Gideon the Ninth (The Locked Tomb, #1)

by Tamsyn Muir

“You wouldn’t know fealty if it—” “Don’t hypothetically shove stuff up my butt again,” said Gideon, “it never does any good.”

“This calls for rigor, Nav.” “Maybe rigor … mortis,” said Gideon, who assumed that puns were funny automatically.

The idea that someone is still here and furious … or that something has been lurking here forever. Maybe it’s that I find the idea comforting … that thousands of years after you’re gone … is when you really live. That your echo is louder than your voice.

“Too many words,” said Gideon confidentially. “How about these: One flesh, one end, bitch.” The Ninth House necromancer flushed nearly black. Gideon tilted her head up and caught her gaze: “Say it, loser.” “One flesh—one end,” Harrow repeated fumblingly, and then could say no more.

“Then we’re all dead, Nav, but let’s bring hell first,” said Harrow.

“Gideon the Ninth, first flower of my House,” she said hoarsely, “you are the greatest cavalier we have ever produced. You are our triumph. The best of all of us. It has been my privilege to be your necromancer.”