Gideon the Ninth, Chapter 31

[we_bring_hell]

Harrowhark stands in the hallway and watches the Third retreat, her brow furrowing a wrinkle into her paint. She has an uncomfortable feeling she's been underestimating Ianthe Tridentarius all along, and her head whirls with being suddenly hurled back into the unforgiving meatgrinder of House politics.

But the secret is out and she is vindicated; she did not kill Protesilaus Ebdoma, and Dulcinea Septimus is a liar.

She hears the unmistakable footsteps of Gideon Nav joining her, and forgets all that. She turns in a swish of black cloth and says, “Follow me.”

Comments

[we_bring_hell]

"The chain is traditional," she says. "Sammael Novenary favored it."

"I admit that powder was an insult."


"Potato soup would be all right," she adds.

[we_do_bones]

"Yeah, well," says Gideon, standing and stretching. "We've always bucked tradition, huh?"

She maps out the distance from here to the Bar in her head, gauging how long it will take her and weighing the necessity of losing sight of Harrow with this rare chance to make sure Harrow eats.

She makes up her mind. "Okay. I'll be right back."

There's a moment where she's tempted to just bull Harrow over in a hug and forget about soup, food, and everything else for just a little while, but she shakes it off and just winks at her instead. "Don't miss me too much."

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The thing about not having the paint is that it's very obvious when Harrow flushes from her clavicles to the tips of her ears.

"Get going, you yellow-eyed idiot."

She buries her face in the pillow.

[we_do_bones]

Gideon grins, and shoves her way out the door.

She takes the stairs down at a gallop and is heartened by the state of the Bar – quieter, darker, and less populated than when she and Harrow had first arrived. At her request, Bar provides a bowl of potato soup with an optimistic side of crisp bacon, a small basket of hot rolls and butter, a plate of french fries covered in cheese curds and some savory hot gravy, and a chocolate milkshake.

"Thanks," she says, and makes her way back upstairs. Her hands full, she resorts to kicking at the door with her foot. "Harrow, let me in!"

[we_bring_hell]

Harrow hops up and pads barefoot to the door. Music is playing.

She eyes most of the food suspiciously and takes her soup back to sit cross-legged on her bed. "Potatoes are marvelous, Griddle," she says, confidentially. "They don't taste like anything."

[we_do_bones]

"Don't be stupid," she says, and brings the rest of the tray over. She settles it on her bed, not Harrow's, but it's well within reach of them both. "They taste like potatoes, don't they?"

For her part, she stabs a fork into the pile of fries-cheese-gravy and makes a smothered sound of delight. "You should try this, it's really good."

[we_bring_hell]

She eyes it. "I will have a clean fry when you eat the lard on top."




"I will have one (1) bite of the shaken milk, however."

[we_do_bones]

"Even necromancers need fat and protein," says Gideon, peaceably. She grabs the milkshake and pushes to the side of her bed that's nudged up against Harrow's and proffers the sweating glass.

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She uses the spoon to scoop a bite. The sweetness is like a kick in the mouth, but only lasts a shivery moment.

"It's not about fat," she protests. "It's just too strong. Overwhelming."

[we_do_bones]

"I would have killed for some flavor on the Ninth," Gideon says, honestly. "Would some salt really have been so awful?"

She hadn't considered that maybe Harrow couldn't, rather than wouldn't eat, and resolves to try her adept on some unseasoned poached chicken.

In the meantime, she sucks mightily at the milkshake, and despite her earlier lesson, she's still not ready for the ice pick headache to explode out from behind her eyes. "Ow," she complains, and gives the thing a wary look.

"Okay, maybe you've got a point."

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"Salt is expensive," she murmurs.

And frowns when Gideon winces. "Are you all right?" She sounds ready to declare war on the kingdom of chocolate milkshakes.

[we_do_bones]

"I just drank it too fast, it's fine."

She flushes a little, inordinately pleased at this new, over-protective Harrowhark. "Ingress warned me about it, I just forgot."

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Deeper frown. She knew those things were dangerous.

She feels like the topic of Lady Ingress is a dangerous one. She filches a relatively clean fry while she considers it. "I have initiated a tentative formal alliance with the House of Arch. Did you and Lady Ingress get along?"

[we_do_bones]

"Sure. We only hit each other with swords a little bit."

