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Deep in the bowels of the Ninth, Harrowhark Nonagesimus poured over a manuscript by candlelight. Her eyes ached from strain, but she couldn’t stop her studies; she was so close to mastering the theorem passed down by her old Anastasian ancestors generations ago. A theorem lost to time, that even her father and her grandmother could not master. She worked the marrow in her palms, drawing each cell forth through the cracks in the fresh bone. It was so hard to gather fresh bones to study, with the marrow still intact. Only recent deaths and accidents provided her with the practice she needed.
She focused hard, pushing the cells through each layer like a sponge. She felt a pounding headache grow between her temples; a droplet of blood fell from her nose and landed on the bone. She sniffed, gritting her teeth to try and force it. Blood pooled in the back of her throat, dripping steadily from her nose. Her eyes tinged red at the rim. With a soft cry of frustration, she released her concentration and let the bone drop to her lap uselessly.
At eight, Harrow mastered the puzzle of the human body in its most basic sense: she could take it apart and put it back together, providing the body stayed still long enough for her necromancy to seep beneath its skin. When the newly-deceased were tossed from the high walls of the church, she could piece them back together in record time without splitting a single muscle.
However, the matters of the inner workings; marrow, vessels, osteocytes - they felt familiar, yet foreign beneath her hands. Like when she would greet a congregant without quite knowing their name; she would pick apart the information she knew, hoping the answer would arrive at the tip of her tongue when she needed it most. She knew how to find the pieces she needed; she just couldn’t quite figure out how to make them bend to her will.
The deep, echoing chime of the bell startled her out of her thoughts. She frowned, looking for the timepiece on the edge of her desk. The bell must be wrong; it was far too early for chapel. Harrow fidgeted, wondering if she should seek out her nursemaid to alert him to the error. In the end, she simply waited for the bell to cease so that she could once again concentrate on the bone in her hand while the hour ticked away.
A knock on the door startled her again, and she threw the bone down in frustration.
“Enter,” she called, her lips drawn into a pout.
“Apologies, my Lady Harrowhark,” said Ortus Nigenad - the man who would be her cavalier if he weren’t a complete and utter failure of a swordsman. Ortus was best suited for tasks that involved A.) Writing poetry, B.) Reading poetry, or C.) Eating supper. Otherwise, his presence was easily overlooked and rarely acknowledged.
“What is it, Ortus?” Harrow asked, her pinched face twisted in a scowl. “I’m very busy.”
“Forgive me, my Lady,” Ortus said, never taking his hand away from the doorknob. “I did not see you at the summons.”
“A summons?” Harrow frowned deeper, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Is that what that was?”
“Yes, my Lady,” Ortus wheezed, shifting uncomfortably. “I only thought you should know… Gideon Nav was flogged before the congregation.”
Harrow blinked. A feeling of ice water crept up her calves, settling in a pool of frigid bile in her stomach.
“Father called a summons for-” Harrow trailed off, licking her lips. “Public floggings are usually reserved for adults.”
“The Reverend Father has made an exception for the child,” Ortus said sadly. “My Lady, may I speak freely?”
“No,” Harrow said sharply. “But since you will speak regardless, make it quick.”
“I do fear that the child may meet a grave fate if left untreated,” his eyes darted to the floor. “I do know that matters of the flesh are advanced for your age-”
“They are not,” Harrow snapped, offended at the implication. “I simply believe the matters of the bone hold greater priority. Flesh magicians are so… crude. Distasteful.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Ortus said awkwardly. “But if you happen by the child’s cell-”
“Fine,” Harrow sniffed, pinching the wick of her human fat candle to snuff it out. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, my Lady Harrowhark,” Ortus bowed deeply, relieved, and backed out of the room without another word.
Harrow crossed her arms, frowning. She was frustrated from her failure and keen for revenge. Teasing Griddle always made her feel better. She forced down the sick feeling in her gut; surely, Priamhark would not flog a child as he would an adult. Surely Griddle’s lashes were no more than stinging welts to teach her a lesson.
Harrow huffed, straightening her robes to make the short walk down the stairwell to the lower cells. For as many times as she’d been down here to taunt her rival, she never quite got used to the change in temperature. These cells were the coldest and darkest, made from crumbling limestone and slabs of chipped rock. Gideon Nav, indentured servant of the Ninth, lived in the next-to-last cell - surrounded by nothing but empty rooms and ghosts.
