replied, crossing her arms. "Half-baked."

"The Emperor is going to ask us what our plans are when it comes to lyctorhood and how we'll be getting home today." Palamedes continued. "I'm going to tell him that given the apparitions and ghosts plaguing Canaan House that I'd be much better continuing my research on the liminal on the Sixth and Fifth."

"You're going to study ghosts?" Harrow intonated slowly.

"I'm going to tell the emperor that I'm studying ghosts, yes." Palamedes said with a small smile.

"So, you're going to lie to the Emperor?"

"Sweet." Gideon said with a smirk.

"Griddle!" Harrow chastised shrilly.

"No, not lying," Palamedes proceeded, trying to stifle a laugh. "I think one of my working theories has to do with them."

He walked over to Harrow and showed him the drawing in his journal. To a very crude drawing that looked like an angry sack of lemons, he began to explain.

"You remember how Colum got possessed during siphoning?" Palamedes began. He drew his finger over to a collection of squiggles. "Well, the ghosts in the River found him and took his body. When he died, however, there were still traces of them inside of them."

He then moved his finger over a picture of himself…or at least an attempt. "I've long thought that soul often mixed together if introduced to each other. I noticed it with a number of parents back on the Sixth, and when conducting my own experiments before coming to Canaan House."

She felt a pang of embarrassment over the times that she had tried to get ahead of Sextus, when it seemed like he had learning about lyctorhood in advance. He was two steps ahead before she even set foot in Canaan House.

"Camilla and I made an agreement that if something were to happen to me, then I could find another body to replace my own." Palamedes admitted. "But in order for a specific soul to inhabit a body, they'll need a piece of themselves to be eaten."

"A partial incorporation," Harrow said, her eyes wide. "So, I'd have to eat my cavalier."

"At least take me to dinner first." Gideon interjected, stretching her arms. Harrow's face began to turn pink at the thought of being naked with Gideon. Camilla snickered. Harrow swatted Gideon's shoulder.

"Partial incorporation." Palamedes agreed. "With the right spirit magic and flesh magic, we could be able to have access to lyctoral power. Limited maybe, but still accessed without murder. A piece of someone's soul instead of the whole thing, given to each other, equally. Maybe lasting a 1000 years instead of forever."

It sounded deceptively simple.

"The mathematics of making a partial revenant, an intentional partial soul apopneumatism is violently experimental." Harrow said, disguising her discomfort.

"It's a long shot, yes, but it beats murder. Maybe your cavalier will temporarily lose a finger instead of becoming a corpse." Palamedes concluded. "Which is why I'll need time."

"To study ghosts?"

"To study ghosts."

Gideon and Harrow stood in front of the door to dining room. It looked like any other room. Harrow had her eyes forward and Gideon cracked her neck. There were no more words to say.

Harrow seized the sliding door handle and opened it. Sitting at the table, with tea and biscuits, was the Emperor of the Nine Houses. He looked over his tablet casually, as though his importance was that of a middle manager. He smiled and gestured for the girls to sit across from him. In the center of the table was a collection of juices in bottles, and a tiered tea sandwich tray covered in desserts much too decadent to be associated with the Ninth House.

The girls sat across from him. Gideon's stomach rumbled. Whether it was out of hunger or nerves didn't matter to her. Those eyes were on her and she wanted them to be somewhere else, literally anywhere else. She plucked sweet from the tray, a spiral-shaped piece of bread with a shiny topping of…something. To most people it'd be called a kouign amann, but to Gideon, it was all sweet bread. She took a bite before reaching for a cup to pour one of the colorful juices into. The one she picked had a similar color to her eyes and was clear.

Harrow on the other hand, sat ram-rod straight. Her stomach wouldn't betray her in this moment. She demanded it.

"Good morning, girls," The Emperor said, pleasantly. "I'm sure you've been dying to head home."

"Yes," Harrow replied. She crushed the part of her that wished that Gideon would stop her from working her gloves until they fell apart. For her large, steady hand to ease her anxiety. "This arrangement has been rather different than what we have on the Ninth, but it works adequately, my Lord."

"Please don't do that," the Highness addressed responded with ludicrous discomfort. "I would say to address me as Teacher, but given what happened to the poor man, that'd be a bit in poor taste."

The casual candor of a man who was made God, never stopped unnerving the both of them. His monstrous eyes looked at his tablet for a second before he had an answer.

"You can call me Mr. Gaius for now."

Impossible. Just flat out unbelievable. But it was a request from the Emperor Divine and it was too be heeded.

"Yes…Mr. Gaius." Harrow started, "You had some concerns about my cavalier and her parentage?"

"Yes." The absurdly titled Mr. Gaius replied. "Gideon's parents. Well, Gideon's mother knew me well. Well, knew of me."

Gideon's ears perked up. This was it. This was the answer to those lingering questions in the back of her head: the ones that would answer why she survived the creche flu, why no one came for her, why everything was so secret and redacted, who was she.

"You see, Gideon's mother was a woman by the name of Commander Wake, or Commander Awake. Her full name was quite a mouthful." Mr. Gaius explained.

