Silly Writings

I think he either writes very grounded stories about people doing a particular job and fucking about it in a way that makes it very clear that is his day job, due to all of the details about the field. Like, you go in for the smut, but you come out learning a lot about the methodologies of medical research.

Alternatively, he writes very indulgent historical romance erotic, usually about knights and princesses or something like that. (They aren’t as detailed as the other ones, but they are definitely more historically accurate than the average. Historians are some of his biggest fans because they are some of the only historical romances eroticas they can read without tearing their hair out due to too many inaccuracies. They aren’t 100% accurate but they avoid all the most annoying inaccuracies.)

U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet.

Ahh so many. Honestly, I have never written a like, serious griddlehark focused fic, and I feel like I should try at some point. I also would like to write Jodybeth at some point (beyond the tiny silly drabble).

I would also love to write some Pyrrha/G1deon/Wake maybe? Maybe some Pyrrha/everyone fics haha. Some obscure people as Campal thirds might be fun. Like, idk, Babs, or Pash, or someone totally random like John (How? Why? Who knows?). I just think that throwing random people into their dynamic is amusing.

Oh, I almost forgot my crack pairing of Pash/Palamedes! It is the stupidest ship concept that occurred because I think that he would be the person she would hate having a crush on the most (a zombie NERD???). I don’t want them to do anything in this theoretical fic, I just want her to pine and suffer.

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love?

V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you?

God, I love all the comments I have gotten and sometimes just go through and reread them for various fics. Any one where someone says that they felt emotionally affected by my fic, or felt particularly seen by a detail I included, always makes me so full of emotion.

I have also had people tell me privately that they have processed emotions via my fics, and that was like, okay, writing is worth it for that.

They were learning bones and Palamedes made a motion he did often. He reached up towards his face absentmindedly and pushed one finger towards the middle of his nose, before stopping and putting his hand down quickly. It was like he expected something to be there but it wasn’t.

Now that she was almost four months old and wasn’t such a baby, they would often answer her questions, so she decided to ask him about it.

“Why do you do that?” She made the gesture he did.

He looked surprised and he smiled patiently, like he always did when she had asked something slightly foolish. It didn’t mean that he thought she was stupid, just that he wanted to help her understand. “When I was in my body I needed glasses but Cam doesn’t need them. They would always slide down my nose and so I sometimes push them up even if they aren’t actually there, because it’s a habit.”

Nona looked at him for a second, tilting her head, “What do you mean, your body had glasses?”

He frowned. “Remember the nice old lady at the shop the other day, with the thing on her face, covering her eyes? Those are glasses. Some people's eyes have problems seeing and glasses help us be able to see.”

Nona pouted. "I'm not a baby, I know what glasses are.” She wasn’t going to admit that she hadn’t known they were for making people see better. “But how did you used to need them but not any more?”

He was confused by her question. “Well, my original body needed them, but Camilla doesn’t need them. She has always had great eyesight.”

Nona stared at him, wide eyed. “You used to have your own body?”

This was a revelation. Camilla and Palamedes had always lived in the same body, as long as she had known them. The idea that Palamedes used to exist separately was so strange!

“What was your body like?” She asked, desperately curious.

He laughed. “I was tall, taller than Cam, and nearly as skinny as you.”

“Were you taller than Pyrrha?” Pyrrha was so big and tall and strong.

“I think I was. It was likely fairly close, but based on comparing her to Cam, I would say I probably would win by a few centimeters.” He was smug about this for some reason. “I should actually ask her, because I am curious now.”

Nona thought back to what he said. “But you were skinny like me? Did you fall over when it was windy?”

“Well, we didn’t have wind back where we were from, but yes, I did fall over a lot.”

Nona was always glad to distract from the bones, especially when she could learn more about the people she loved. “What did your face look like?”