“Well, well, Griddle,” Harrowhark said haughtily, pushing the door to the cell open. “It seems you finally got your-”
Harrow stopped. The words died on her lips; the breath rushed out of her lungs. She wobbled on her feet, holding onto the door frame to keep herself steady. Every clever taunt she’d come up with on her walk vanished like vapor in the wind.
Gideon lay on her side, barely conscious. Her small body was caked with thick, coagulated blood. The girl lay eerily still and quiet, and Harrow had to squint just to make sure she was still breathing. Gideon’s back was marred with ten thick, crisscrossing lashes; each cut flayed her skin, leaving weeping welts and split wounds all along her ribcage.
Harrow wanted to vomit. The smell of metallic blood filled her nostrils. Gideon’s cot would be ruined; the sticky blood spread out beneath her like a shroud. The blood made her dizzy; it was too much, too much blood from such a small body. Without thinking, Harrow reached for her.
“Griddle,” she whispered, touching her arm. Gideon flinched back, wailing in the deep, guttural cry of a dying animal. The sound chilled Harrow to the bone.
“Stay with me,” she found herself muttering, kneeling down beside the cot. Harrow poked her tongue out in concentration, reaching with her necromancy to seek out the wounds deep within the skin. She found two hairline fractures on Gideon’s ribs; likely from whatever method was used to incapacitate her long enough for the whipping to occur. Harrow knitted the bone back together, frowning deeply as she desperately tried to move the flesh beneath her control.
“My Lady,” said a voice, and Harrow turned to find Ortus standing in the doorway.
“I’ll need supplies,” Harrow said primly, though her voice was shaking. “Fetch Aiglamene. I will need sterilized cloth, a basin of boiled water, spirits, a needle and medical thread.”
Harrow exhaled, tensing up as Gideon moaned weakly. Absent-mindedly, she stroked the girl’s unmarked hip to keep her still.
“Medicine. Any medicine. All the medicine. Ortus, bring everything you can find. But fetch Aiglamene first.”
“Of course, my Lady Harrowhark,” Ortus wheezed, bowing as he backed out of the room. Harrow gritted her teeth, forcing herself to look closer at Gideon’s wounds.
She could almost make out the pattern of damage in the skin. The lower back received the worst of the lashes; three overlapping cuts wept steadily just above her kidneys. The upper back didn’t fare much better; Gideon’s body was so small that ten lashes had no room to spread out. Judging by the bruising on her wrists, Gideon was held down for the whipping - likely by skeletal constructs. The pattern of bruising seemed too precise for human fingers. Her ankles, too, were held down while she was whipped. Harrow could make out the redness of friction, the deep bruising around the soft tissue.
“Harrow?”
Harrow’s head shot up at the weak cry. She moved to the end of Gideon’s cot so the girl could see her without turning her head.
“I’m here,” she said dumbly, feeling useless.
“Harrow,” Gideon sighed. She blinked slowly, her eyes not quite focusing all the way. “I’m dying, I think.”
“Shut up, Griddle,” Harrow said, anxiety grasping her heart. “Idiot. You’re not getting away that easily.”
“Says you,” Gideon groaned weakly, her face growing slack.
“Gideon,” Harrow hissed. “Stay awake. Stay with me.”
“Don’t wanna,” Gideon said, her tongue thick and dry in her mouth.
“If you die, I’ll… I’ll kill you,” Harrow said. Gideon let out a small laugh.
“Okay,” she said, and died.
…or, Harrow thought she died, at least.
Harrow dropped to Gideon’s side, pumping the small body with thalargy. She blinked the blood from her eyes as she concentrated on forcing energy through the skeleton, following the veins to Gideon’s heart. She coughed up a blood clot, gritting her teeth. The heart beat weakly, but unceasingly. That was the important part.
She felt the air shift behind her. A shuddery cough rattled her chest; she expelled a ball of phlegmy blood, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. Her forehead shone with blood sweat as Aiglamene knelt down beside her.
“Roll her onto her stomach,” Aiglamene said softly. “Gives the wounds a chance to seal up.”
“Is it really bad?” Harrow asked, her voice small and unsure.
“It could be,” Aiglamene said reluctantly. “She’s lucky. She fainted halfway through. She won’t remember the worst of it.”
“You saw?” Harrow’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“From what I’ve gathered,” Aiglamene hesitated, clearly considering how much to reveal. “It seems as though the Reverend Father planned to punish her using a different method. Something about knocking over a pillar covered with candles that were ruined. He was in the middle of paddling her when she crawled over the desk to get away. She hid in his robes. Managed to tear the sleeve of the sacred vestments. It was bad.”
