Chapter Text
Kiriona made herself show up to breakfast, even though she wasn’t hungry and suspected she never would be again. It was possible that Ianthe could change this somehow. She wasn’t eager to ask God about it. To be fair, she wasn’t eager to ask Ianthe to root around her insides, because she trusted that tall glass of skank far less than she could throw her, but desperate times, etc.
God was so happy to see her he stood up, and the rapier he’d had in his lap clattered to the floor.
“That’s the surprise ruined,” he said good naturedly and handed it to her. “Now, don’t you be sharp with me, young lady,” he added with a wink. Kiriona was torn between chucking and stabbing him in the gut, and decided she would take the middle ground by ignoring the pun completely. Ianthe was also at the table, picking at a plate of pancakes with decided disinterest.
Kiriona sat down, incredibly aware of her body as it hit the chair and hating every minute. Nothing felt right. That morning, when she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she’d wanted very badly to take the sheet with her down to breakfast, which on some level was such a Harrowhark thought it hurt. She couldn’t keep thinking about Nonagesimus, that much was clear. Not if she wanted to be John’s royal heir. No, better to buddy up to Ianthe, for lack of better options. Not that the Third twin wouldn’t stab her in the back first moment she got, but at least her wretched pale face was a familiar one. And if that they would be able to figure out where her errant hagette had gone after dropping her like hot garbage on the side of the road, well, all the better.
Kiriona stabbed at a few pancakes with her fork, just to feel better. It wasn’t as if she had any reason to feel unhappy for Nonagesimus missing in suspicious circumstances. Damn, she should be happy that she didn’t have to see her stupid face. This, of course, did not make her feel any better. It only made her feel worse, in a hot gushing sort of way she felt was probably visible to any measly infant. God, of course, was none the wiser. Ianthe, who could probably smell misery like a prey animal, narrowed her eyes at her from across the table, because of course she did.
After breakfast, Kiriona marched back into her rooms. The rapier was a welcome weight by her side, and she’d only gotten through breakfast by thinking about practicing. Her form could use some work, she knew. She raised the rapier over her head. It was nothing, now. It was easier than breathing had used to be. She did every drill Aiglamene had taught her. Nothing happened. No sweat, no ache of muscle. Nothing.
In frustration, she changed into the drills she’d seen Babs do once at Canaan house. She’d envied his technique, the way he’d held the rapier. It comforted her a little to find that she still couldn’t hold it with quite the same rapier, but she knew that it didn’t really matter. When she lunged, she was inhumanly fast. If she faced off Naberius Tern, he would be dead in seconds no matter his form.
At that moment, Ianthe walked through the door. Kiriona completed the motion, a complicated kind of arm wave thingy which in a previous body would have made her muscles scream. Then she turned to face the Lyctor, who was staring at her in a slack faced kind of way which suggested she belonged in a padded room.
“Ianthe?” Kiriona asked, and as she watched she could see Ianthe’s pale eyes shift in color ever so slightly. Well, that couldn’t be good. From her own personal experience, that was usually fucking awful. But Ianthe ignored her. Her hands were twitching, as if towards her rapier. For a moment, Kiriona could see the ghost of Babs in her posture, in the way her body was suddenly wound perfectly tight.
Ianthe’s eyes fell on Kiriona’s chest. She had taken off the stupid jacket, and had instead buttoned up another shirt almost nearly to her neck, which she did not like, but did not like the hole in her chest even more. She was itching all over from Ianthe’s gaze. She could feel how wrong everything was, and hated it. This wasn’t her body, not anymore. She wanted that gaping hole filled.
Ianthe’s golden fingers tapped against the side of her mouth. This, Kiriona had noticed, was the part of her it seemed she liked most. Kiriona had a vague memory of looking out through Harrow’s eyes, of seeing Ianthe much closer up than she had ever wanted to.
“Please,” Kiriona said, because she couldn’t stand those splintering eyes a moment longer. “I'll bet you're looking for allies at the moment. God likes me right now, and he probably won't for much longer. I can help you. Just help me get rid of this.”
“Can't,” Ianthe said brusquely. “You’re God’s perfect construct, remember?”
“Try,” Kiriona begged, and Ianthe’s purple eyes shifted blue, and back to purple.She stepped closer, and to Kiriona’s surprise, placed a hand on her collarbone clinically.
“Let me see,” she said, and began to unbutton Kiriona’s shirt. She had an unmoored expression, as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was. Kiriona didn’t move. She let Ianthe undo the buttons and trace a golden skeletal finger over the gnashing teeth in her chest. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like the body she was allowing the wretched Third twin to touch was her own.
“I'm sorry,” Ianthe said, and seemed to mean it. “I'm the best necromancer in my generation, but even I can't out-necromancy God.”
“Must mean you're not the best,” Kiriona countered. “Harrow could've done it.” She’d only said it to hurt Ianthe, but another hot, pathetic emotion overcame her.
“Be that as it may,” Ianthe said coolly, “she's not a Lyctor anymore, if she's even alive.”
Kiriona hated her all over again. Ianthe’s golden hand, which she had gotten from Harrowhark, still rested gently on the teeth at the center of her chest, as if she had forgotten it was there. Kiriona flinched away, pulling her shirt closed. There was nothing more to be said. Once again, obedience had won out, and she had heeded the voice that called to her. She could’ve been in the River right now, if it wasn’t for her pathetic eagerness to please.
“Whatever.” Kiriona Gaia said. She was done with all this. All these big, messy emotions were not for her. Tomorrow, she would go train in a room that had no mirrors. She’d find something that needed blowing up. She’d be the attack dog God wanted her to be. Maybe that would feel good. “Get out of my room, Tridentarius.”
“With pleasure,” Ianthe replied. As she turned to go, she had lost that taut energy, that powerful stance. She was just a necromancer again, all bony arms and legs. Kiriona wrapped herself back in the sheet and screwed up her eyes. The hole in her chest gaped, made the rest of her feel emptied out, as if she was missing more than her heart. God’s sole remaining Lyctor left the room, leaving behind the saddest girl in the whole entire world.