Palamedes looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It was bony, and my nose was a little bigger. It went out to about here.” He held his hand a little bit in front of his nose. “I had glasses, like we established, and I always struggled with pimples around the nose bridge. My hair was shorter than Camilla’s, and I could never keep it neat.” He rubbed his chin and the fine hairs on his upper lip. “I grew more hair on my face than Cam, like Pyrrha does, but it honestly wasn’t that much more. It was patchy though, and I didn’t like how it looked when I tried to grow it out, so I shaved it. But I would always forget and Cam would complain that it was irritating and scratchy.”

“Were you beautiful, like Cam?” She asked, earnestly. She was trying to imagine him, but she was having trouble.

A surprised laugh burst out of him. “I thought I was decent looking on a good day, but no, nowhere near as beautiful as Cam.”

Disappointing, but very few people were even close to as lovely to look at as Cam. “Is that why you decided to be in Cam’s body? Because it was more beautiful?”

His smile vanished. “No, it’s not what I would have chosen under normal circumstances.”

Nona frowned. “Why wouldn’t you want to be in Cam’s body? Cam’s body is wonderful.”

“It is. But being in her body means I can’t hug her or touch her and I miss that desperately.” Palamedes looked like he was about to cry.

Nona had seen him cry before but he always tried to hide it and it made Nona feel bad when he cried and made her want to cry. She threw her arms around him, hugging him. “Don’t worry Palamedes! I will give Cam hugs for you and tell her that you love her very much.”

Judith hands Coronabeth the box, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. The box is wrapped carefully but inexpertly with deep red wrapping paper and a gold ribbon.

”Oh Jody! For me?” Coronabeth exclaims.

Judith nods, still not looking at her. “I wished to give you a gift, Princess.”

Coronabeth laughs. “What is the occasion, my dear Jody?”

Judith looks pained. “It—it’s just a present! No reason!”

Moving into her line of vision, Coronabeth pries further. “So this gift has nothing to do with a certain holiday today?”

“I have to go.” Judith turns and almost manages to get away before she is stopped by a soft hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t you want to see my face when I open your present?” She asks sweetly.

Judith doesn’t say anything, but allows herself to be turned around so she is facing Coronabeth’s smiling face.

“I’m so excited to see what you got me,” Coronabeth says as she unties the ribbon. She tears into the wrapping paper with her long, painted nails and Judith can only watch.

Inside is an unmarked box, and Coronabeth gasps when she opens it. “Oh, Jody, you didn’t!”

“I apologize if it is inappropriate—“ Coronabeth waves her hand to dismiss the apology.

“It’s lovely!” She insists. She reaches inside the box to stroke the human heart in the box. “Oh, darling, it’s warm. Is it—? Oh, yes, it’s still beating! How romantic!”

Judith blushes. “The Crown Princess of Ida deserves better than overly commercialized drivel.”

“Cam? Are you certain you can manage by yourself?” Palamedes calls through the bathroom door. “It sounds like you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice is strained and he makes a decision.

“You’re not. I am coming in, okay?” He opens the door before she has a chance to respond.

Camilla is sitting on the edge of the bathtub with her back to the door and her feet in the water. She is not a regular user of the small bathtub in their bathroom. Normally she would take a sonic but the vibrations interfere with the healing process. The loose shirt she was wearing is still on, untucked and unbuttoned, with the sling still on. She starts to turn towards him, but grimaces and stops. “I said I’m fine.”

He sighs. “Let me help you.” He puts his hands gently on her good shoulder. “Please.”

She doesn’t say anything and he thinks she is going to refuse again, but she tilts her head backwards so she is looking up at him. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He examines her injured shoulder. “First let's get you undressed.”

He removes her sling carefully, watching her posture for signs of pain that she won’t vocalize. When it is off, he gently guides her arm down by her side. “Okay?”

She nods and he focuses on the next task. Her shirt. He reminds himself that he is helping her, and there is nothing untoward about him removing her shirt. He has seen her naked before. This is no big deal but he makes sure to avert his eyes as he slides the shirt off her broad shoulders anyways.

“I’ll wash your back and your hair. Does that work? And anywhere else you can’t reach.” He says as he guides her down into the water.