“A public whipping for that?” Harrow felt sick. She looked down at the girl’s raw back with a mixture of grief; Gideon was only a year older than she was, after all, and Harrow couldn’t imagine ever going through something so terribly painful.
“Rang the bell and everything,” Aiglamene grimly confirmed. “She needs stitches.”
“I can do it,” Harrow said stiffly. “I know how.”
“That’s kind of you, Lady Harrowhark, but I’ve had combat medical training,” said Aiglamene in a way that might have been patronizing if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “Let me do the rough part.”
“Of course, Captain,” Harrow swallowed. She nearly cried with relief as Ortus appeared carrying a sack filled with medical supplies, balancing a metal bowl on his hip.
“My Lady Harrowhark,” he addressed Harrow. “I have brought the items you requested. Guard Captain Aiglamene, will you need assistance?”
“Ortus, my boy,” Aiglamene arched an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to faint at the sight of blood. Set the bowl down and guard the hallway.”
“Thank you, Guard Captain,” Ortus said, relief palpable in his droopy face. He passed the bowl to Harrow, bowing as he retreated.
“I’ll wash away the dried blood,” Harrow insisted, taking one of the sterile cloths from the bag. “What do you suggest next?”
“We need to stop any infection,” Aiglamene grimaced. “I’ll mix up the salve.”
Harrow dipped the cloth into the hot water, dabbing gently at the worst of the blood on Gideon’s back. The girl whimpered, her fists curled up against her face as she lay on her stomach. Harrow tried to be gentle, but Gideon cried out in pain.
“Sorry,” Harrow muttered, steeling herself. “It’s going to hurt. There’s no avoiding it.”
“I know,” Gideon said, her voice weak and watery.
Harrow dipped the cloth again, tinging the water pink. She dabbed at the next patch of blood, gently smoothing away the coagulated goo from the ridge of whip-cut flesh. Gideon’s shoulders shook as she sobbed. It sounded more pitiful than any noise Harrow had heard before in her life. She hoped Gideon would faint again.
“Help me with this,” Aiglamene said, smearing a thick orange paste onto a fresh cloth. “Any skin that split open, we need to work this in. Gideon, can you hear me, girl?”
“Uhn-huh,” Gideon whimpered.
“This is going to sting.”
Aiglamene pressed her hand against Gideon’s neck, holding her down as she smeared the antiseptic salve into the worst of her wounds. Gideon howled, sobbing incoherently as she struggled to get away.
“Shh,” Harrow soothed her, dropping the bloody cloth to take Gideon’s hands in her own. “I know. I know.”
“It hurts,” Gideon wailed, her voice hitching. “Please no more.”
“You’re okay,” Harrow whispered, squeezing Gideon’s hands. “You’ll be okay.”
“Harrow,” Gideon cried.
Harrowhark felt her heart break. Never in her life had she ever heard her name said with such intensity or such sorrow.
“I’m here,” Harrow said, not knowing what else to do. “I’m here.”
“Give her this,” Aiglamene said, passing a bottle of grain alcohol to Harrow. She uncorked it, wincing at the smell.
“Open your mouth, Griddle,” Harrow muttered, grimacing on Gideon’s behalf. The girl choked at the burn of alcohol, sputtering uselessly. “Come on, swallow.”
“Ngh,” Gideon groaned, struggling to force the liquid down her throat. Two, three gulps that made her grimace.
“Good,” Harrow praised. She moved the bottle, running her sleeve against Gideon’s lips to wipe away the stray dribbles. “Aiglamene-”
“Hush,” Aiglamene barked, concentrating on threading a needle. “Let it sink in. Better if she doesn’t remember this part. Give her something to bite down on.”
Harrow tore her robe at the sleeve, rolling it into a tube. She pressed the cloth to Gideon’s lips, gently coaxing her to open her mouth and bite down hard.
“You’re going to be okay,” Harrow whispered, watching fearfully as Aiglamene pierced the skin. Gideon shrieked through her gag, bucking with all her might. Harrow threw her arms around Gideon, trying to keep her still and calm.
“Hold her still,” Aiglamene barked, kneeling on Gideon’s legs to keep her from thrashing about. “Nav, pull yourself together!”
Gideon wailed, desperately trying to escape the agony of being sewn together beneath her mentor’s rough hand. Harrow, for all her skill with bonework, felt useless as she held Gideon down with the girl’s blood clinging to her robes. She’d never seen stitches given to someone alive and squirming; all her practice had been on bloated corpses, dead things withered with blood that no longer pooled in rivulets down their ribs as the needle worked through the skin. On a live person - a live child, writhing and crying and screaming in pain - it was entirely different. Harrow pushed down with all her might to keep Gideon still.
