Those gathered were almost too stunned to attend to the constructs who came to get them; eyes that had been bright with excitement, or anticipation, or even in some cases a weird, weary comfort, were now troubled. They were greeted by those limber, reactive skeletons that moved in the manner of kindly in-laws, welcoming strangers to a house they knew was unfamiliar to them but nonetheless wanted to prove comforting. They were led away in twos—barring the Third House trio—and Harrowhark waited next to her cavalier, who was apparently trying his damnedest not to breathe, for a skeleton to cross over to them.

She realised that Ortus was very frightened. This was not unexpected. “Lady, I cannot do this,” he breathed. “I cannot protect you in this way. Monsters are beyond me.”

“The rock has been rolled,” Harrowhark said, and she was relieved by how much she believed it. She was not fearful. She felt dry inside, as though the liquid had all been wrung out. Monsters were never beyond her. There was no abomination she could not give a run for its money in foulness. “You are my cavalier primary. Your job is to stand, to face our foes, and to die when the panniers are empty, but not before.”

This did not comfort him, strangely enough. “You need a blade, and someone with the will to wield it,” he hissed.

“How strange! I have never needed such a person in the past.”

“I would that you had chosen differently.”

Harrowhark was unsettled now, and she had been at peace, so she was cruel: “The choice is beyond me now, Nigenad—unless you can conjure me the spirit of Matthias Nonius, in which case I’ll take on his services if he promises to not speechify.”

Their own First House skeleton, ridiculously girdled in that pure white, had come over to make them both a very respectful bow. A thrill of suspicion was growing in Harrowhark regarding the fluidity of its reactions. Its movement was too free, and when she angled her body in its direction it mirrored her in unconscious response, which was beyond her and therefore beyond any skeleton-raiser of the Nine Houses. But her cavalier primary did not seem to notice. He had fallen into a reverie of his own devising, and when the construct gestured—gestured, who wasted time on ossein instructions for gesture—he turned instead to her, his dark eyes earnest, his painted skull deliquescing.

He cleared his throat—

“No,” said Harrowhark immediately, but it was too late.

“Baleful the black blade struck at the shimmering stuff of the spectral beast, biting deep in its false flesh;

“Shrieking, it flailed with its claws at the pauldrons and casque of the Ninth, yet his heart never faltered or failed him …

“Harrowhark—I don’t understand why you chose me.”

Harrow said, “There was nobody else.”