“Thank you.” She is blushing, and he isn't sure if it's because she is embarrassed by her vulnerability or if it is because his hands are on her naked waist.

The bath goes surprisingly smoothly. Camilla is able to wash her front with her good hand and when it comes time to wash her back, he gently runs the cloth over her injured shoulder and down along her spine. There is an intimacy to this act that gives him a thrill. He is her hands, helping her do what she is unable to do. How many times had she acted as an extension of his body? Now he is able to return the favor.

He pours the water over her back, watching as it washes away the soap, running down the broad expanse of muscles and smooth skin. The splashes of the water sound impossibly loud in the silence of the room. Neither of them speak. There is nothing to say beyond the words of love he is whispering with his hands.

The shampoo—formulated for straight, medium-coarse hair, unlike his that was for finer, wavier hair—smells like rosemary. It is a familiar scent, a scent he associates with being near her, ever since they changed the formula when they were 14, but is not one he had smelled in such high concentration.

He works it through her wet hair, his fingers massaging her scalp. She makes a small contented noise, a low, sweet hum. He carefully lathers it through all of her hair, making sure to not get any in her eyes when he gathers her fringe.

She tilts her head back so he can rinse out the shampoo, her long neck a lovely arch. He braces his hand on her back as the water runs over her hair, her skin hot under his palm. She is soft, vulnerable, almost small, as she puts her trust in him.

When he is done conditioning and rinsing her hair, he helps her stand. They both know that she doesn’t need his help drying herself off, but neither complain as he pats down her wet skin with the towel, the texture of the towel rough compared to her soft, warm skin. She lets him slide her underwear up her legs and he helps her into an over-large shirt to sleep in so carefully that she doesn’t even wince.

Palamedes looks at her then—clean and dressed for bed, with her hair wrapped in a towel—and he feels dizzy with the intensity of his feelings. He does the only thing he can do—he steps forward and gently presses his lips against her forehead.

When he pulls away, he smiles down at her.

She smiles back up at him. “Thank you.”

Camilla was 7 years old and she was alone.

She wasn’t really alone, not really. She was in a classroom full of children listening to the teacher point to various bones on one of the skeleton servitors.

But she felt alone. The kids were mostly all older than her by a couple of years and she didn’t know any of them yet. And, most importantly, none of them were her best friend.

Palamedes had done even better than she had on last week’s placement exam and tested out of Primary schooling all together. As of today he was attending courses with the actual big kids, preparing for their proper Scholar training. He was in classes with a bunch of thirteen and fourteen year olds instead of with her.

She had always been okay when he had gone to the other classroom for necromancy lessons. That was only for a little bit every day. The big kid classrooms were entirely on the other side of the Basic Ed sector and Palamedes had said that he didn’t think that they even had play breaks. Without play breaks, how would she be able to get him to stop studying until he had a headache? He would have a big headache and then he would cry and that would be so embarrassing around the big kids. Then the big kids won’t take him seriously!

She wasn’t paying attention to the teacher any more, she was just thinking about how Palamedes needed her. He was so clumsy! What if he fell down? Would any of the big kids notice? He was so much smaller than them! What if they trampled him? What if her best friend got crushed to death because she wasn’t there to help him up when he tripped?

When the teacher finally called for a break, Camilla immediately signed herself out to go to the bathroom and headed out of the Primary suite. She was going to find him and make sure he was okay.

The corridors were crowded but no one paid any attention to a little girl walking confidently towards the Advanced Psychometry classrooms. She had his schedule with her, because he had already memorized it, so she knew where he would be right now. Getting to the classroom he was in was not difficult, but she wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do when she got there.

The first thing she was going to do was to make sure there weren’t any medical adepts around. If there were, and he was hurt, then she was going to insist that they let her hold his hand, like he did when she broke her arm last year.

There were no medical adepts outside of the classroom. She stared at the closed door. She would need to figure out a way to get his attention. Maybe she could pretend someone had an urgent message for him? But that would–

While she was standing there, the door opened and Palamedes–her tiny, bony best friend–slipped out.