“Nav, quit it,” Aiglamene commanded, snipping the end of the first row of stitches. “You’ve got more coming. I need you to be still so I don’t hurt you.”
“She’s in pain,” Harrow snapped, her face twisted with conflicting feelings. “Be gentle with her, Captain!”
“I’ll blister her butt if she doesn’t settle down,” Aiglamene threatened. “Hear me, Nav? You want that?”
Gideon shook her head wildly, tucking herself into a small, tight ball. Harrow felt her tremble as Aiglamene cleaned the next area for stitches. She pulled Gideon’s face against her chest, letting the girl lean against her for comfort as her mentor carefully treated the three worst wounds. Gideon cried steadily, and Harrow’s shirt was soaked through with tears by the time Aiglamene snipped the last knot.
“That should hold them for now. Damn it, Gideon,” Aiglamene swore, dabbing at a fresh bead of blood from the stitch marks. “I thought you were done for. If you ever scare me like that again, I’ll whip you myself at the flogging bench.”
Gideon moaned in pain, reaching her arm back. Aiglamene took it and squeezed, her stony face set with determination.
“Once these heal,” Aiglamene said quietly. “You and I are going to have a long discussion about trying to avoid punishment. It always makes things worse for you, and you know that. If you’d just taken your paddling without a fuss, none of this would have happened.”
Gideon tried to mumble something around her gag, but Harrow couldn’t understand her. She carefully pulled the tube of cloth from her lips, giving Gideon a chance to lick her lips before she answered.
“I know it’s my fault,” Gideon mumbled, clearly in pain. “Do you think he’ll hit me again for the candles?”
“Almost certainly,” Aiglamene said grimly. “The Reverend Father doesn’t forgive so easily, Nav. I imagine once your stitches come out, you can look forward to a long, hard paddling from him. And a dose of the strap from me for putting yourself in such a foolish situation.”
“Guard Captain, that’s not fair,” Harrowhark bristled, cradling Gideon’s head to her chest. “She’s already learned her lesson. Isn’t the whipping enough?”
“That is very kind of you, my lady,” Aiglamene said carefully. “However, Gideon Nav knows very well what happens when she makes such piss-poor decisions. How many times have I strapped you in the last month alone, Nav? Seven times? Eight?”
“Seven,” Gideon said weakly. Harrow’s stomach twisted.
“Guard Captain, she’s a child,” she said, recoiling. “You cannot possibly tell me that-”
“With all respect, Reverend Daughter,” Aiglamene said levelly. “You don’t know the first thing about your congregation, let alone the indentured servants. Gideon is very lucky she’s made it this long without a public whipping. And if I have to spank her raw to teach her a lesson, I can and I will. But I will make sure this girl never faces that whip again. She’s a damn quick study, and I know she has the capacity to make something of herself. She needs to learn to control her behavior.”
“So you beat her to make her comply?” Harrow frowned, suddenly feeling chilly toward the old woman. She knew Gideon was subjected to discipline, but she’d never considered it coming from Aiglamene’s hand. “How long?”
“How long what?” Aiglamene snorted, growing impatient. “How long have I tanned her hide?”
“As long as I can remember,” Gideon gave a half-laugh, the after-effects of the alcohol and adrenaline rush making her sleepy. “Aiglamene, will you stay?”
“You’re fine,” Aiglamene sighed, lightly swatting at Gideon’s unmarked hip. “You’re a big girl. You don’t need a babysitter.”
“Please,” Gideon said quietly. “I won’t ask anything else ever again.”
“Harrow will stay with you,” Aiglamene said firmly, turning toward the door. “Ortus, help me gather the supplies. Leave the ointment and bandages. We’ll need to change them out after she rests.”
“Yes, Guard Captain Aiglamene,” Ortus wheezed, appearing in the doorway like an unfortunate specter. “Thank you, my lady Harrowhark.”
“But Aiglamene, Harrow hates me-” Gideon tried, but Aiglamene waved her off.
“Deal with it,” the old woman said, rubbing the seam of her bad leg where the flesh met bone. “Be grateful for company at all, you baby.”
“I never agreed-” Harrow started to say, but Gideon’s small fist tightened against her cloak and she couldn’t finish her statement. She grimaced, running her fingers through Gideon’s shorn hair, secretly enjoying the prickly fuzz that came after a few weeks without a proper shave. “Fine. Until she sleeps, at least.”