She's joking, mostly. She pops a piece of bacon into her mouth and says, around it: "I only met her the once so far."

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"Mm," she says. "Her father is an accomplished thalergenic adept and holds great power in their world, and here as well."

She drinks some soup. "I know you have wondered why I have trusted the people here as much as I have."

[we_do_bones]

"It's not about how much you trusted them, Harrow," she says, a little reproachfully. "You trusted them when you didn't even trust me, and it sucked, thinking you didn't need me."

She puts down her food and stretches onto Harrow's bed, propping herself up on an elbow and letting her free arm rest near Harrow's knee. "But I'll bite. Why did you trust them?"

[we_bring_hell]

"I needed help," she says simply, "and I had no other currency."

"In Canaan House, my strategy was to be left alone and explore the castle on my own. I wanted to be feared and avoided by the other heirs. But here there are no challenges; the only advantages to be gained come from the cooperation of the people here. It was necessary to earn their trust and determine if they were trustworthy."

She sighs. "But Griddle... my strategy was flawed. I spent too much time trying to solve the trials alone when I needed your help. Without the alliance with the Sixth--which you initiated--we would have no hope at all right now."

[we_do_bones]

This thing has been about the union of necromancer and cavalier from the start.

"I didn't initiate shit," Gideon confesses. "Not on purpose. I just ran into them when I was looking for you."

She looks at her hand on the counterpane. She could probably wrap her fingers right around Harrow's narrow calf. "For what it's worth, I think they are. Allies.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you in the library," she adds, in a rush. "I mean, not about... I'm sorry I wasn't here."

[we_bring_hell]

"I agree," she says. "And we cannot succeed without them, so we will extend trust."

"I am sorry, too, Griddle." She looks down and away, coloring again. "We could apologize until the sun comes up. Let us wipe the slate clean and begin fresh between us."




"I think we should stay here for some little while. There are things I want to learn before I go back." She lets her hand land on Gideon's and squeezes it.

[we_do_bones]

Gideon turns her hand so she can catch Harrow's palm to palm, and leans forward to gently nudge her forehead against Harrow's thigh.

"Yeah," she says, eyes squeezing closed. "I think you're right.

"I could use time here, too. You know the level of warrior that just wanders around here, Harrow? I learned more in two sparring sessions than in my whole bout with Tern."

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Harrow shivers, but lets her other hand fall to touch the bright red brush of Gideon's hair.

The feverish knot of feelings in her stomach begins to boil, but she can touch the flame for a moment. One (1) taste.

"Yes," she says. It means absolutely nothing.

[we_do_bones]

A shiver unfurls along Gideon's neck, through her shoulders, along her back, into her gut. The only other time someone had rested their hand so gently on her head, she'd been dying and unable to really focus on the sensation.

"That thing that killed Isaac and Jeannemary," she says, fiercely. "I'm going to be ready for it. I'll be better."

She looks up, golden eyes suddenly ferocious. "I'm not going to let it fucking touch you."

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That brings her back down to earth; probably just in time. She strokes Gideon's hair carefully, trying to transmit comfort through her skin. She doesn't know if she's capable of it

(my heart's an autoclave)

but she is determined to try.

"We will take it apart, Gideon," she says, her voice husky. "We are the Ninth House. Bones hold no terror for us. We are charged to remember all that was lost. And we do not stint in our vengeance."

[we_do_bones]

Harrow says we and Gideon is swept under by a rush of gratitude as implacably endless as the ocean surrounding Canaan House. Her eyes sting and her throat closes as she leans her head back against Harrow's leg and into her touch like a dog who has just understood it will be petted instead of kicked.

"Fidelity," she whispers. "You better believe it."

[we_bring_hell]

Gideon, curled up against her. Gideon, sharing her warmth and breathing on her thigh through only layer of cloth. Gideon.

Emotions seethe up her throat, not all of them positive. They have orbited each other for too long, like the Ninth House and its barely-smaller satellite, trading places and swapping craters.

The pressure on her thigh blurs with Gideon kicking her legs out from under her--with her father lifting her up to reach the highest books in the library of Drearburh--with her father lifting her up to loop her noose over the rafter.

Her eyes begin to sting and she launches herself off the bed to the side, away from the touch. She misses it as soon as it's gone, and she begins to pace beside the bed, holding her elbows.