“Cam?” He asked, tilting his head inquisitively. “What are you doing here?”

Suddenly her face burned with embarrassment. He looked perfectly fine. He didn’t look like he was crying, or had a headache, or was injured in any way. She had been worried for no reason.

“I-I-I was worried about you,” she mumbled, looking at her feet.

Protesilaus can see Dulcinea out the kitchen window as he cleans the dishes from breakfast. She is in her chair in the back garden, her portable writing desk on her lap–probably writing to those Sixth House friends of hers. He can't see her face due to her large brimmed hat, shielding her from the harsh rays of Dominicus, but she seems happy.

He smiles as he begins drying the plates. She has been recovering wonderfully after her latest batch of treatments. It had been rather frightening for a while, and he is still feeling a bit unnerved when she wasn’t in his sight.

He has known as long as he has known her—since their bonding ceremony when she was twelve, right after the first signs of the cancer had been found—that their time together would be limited. Becoming a cavalier primary to an heir of the ducal family was the greatest honor one could have in his profession, and he had accepted it eagerly.

He hadn’t thought much about the person he would be swearing himself to until he saw that little girl, so small and frail, with eyebrows furrowed in frustration. He couldn't help but think of his son when he looked at her. Alestus had just turned five and had only recently started showing signs of aptitude, which was causing Mia a lot of worry, especially since she had been pregnant with Jocelyn at the time. Neither of them had many adepts in their family, so they were worried about potential health issues as he grew. He is ashamed to say that when he saw Dulcinea for the first time, his first thought was ‘at least he will be healthier than her’.

His mentor had told him not to get attached. She had been the cavalier to Dulcinea’s aunt for only three years before the girl died at age 17, and she told him that she didn’t expect his adept to last much longer. It was easier not to get attached.

But during the ceremony, after being told that there was yet another step to go through, she made a face of such expressive, childlike exasperation that he nearly laughed. She was a child after all.

Afterwards, it didn’t take long for him to feel protective in the same way that he did towards Alestus and the newborn Jocelyn. He knows he is supposed to be more distant, to care for her as a cavalier and not as a father, but if he wasn’t going to, who was?

To her family—her uncle, one of the few in her family spared the cancer—she is simply another stop in their goal to create the most beautiful necromancer. They harvested her eggs shortly after her diagnosis and left her to her slow, lovely death. They don’t care about her as a person, don’t care that she is clever, and funny, and kind to children. They don’t care that she is a lonely child, angry and frightened at the prospect of a short, painful life. Is a child’s fear and pain really beautiful?

“The tea is ready.” Mia says when he finishes drying the dishes, holding out the cup and saucer. “Bring it out to Dulcie, will you?”

He gives her a quick kiss as he takes the tea cup from her.

Dulcinea is still writing the letter when he steps into the garden. He appreciates those kids from the Sixth so much, for bringing Dulcinea sorely needed friendship, and for the therapies the boy has developed to ease her symptoms.

“Tea, again?” Dulcinea complains.

He chuckles, familiar with this routine. “If you manage to convince your friend that wine is more beneficial than tea, then we can reevaluate. But until then, it's tea.”

She rolls her eyes and groans dramatically. “I suppose I will endure the tea.”

He flicks her hat and she giggles.

“So I just put the wet sheet on my face?” The dead girl who was sometimes called Gideon and sometimes called Kiriona was skeptical.

“Yes, it's not that hard.” Ianthe sounded only slightly exasperated. She demonstrated, holding the sheet over her face. The eye and mouth holes looked disconcerting, like Ianthe had flayed the face off of a person made of cloth. Knowing her, that was part of the appeal.

They were in Ianthe’s bedroom on the Cohort flagship, having a ‘slumber party’, as Ianthe called it. So far it had involved Ianthe demanding a truly obscene number of pillows be brought to the room and creating a comfortable nest on the large bed. Gideon’s—Kiriona’s hair was pushed out of her face by a soft headband and Ianthe declared it was time to finally address her ‘moisturization problem’.