Aiglamene nodded curtly, leaving Harrowhark alone with her personal nemesis. Somehow, she couldn’t quite find the strength to hate Nav as much when she was weak with pain and soft and pliant as a lamb. She shifted on her knees, trying to find a comfortable position. Gideon lifted her head, giving Harrowhark a pained smile.
“Want to sit up here? I could lay my head on your lap,” she said, immediately catching herself. “Unless that’s weird.”
“You shouldn’t move that much,” Harrow grumbled, but she found herself sliding into place on Gideon’s sticky narrow cot.
Gideon’s cheek was warm against her chilly leg, and Harrow welcomed the heat. She nearly asked if Gideon wanted a blanket, but one look at the ugly marred back reminded her why Gideon likely didn’t want anything heavier than air touching her aching flesh.
“Harrow?” Gideon said, her voice thin and exhausted in the quiet of the room.
“Hm?”
“Thanks,” she said softly, her feverish face glistening in the low light. “You’re not so bad when you aren’t trying to kill me or break my bones.”
“You’re not so bad when you finally shut up,” Harrow retorted, but all the edges in her voice were gone. “How do you feel?’
“Awful,” Gideon sighed bitterly. “I’d say I’ve been worse, but… I don’t think I have.”
“Is Aiglamene really going to punish you for being whipped?”
Gideon frowned, her face darkening.
“Yeah,” she said at last. “I kind of expected it. Every time I get punished by the Reverend Parents, I get spanked by Aiglamene too. And especially since this one was so bad… yeah, she’s going to spank me for sure.”
“Why do you let her?” Harrow asked.
“You try stopping Aiglamene when she’s put her mind to something,” Gideon said, cracking an almost-smile. “Tell me how it goes.”
“I’m serious, Nav,” Harrow said, more gently this time. “If I had known-”
“-you would’ve made sure I got licked twice as often,” Gideon grimaced. “Don’t try to tell me we’re friends now. You still hate my guts, remember?”
“Maybe,” Harrow admitted. “But I don’t like to see you in this much pain. Griddle, I barely kept you alive long enough for Aiglamene to take over.”
“I don’t remember much,” Gideon mumbled. “I remember feeling really warm.”
“Thalargy,” Harrow said, petting Gideon’s fuzzy hair idly. “To keep your heart beating. You were very weak.”
“If you can fix my heart with your magic, maybe you can fix my ass once Aiglamene hands it to me,” Gideon joked tiredly.
“What’s it like?”
“Huh?” Gideon blinked slowly. “What’s what like?”
“Never mind,” Harrow flushed, scowling. “Forget I said anything.”
“No, tell me,” Gideon prodded. “Who knows when we’ll have a real conversation again? Might as well.”
“What’s a strapping like?” Harrow asked, pursing her lips together. “You don’t have to answer.”
“Oh,” Gideon said, growing quiet for a minute. “Well. It hurts, duh.”
She frowned, letting out a huff.
“Aiglamene has a mean arm. She can light your butt on fire before you can even yell. Sometimes if you’ve been really bad, she’ll make you pull your pants down and touch your toes. That’s always the worst.”
“Why?”
“Because that strap is heavy,” Gideon whined. “It nearly knocks me down every time. And if you fall over, she adds licks. It’s not exactly fun.”
“Do you cry?” Harrow averted her eyes.
“Everyone cries when they get spanked,” Gideon scrunched up her nose, souring. “Bet you would, too.”
“I would not,” Harrow huffed, offended. Though truthfully, she wondered if she would.
“Would, too,” Gideon stuck out her tongue, wincing as the little movement jostled her back. “Oww.”
“You should try to sleep,” Harrow frowned, shifting her weight to give Gideon more room.
“I don’t wanna,” Gideon groaned, burying her face against Harrow’s lap. “Tryin’ to stay awake.”
“Why? You’ve got to be miserable-”
“Because you’ll leave when I fall asleep.”
Harrow blinked, a chill spreading across her shoulders. She looked down at Gideon Nav’s face; a face she’d seen thousands of times across the years, but never really noticed. Not up close like this. The scar above her eyebrow from when Harrow tripped her into a pew. The tan skin dusted with freckles across the bridge of her nose. The way her eyebrows scrunched together every time a wave of pain overwhelmed her. The nicks on her scalp from the last time one of the sisters shaved her bald. Her stupid little flat nose and the dimples of her cheeks.
Without face paint, Gideon Nav looked almost normal. Out-of-place among the dark and frigid Ninth, full of ashen-faced dark-eyed geriatrics. Her wild golden eyes and unusual hair set her apart as an other. Harrow always thought that was a bad thing. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“I won’t leave,” she said at last, struggling to ignore the relief washing across Gideon’s face. “With my luck, you’d croak in your sleep and then who would I pester? Ortus?”