"Commander?" Harrow breathed out. Everything started coming together. It had been a mission that led to her name being redacted, something that only the Emperor knew about. She could feel Gideon's eyes on her. She couldn't tell if they were in shock, betrayal, or concern. Mr. Gaius continued.

"Yes, Commander. She was commander of the terrorist cell Blood of Eden. A real nasty bunch who likes to interfere with my operations, kill my adepts and most recently 18,000 of my people. Their head hancho had died on her way to the Ninth House, apparently post-partum."

Gideon froze. She knew that name, but only from her comics. Always crazed, always evil, Blood of Eden was a menace to the Nine Houses. They were always depicted as killing necromancers for sport, defiling their corpses, laughing in the face of the heroes.

"Blood of Eden?" Both of the girls asked emphasizing different words, with Gideon focused on the "Eden" and Harrow focused on the "Blood".

"A real thorn in my side, that lot." Mr. Gaius replied, taking a sip of his tea.

"I can assure you that I—We've never and would never conceive of committing treason, my Lord," The Reverend Daughter began, her mask cracking. "Gideon Nav is my cavalier primary and despite the apparitions, has kept me safe and kept to the Ninth's customs to the letter here at Canaan House. She is an exceptional swordhand worthy of the Cohort if not for the summons given, my Lord."

"Mr. Gaius," Mr. Gaius corrected them.

"Mr. Gaius." Harrow said tightly.

Gideon's mind was full of white noise. There was nowhere she could run to, not even to the wonderful taste of breakfast pastries and juice.

"I'm sure she has done a fine job. Both of you really, given the circumstances."

Gideon and Harrow remained silent. One rug was pulled from under them and they highly suspected another.

"Frankly, I'm impressed. Especially with you Harrowhark. Despite your parents having been dead for nearly ten years, you have managed the Ninth House admirably." Mr. Gaius continued.

Harrow felt the sharp of the razor that was stuck inside of the fluffy sweetness of that supposed compliment. How had he'd known?

"I suspect that after the creche flu, your population had not yet recovered?" The Emperor asked politely. As if he didn't know. As if he didn't have the documents and documents of smaller shipments and dwindling resources at his fingertips. Harrow found cover where she could. She did not wish to be struck down by admitting to her parents' genocide, even if a pang of guilt was sat squarely on her pylorus.

"It has not…Mr. Gaius." Harrow said feebly.

"Well, that won't do," The Emperor said with the sort of cadence an auntie would say to seeing their niece in a ruddy pair of shoes. He took a hearty sip of his tea. "I'll have to resurrect your house."

Harrow was speechless. There was no disappointment in his voice. In his eyes, she was just some teenager who had to deal with the circumstances she was given. She was not a heretic, she was not infirm. She was, as always, exemplary. Confession climbed up her throat, she wanted to explain everything. How she opened the tomb, how her parents died, how the creche flu—the genocide—was due her parents inability to keep the line of tombkeepers going. Before she should blurt out everything, Gideon interjected.

"So that's it then?" Gideon said a bit wildly. Harrow glowered at her, and Gideon shrugged. "You tell me that my mom's a crazy terrorist and that you've known we've been bootstrapping the Ninth for like 8 years."

"Almost," The Emperor said, "Your mom was a crazy terrorist who gave the world a daughter who by the account of her Lady, is worthy of the Ninth House. And yes, that a resurrection is due for the Ninth."

A pause came between all three of them, as if there was a drumroll playing behind them.

"However, your cavalier…Gideon Nav, has to come with me in order to do that. Permanently."

Gideon's stomach shriveled. She was going to be put in a cell simply for suspicion. She was no hero. From the moment The Emperor saw her, he knew something was off. Something was up.

Harrow couldn't breathe. In the palm of her hand was the very thing she wanted. The very thing she spent her life working toward. But it would be her undoing. Whatever the past 7 days was to the both them, it was over. It couldn't be spoken of, but its death had arrived.

"Am I going to be sent to prison?" Gideon asked with an uncharacteristic meekness.

"Oh God, no." The God spoken of replied. "You're going to work for me. As First Lieutenant Auxiliary, Gideon. Granted, you'll never be allowed on the Ninth ever again once you're in my service, but that's a small price to pay. Think about it. The daughter of a terrorist becoming cavalier primary and a war hero."

Harrow wanted to ask "Why?" and say "No," but she knew better than to question or disobey God. God would strike her down if she said no, her House would crumble if she said no and her future wouldn't happen if she said no. There were so many questions left on the table, so many discussions of logistics, and why this offer was so good.

Gideon smiled in faux relief. It was a trap. She knew it was a trap. It was better than prison. It was her dream to be featured in magazines extolling the Cohort's missions. But, it was a trap. It was golden handcuffs. It would keep Harrow safe—because what if she said no and Harrow would be prosecuted for harboring a terrorist's child—and Gideon prayed to keep her safe the night before. It was her job as a cavalier, and she'd do it until the end.

"I'll do it." Gideon agreed before Harrow could answer. Harrow looked at her, horrified. Gideon kept her eyes on the Emperor. "I mean, the reason we even came here was because if Har—my Lady became a lyctor, she'd be able to bring our house back. She'd have the ability to ask for it. Now, she can become one if she wants to, not because she has to."

God chuckled. "Spoken like a cavalier indeed."