Kiriona had always thought that her face was too oily, but when she said that, Ianthe had given her a look that made her feel like an idiot, so she stopped protesting.

“Just lay it on and smooth it over your face like this.” Ianthe said, oddly eager. She was uncharacteristically enthusiastic about this whole thing.

Gid—Kiriona couldn’t help but laugh at Ianthe’s mask-covered face. “You look ridiculous.”

To her surprise, Ianthe smiled. “You’re so stupid.” For once there was no bite in the words, only a wistful sort of affection. Kiriona’s heart felt warm. She could get used to nice Ianthe.

She put the cold, slimy cloth against her face. It smelled floral, which made the whole experience more pleasant.

“No, no.” Ianthe said, grabbing her wrist as she tried to smooth out the mask. “Like this.” Ianthe’s cold finger—a flesh one—ran along Kiriona's jaw and under her eyes, smoothing the cloth. It felt nice to be touched like this, even if it was Ianthe. Her dead skin wasn’t as sensitive as it should be, but it still felt good.

“Thanks.” She mumbled as Ianthe took her hands away.

“Corona always wanted me to put the mask on her.” Ianthe said by way of explanation.

Oh. It should have been obvious. That was why Ianthe seemed different. She was a replacement for her precious sister.

Her conflicted emotions churned in her stomach. She didn’t like Ianthe but she had been happy that Ianthe had wanted to spend time with her. Knowing she was just a replacement should have made her feel worse, but the idea that Ianthe had considered her to be a good enough candidate to replace her sister was gratifying. Even if Ianthe didn’t want her around for herself, she still wanted her around in some capacity.

“Why did you two even need to do this?” She asked as Ianthe laid against the mass of pillows, her eyes closed.

“Hmm?” She asked, not opening her eyes.

“Couldn’t you just…” She waved a hand. “Flesh it up to make your skin softer?”

Ianthe’s eyes opened. “‘Flesh it up’?”

If Kiriona could, she would blush. “Yeah. Why use the masks? Unless there’s necromancy in them.” Maybe they were made of flayed skin.

Ianthe rolled her eyes. “Your simple mind astounds me.” Once again, the words were said more gently than their contents would imply. “It’s not about the skin, not really. Well, in the case of you, you need all the help you can get. I don’t think necromancy alone could solve your break outs.”

Kiriona frowned, but Ianthe continued before she could protest the likely accurate statement.

“It’s about the relaxation. You put the mask on, close your eyes, and relax.” She demonstrated by laying back down on the pillows. “So fucking relax, okay?”

Kiriona felt silly as she lay back down. She had the strangest feeling like she wasn’t doing it right. “Like this?”

“Do you really need my help to figure out how to lay down and close your eyes? Is that what you’re asking me right now?” Her eyebrow raised and moved the top of the eyeholes of the mask up, making the expression look more exaggerated.

Maybe not being able to blush was a good thing. She closed her eyes and breathed in.

This was kind of nice. The mask smelled good, and it had stopped feeling so slimy and cold. It felt wet, but pleasantly so. It felt indulgent. She was starting to see the point.

She wondered if she would like it. She could use some relaxation after all. Maybe Kiriona could—

She shook her head. Nope, not thinking about that.

“This was a good idea,” she said, to distract herself from her thoughts. She was laying in a comfortable bed with a girl—because despite her flaws, Ianthe was a girl and Kiriona did like that about her—experiencing luxury for the first time in her life. She should focus on that.

“Lady Trace’s eyes were sparkling green emeralds and her lips rubies. ‘My dear, what a pleasant surprise to see you here,’ she enunciated in melodious tones. Lucina’s breath had been stolen from her lungs by the lovely visage in front of her. ‘My lady, you startled me.’ Lady Trace’s eye were as green as a delicate Rhodian tea—“

”Wait, were they green like emeralds or green like tea?” Camilla cut in. “Those are very different greens.”

Palamedes laughed and turned away from the book in front of him. “No no, they are literally emeralds that happen to be the color of green tea.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “She has literal emeralds and rubies embedded on her face. Keep up Cam!”