Gideon laughed, but Harrow saw the tears in her eyes. She licked her lips, resting her hand against the back of Gideon’s skull. She massaged the skin, humming tunelessly until those long lashes fluttered shut, and Gideon Nav fell into a restless sleep.
Harrow leaned her head back against the wall, shivering in the chill of the room despite her robes. Her mind swirled with new information. She tried to picture the scene based on the few public floggings she’d seen throughout her childhood. Her grip on Nav’s head tightened, and she cradled the girl closer.
Gideon would have been led to the chapel from the sacristy, likely by Father’s skeletons. Most of the penitents who receive a public flogging put themselves across the bench, but the idea of Gideon Nav submitting to such cruelty was unfathomable. So Father likely had his constructs hold her down across the worn, weathered bench while the bell tolled and the congregants filed in to see what caused the summons.
A pang of guilt filled Harrow’s chest. If she had just put down her books; if she had just followed the bell-
She shook her head, swallowing the sour taste in her mouth. Gideon whimpered in her sleep, and Harrow tried to comfort her as much as she could without waking her up. She couldn’t bear to look at the welts. Not again. Not so soon.
So instead, Harrow closed her eyes.
She pictured the tall, sturdy constructs holding Gideon’s arms and legs. The flogging bench would have been far too long for such a small body. Father would have used a knife to tear the clothes from her back and legs, exposing her naked skin for everyone’s view. If he had spanked her already, her skin would glow with pain for all to see. She could practically hear the murmurs from the gathered crowd. Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She would have been among them, if she had listened to the call. If she had done her duty as the heir to the Ninth.
There would have been a speech before the flogging. There always was. Priamhark would stand at the pulpit with his grave face, laying out the crimes of the accused. She wondered what crime he said Gideon had committed. Sabotage, probably. Or sacrilege. Father always was fond of the dramatic.
Once the speech was over and the sentence had been called, Priamhark would roll his sleeves back to his elbows and pick up the whip. This was the part Harrow hated the most; the deafening silence before the first crack. The accused would often cry or beg, plead their innocence, beg forgiveness for all transgressions against the Ninth.
She wondered if Gideon begged for mercy, knowing mercy was no more than a fairytale.
Harrow flinched as Gideon cried out in her sleep. So wrapped up in her imagination, she could barely decipher whether she was awake or dreaming as she soothed the fevered face, pressing her cool palm to Gideon’s cheek until the poor girl settled down. She brushed away the tears that fell from Gideon’s eyes as she sobbed. Harrow couldn’t tell if Gideon ever fully awoke through her fit; her eyes stayed shut, her face screwed up in pain. She was relieved when the nightmare passed and Gideon settled into her slumber once more.
Harrow had no idea how long it had been since Ortus called her from the library. Days, maybe. Hours, at least. Time felt wrong down here in Nav’s cell, so damp and cold and grim. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep; tried not to think about where she was and why. But even in sleep, her brain would not stop. She gave up with a groan, tilting her face down to watch Gideon instead.
She looked so peaceful.
In all her life, Harrow couldn’t think of a single moment when she had ever seen Gideon so peaceful.
The door to Nav’s cell creaked open, casting a dim shine across the floor. Aiglamene appeared, holding a mug of warm water.
“I had a feeling you would still be here, my Lady” she whispered, passing the mug to Harrow. “How is she?”
“Sleeping, thankfully,” Harrow whispered back. She wrapped her fingers around the warmth of the mug, sipping gratefully. “Isn’t there anything we can give her for the pain?”
“Working on it,” Aiglamene huffed. “Not as easy to get as you might think. Do you need me to take over from here?”
“No, I’m fine,” Harrow said, looking down at Griddle’s face. “I don’t want to wake her.”
“After the first bell, I’ll douse her with more ointment. She should be able to move after another day of rest. I’m worried about this mark here,” Aiglamene gestured to a black-and-blue bruise near Gideon’s shoulder. The skin looked twice as thick and swollen as the others, like someone had hidden a rock beneath her shoulder blade.
“We’ll get some ice on it once she’s awake.”
“Captain, may I ask you something?” Harrow straightened her spine, looking up coolly at the older woman. “Do you care about Griddle?”
“Do you?” Aiglamene asked, arching an eyebrow. “Where is this coming from, my Lady?”
“I only wondered-” Harrow paused, exhaling with a pout. “Must you really punish her more after this ordeal? It seems… unprofessional.”
“Unprofessional, huh?” Aiglamene chuckled, amused at the young girl's words. It only made Harrow pout harder. “As a matter of fact, yes. I must. I have trained this little rat for a handful of years, and I know what works with her. She needs consequences, Lady Harrowhark. And after being disciplined in front of the entire church, the consequences must match the crime.”
“But she’s been punished, Guard Captain,” Harrow argued. “She nearly died.”
“And somehow, that still isn’t enough,” Aiglamene sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, and I don’t plan on spending any time explaining it to you. But Nav is embarrassed. She’s been humiliated, and now she’ll want to prove herself to everyone around her. If I don’t give her a hell of a strapping for what she’s already done, she’ll only go out and get herself in even more trouble.”
“I don’t agree,” Harrow said stiffly, frowning down at Gideon’s peaceful face.
“You don’t have to,” Aiglamene said bluntly. “Since you’ve taken an interest in Gideon Nav’s discipline all of a sudden, why don’t you ask her? Ask her what happens if I don’t spank her to tears after getting in trouble with the Reverend Parents. Find out what happened last time.”
“Maybe I will,” Harrow said with false bravado. “Thank you for the water, Captain. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lady Harrowhark,” Aiglamene gave her a short bow, shuffling out of the room without a backward glance.
Harrow barely stirred the second time Gideon cried out in her sleep. She reached out and took the too-small hand in her own, giving Gideon a gentle squeeze. After a moment of confused half-dreaming, Harrow realized that Nav was trying to talk.
"Sorry, what?" she said groggily, blinking sleep out of her eyes.
"I said, aren't you cold?" Gideon asked weakly.
"No," Harrow lied. "Are you?"
"A little," Gideon admitted, curling her toes into the cot. "Back still feels like fire, though."
"I'm sure it does." Harrow frowned, looking around the room. It was sparse. She knew Griddle didn't have much, but this emptiness made her gut clench. "I can get your blanket."
"Okay," Gideon said, shifting to her side with a hiss of air between her teeth. "In the closet."
Harrow stretched out, realizing for the first time that her legs were completely numb from staying in the same position so long. She would be terribly sore tomorrow. Still, it seemed like drops in a bucket compared to Griddle's agony. Stiffly, she made her way to Gideon's closet for the scratchy blanket, draping it around Gideon's legs. She tucked it as high up on her hips as she could without agitating the whip marks. Harrow finally allowed herself to look over the damaged skin; the bruises and welts, still lumpy and hard hours after the last lash fell. The neat stitches on angry red skin, still smeared with blood. It made her want to vomit.
"I'm so sorry," Harrow said quietly.
"For what?" Gideon asked, looking over her shoulder at the younger girl. "You didn't do anything."
"My father did," Harrow swallowed, her eyes dark and troubled. "I should have stopped it."
"It's done. It's over," Gideon said, wincing as she tried to shift her way under the blanket more. "I lived."
"You almost didn't live, you idiot," Harrow snapped, angry at herself more than anything. "Griddle, Aiglamene stopped by."
"Oh," Gideon frowned. "She didn't wake me?"
"No, she wanted to let you sleep. I tried to talk her out of strapping you once you've healed."
"Bet that didn't work, did it?" Gideon chuckled tiredly, her voice thin with pain. "Don't waste your breath. You don't know Aiglamene like I do."
"It just doesn't seem fair," Harrow tried again. "Especially if... if my father already plans to discipline you again. It's not fair for Aiglamene to do it, too."
"Can we not talk about the state of my ass over the next few weeks?" Gideon tried. "Yeah, I get smacked a lot. It's fine. It's normal. Don't worry about it."
"You've already been whipped, Nav! You have stitches. The punishment has been fulfilled; anything past that is simply overkill-"
"You don't understand, Reverend Daughter," Gideon said too-quiet.
Harrow immediately fell silent, straining her ears to listen. She realized with an odd feeling that this was the first time she'd ever listened to Gideon Nav with such intensity.
"I'm the worst. I can't go a week without getting into trouble. Your father scares the hell out of me, and I'll probably hate every second, but it's just a fact that he'll beat my ass black and blue as soon as he gets his hands on me. I can deal with it. And as long as I can remember, Aiglamene's had the rule that any punishment from the Reverend Parents means I get it from her, too."
"She said," Harrow said stiffly, clearly uncomfortable, "-that I should ask you 'what happened last time' she didn't... punish you."
"Of course she said that," Gideon frowned, burying her face against her cot. "It's a long story."