Camilla chuckled. “I have heard strange things about the Third.” She kicked her legs behind her. They were both laying on the bed on their stomachs, taking turns reading this monstrosity of a novel.

He rolled his eyes. “May I return to this very well written book?”

“Of course,” Camilla said flatly. “It has such a well plotted out story, after all. I can’t wait to find out which of the beautiful suitors our plucky protagonist will choose.”

Palamedes made a show of clearing his throat before speaking again. “As green as delicate Rhodian tea, full of clever schemes. But she could see kindness and honesty there as well. The dark-haired noblewoman’s verdurous orbs spoke of an insecurity that drove her schemes. There was desire there as well.”

”Wow, her eyes have a lot of things in them. Maybe she should see someone about that.”

”Hush you.” He continued, barely containing his giggle. “The desire in Lucina matched that of the thin necromancer. They gazed into each other's eyes—weren’t they just doing that already?— and Lady Trace took Lucina’s hand in her own. ‘You shouldn’t wander so much. You never know who might take advantage.’ Lucina’s heart skipped a beat—“

”Someone get this girl to a doctor.” Camilla added, adding a mark to a column in the notebook in front of her. The column was labeled ‘heartbeat skips’ and there were dozens of marks.

“Yes, this tachycardia is getting concerning. Lady Trace leaned down until Lucina could feel her breath. Her lips looked so soft—odd for rubies to be soft.” Camilla laughed and Palamedes continued, his smile wide. “Lucina was sick of being a good girl and following the rules. She threw caution to the wind and pressed her lips against the green-eyed lady. As soon as their lips touched, Lady Trace took over, pulling Lucina tight against her, opening her mouth as if she meant to devour the smaller woman.”

Palamedes faltered slightly and he glanced at Camilla out of the corner of his eye. She was looking down at her notebook. “Their tongues battled for dominance, sliding past each other in an intricate dance. Lucina m-moaned into Lady Trace’s mouth and could feel hands twisting in her loose hair. After what felt like a thousand years, they pulled apart, gasping. But they didn’t go far, as Lady Trace began to kiss down Lucina’s n-neck.”

He could feel his face getting hot but he wasn’t sure why. It was just another silly part of this nonsensical novel. Maybe he was just surprised that there was a kiss this passionate. He had thought that this novel wasn’t pornographic, but he wasn’t entirely sure now. He imagined reading a love scene out loud to Camilla and his flush grew hotter.

It would be suspicious if he stopped now. “Um, okay. ‘I won’t let any silly traditions get between us. We belong together,’ Lady Trace whispered into her ear. She bit—oh. Um, she bit down on Lucina’s neck a-and—“

A beep sounded from Camilla’s clockwork and Palamedes almost jumped in surprise.

“Lunch.” Camilla stood up, turning away from him. “It’s time to eat lunch.”

Palamedes closed the book. “Yes. Food.”

It started the night after Palamedes officially became Master Warden. It was their first night in the Master Warden’s quarters and they were in awe of the luxury. There was so much space and Palamedes’ bed had two pillows. There were so many extra blankets and interesting pieces of furniture—they had a couch and two chairs! A private dinner table and a small coffee table by the couch! All for them! What did two people even need with that much furniture?—that they did what any kids would do after achieving something they worked hard on and also being unsupervised in a space all to themselves. They built a blanket fort.

The construction was basic—just a blanket thrown over the dining table and a nest of pillows underneath—but it served its purpose. They giggled and talked about all of their plans and silly ideas until they fell asleep, curled around each other.

After that, their days were filled with meetings and paperwork and trying to get people to take Palamedes seriously, and there was little time for childish things like blanket forts.

But on the anniversary of their first night, Palamedes came back to the room to see Camilla stripping the blankets off of the beds.

“Cam? What are you doing?” He asked as she tossed the pillows into a pile.

“We’re building a blanket fort,” Camilla said as if it were obvious.