"I have time," Harrow said, perching beside her on the ground. She fussed with the hem of her shirt, worrying a loose thread.
"Okay, well it isn't that long of a story. It was back when they wanted me to be a nun. I got in trouble for swinging the censer in a circle like a lasso and your father smacked me pretty hard for it. Aiglamene laughed when I told her, and she let me off the hook. Well..." Gideon paused, a sour look settling on her face.
"What did you do?"
"I guess I decided it wasn't that bad," Gideon admitted sheepishly. "And it was really funny. So when the church service was about to start, I... may have done it again. Except, this time, the incense was lit."
Harrow blinked.
"Was that- Gideon, was that how the draperies caught on fire in the foyer? I barely remember."
"Well, I remember it in very vivid detail," Gideon grimaced. "They locked me in the closet for the whole service after they put the fire out. When the congregation was adjourned, your father spanked me with the paddle until I threw up from crying so hard, then ordered Aiglamene to strap me in front of both your parents. She still reminds me of how she had to aim for my legs because she thought I might pass out if she hit anywhere near my butt. I was bruised for weeks."
"Oh," Harrow felt like all the air was sucked from her lungs.
"Yeah," Gideon groaned. "So since then, she's made sure I regret every time I get in trouble with the Reverend Parents."
"My parents have never hit me," Harrow said quietly. She tried to imagine what it would have been like if her parents hadn't spent her entire childhood focused on the church affairs. Would her father have punished her like Nav? Would she have cried across his lap or his desk as he spanked her to tears? She shivered at the thought.
"You're lucky," Gideon winced, biting her lip. "He hits really hard. Sometimes when he's punishing me, it feels like he doesn't even see me. Like he's just beating me to make himself feel better."
Harrow squeezed her eyes shut to fight off a wave of angry tears, hopelessly furious at everything; at every second of every day that led up to this point. She flinched back when she felt a soft palm against her cheek.
"Hey," Gideon said genuinely. "Don't cry. It'll be okay."
"Griddle," Harrow said, her sharp pinched face contorted with misery, "-I don't think anything has been okay for a single moment. Not the whole time that I've been alive."
"I know the feeling," Gideon said, tiredness and pain seeping into her voice. "You know, I had a dream tonight. Dreamt that someone was holding me. Like a little baby. And singing. It was a nice dream. I didn't want it to end."
"You should try to sleep again," Harrow sighed quietly. "You need the rest. Aiglamene will be here in a few hours. She wants to ice your shoulder and check over your stitches again."
Gideon made a face.
"I hate ice. Too cold."
"You can handle it," Harrow said, her face conflicted. "Gideon?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't ever do something that stupid again," Harrow lowered her gaze. "I can't bear the thought of what might have happened if Ortus hadn't come to find me. As much as I wish you'd jump off a tower, it would be dreadfully boring here without you."
"Right back atcha, Bone Nerd," Gideon grinned, whimpering as a wave of pain washed across her body. "Harrow, can I ask you something?"
"No, but you're going to anyway," Harrow half-smiled. "Go ahead."
"Will you tell me a story? Until I fall asleep. You don't have to," she added quickly. "But your voice is kind of nice like this."
"Sure," Harrow said, biting back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She concentrated on taking two deep breaths, carding her fingers through Gideon's soft fuzzy hair. "Once upon a time, there was a foolish knight who thought she could run from a dragon-"
Aiglamene made her way slowly down the dank hallway, the echoes of the morning bell still fading in the background. She unlocked Nav's cell, pausing at the door. She looked down at the two sleeping children, wondering how the hell something so innocent could survive in a wasteland like the Ninth.
Harrow and Gideon lay curled together on the narrow cot, tucked beneath the threadbare blanket. Harrow's small body fit snugly against Gideon's side, her fingers curled up against the older girl's arm. They looked so peaceful and safe, and Aiglamene hated the thought of disturbing them. She'd never seen the Reverend Daughter so relaxed. Her flighty, uptight frown melted into an angelic, serene smile as she dreamed, safe and warm against the only other child she'd ever known.
Gideon stirred as her mentor shut the cell door, her staggered gait dragging her bad foot on the floor as she approached the cot.
"Shh," Gideon whispered, her sleepy eyes looking up at her swordmaster. "Please don't wake her. She was up all night long."
"I'll do my best," Aiglamene said quietly, almost gently. "Can you keep your voice to yourself while I touch up those cuts?"
"I can be brave," Gideon said, bracing herself for the inevitable pain.
"You sure can, kid," Aiglamene nodded, giving the little girl a worn and haggard smile. "You sure can."