And so it became a yearly tradition. It became something they anticipated and planned for, stocking up on snacks in the days prior. The architecture got more complicated over the years, adding more furniture, couch cushions, even books to hold things in place. Collapses were common as more ambitious designs failed, interrupting their conversations and forcing them to fight their way out of a mess of blankets, laughing and mocking each other the whole while.

When they were alone under the blankets, insulated from the outside world and responsibilities, they didn’t need to be “the Master Warden and his Hand, leaders of the Sixth House”. They could just be “Cam and Pal, best friends”. The Master Warden and his Hand were too busy to joke around, too mature to whine and complain, too serious to imagine ridiculous hypotheticals, and they definitely weren’t supposed to exchange giggly, tentative kisses as they lay in each other’s arms.

(An alternate version of Cam and Gideon’s first meeting if Gideon somehow managed to be even gayer)

The cavalier from the Sixth fought like no one Gideon had ever seen. It was a marvel to watch. A distracting marvel.

Gideon was watching the way the gray-clad girl’s hair moved as she fought, whipping around in a way that Gideon would find difficult to manage, when all of a sudden her rapier was out of her hand.

The other girl moved closer and closer until Gideon’s back was pressed into the wall. Suddenly, there was cold steel against her throat as the Sixth cavalier held a knife to her neck, face mere inches away from Gideons. The hand with the gauntlet was pinned to the wall by her head.

Gideon was sure she could get away without too much trouble. This girl was smaller than her, and likely trained for speed over raw strength. She could break out of the hold and maybe even get back to her sword.

Or she could, if it wasn’t the fact that this was a situation out of her fantasies. Having a body pressed so close to her that she could feel the warmth, having a face so close that she could feel heavy breath tickling her cheek.

It was a very nice face to be so close to, Gideon observed. Smooth, light brown skin, a large nose with a downward tilt, a strong jaw. Her lips—wide, soft looking, a prominent upper lip—were set in a firm line and her intense eyes—slightly hooded, the color of dusty earth, lined by thick dark eyelashes—glared at Gideon.

When she spoke, it was lower and darker than it had sounded when she was talking to her necromancer. “Why were you following us?”

Gideon desperately wanted to say something suave. Hoping to get a glimpse of your sweet face, baby. Was that suave? That was something the characters from her magazines might say but she felt like it might not be received well under these circumstances.

She was saved by the voice of the necromancer. “Camilla. Let her go.”

Suddenly Gideon was free and the girl—Camilla—was back by her necromancer’s side before Gideon could catch her breath.

Warden, if it is really you, tell me what the working title of my thesis was.

Camilla places a pen and the paper with these words on the table next to the skeletal hand. Harrowhark had said that the Warden was inside the hand and she had worked out some basic communication with it, but she needs to know for sure. She needs to know it was him.

The way the hand holds the pen is achingly familiar, but she tries not to react until it finishes writing.

‘Reasons the Warden needs to exercise’

She smiles, a deceptively small one for the emotions that she is feeling. The weight that had been pressing down on her for months finally lets up and she can breathe properly for the first time since he died. He is in there. He isn’t completely gone.

The hand—Palamades!—continues writing.

I don’t dispute your findings, but I do think the applications are less wide than you argued. Specifically as they related to me.

She has never been so glad to hear an old argument. Her thesis had involved analyzing fifty years of data on health outcomes for necromancers based on fitness level, and an early draft had taken the form of a persuasive essay arguing why he should let her develop a workout routine for him. Efforts had been unsuccessful.

She knows she should be trying to discuss her situation with Blood of Eden, or to figure out next steps to get him into a body so she can hug him again. But that can come later. Now, she needs to just talk to him.

Hmm, you didn't work out. Now look at you.

Palamedes taps a skeletal finger on the table and she can imagine him—whole and undamaged—in front of her. He would laugh his beautiful laugh, full of enthusiasm and good humor. He would tease her back, poking fun at each other until they were both grinning and giggling.

You’ll have to teach me some hand exercises.

She laughs out loud—just an involuntary sudden exhale out of her nose, but unmistakably a laugh. It might be the first time she has laughed since that horrible day.