Gideon the Ninth

Gideon the Ninth Plot Summary

Introduction

# The Ninth House Trials: Bone, Blood, and Reluctant Devotion Gideon Nav had made eighty-six attempts to escape the Ninth House, and the eighty-seventh should have been different. The shuttle waited on the landing pad, freedom finally within reach after eighteen years of captivity in the bone-choked halls of Drearburh. But Harrowhark Nonagesimus had other plans. When an imperial summons arrived calling for the Ninth House heir and her cavalier to compete in trials that could grant immortality as a Lyctor, Gideon found herself trapped in a bargain she never wanted to make. The Emperor's invitation promised everything Gideon had ever dreamed of—escape from the tomb-world, a commission in the Cohort, and enough prize money to disappear forever. All she had to do was serve as Harrow's sword in the ancient fortress of Canaan House, where eight necromancers would compete for the ultimate prize. What awaited them in those crumbling halls was far more dangerous than either anticipated: deadly trials, ancient mysteries, and an enemy who had been waiting ten thousand years for revenge against the King Undying himself.

Chapter 1: The Failed Escape: Chains Forged in Necessity

The morning of her eighty-seventh escape attempt, Gideon Nav moved through the ritual of departure with practiced precision. She packed her contraband magazines, her stolen rations, and most importantly, her two-handed sword. The security cuff came off with a pilfered key, arranged on her pillow like a farewell gift. After eighteen years in the House of the Ninth, she was finally leaving. The shuttle field stretched before her in the wan light filtering through the drillshaft. For two precious hours, she sat in that empty space, eating grey porridge and watching the skeleton servants tend their snow leeks in the agricultural tiers below. The First Bell clanged its discordant summons to morning prayers, but for once, Gideon didn't have to answer. Then came the inevitable confrontation. Harrowhark Nonagesimus emerged from the shadows like a living curse, her pale face painted with the traditional skull of her House. Behind her shuffled Crux, the ancient marshal whose hatred for Gideon burned like a dying star. "Going somewhere, Griddle?" Harrow's voice carried eighteen years of aristocratic disdain. What followed was negotiation disguised as combat. The landing field erupted in a tide of animated skeletons as Harrow revealed her trap—she had spent the night burying constructs throughout the area, turning the entire space into a necromantic minefield. Gideon's sword carved through bone and sinew, but there were too many of them. When Harrow's boot pressed against her throat, the taste of defeat was bitter as tomb-dust. But victory brought Harrow no satisfaction. As Gideon lay bleeding in the dirt, her nemesis revealed the deeper trap—Ortus, the Ninth House's actual cavalier, had fled with his mother, stealing the shuttle and leaving them both stranded. The imperial summons was real, signed in blood and legally binding. Gideon would serve as Harrow's cavalier in the Emperor's trials, or she would die forgotten in the darkness of Drearburh. The choice, such as it was, had already been made.

Chapter 2: Canaan House Beckons: Eight Houses, One Prize

Canaan House rose from wine-dark waters like a monument to faded glory, its white towers crumbling into the sea while salt-spray ate at its foundations. Once it had been beautiful, a palace worthy of the Undying Emperor's servants. Now it was a corpse of a building, magnificent in its decay, housing representatives from eight Great Houses who had come to compete for immortality. The gathering in the great atrium felt more like a wake than a celebration. Teacher, their ancient host, welcomed them with manic enthusiasm while revealing nothing about the trials ahead. His rainbow vestments seemed garish against the bone-carved walls, and his only instruction was deceptively simple: never open a locked door without permission. Beyond that, they were on their own, expected to divine the path to Lyctorhood through intuition and ancient knowledge. Gideon catalogued their competition with a warrior's eye. The Second House arrived in military precision—Captain Judith Deuteros and Lieutenant Marta Dyas, Cohort officers whose every movement spoke of battlefield experience. The Third House brought spectacle in golden Coronabeth and her pale twin Ianthe, flanked by their preening cavalier Naberius. Most unsettling were the Fourth House representatives, barely teenagers whose eyes already held the hollow stare of those who had seen too much war. The Fifth House's Magnus Quinn offered terrible jokes and warm handshakes while his wife Abigail clutched historical texts about the facility. Palamedes Sextus of the Sixth adjusted his spectacles and watched everything with calculating grey eyes, his deadly cavalier Camilla a shadow at his shoulder. Dulcinea Septimus of the Seventh coughed blood into delicate handkerchiefs, too ill to stand without support from her massive cavalier Protesilaus. Most chilling was the Eighth House's Silas Octakiseron, a pale boy-priest whose uncle bore the soul-drained stare of the perpetually siphoned. As storm clouds gathered over the ancient fortress, Gideon felt the weight of watching eyes. The skeleton servants moved with unnatural awareness, and doors that had been open now stood mysteriously locked. In the facility's depths, something stirred—something that had been waiting for their arrival.

Chapter 3: Ancient Trials Unveiled: Necromantic Challenges in the Deep

While Gideon endured the social isolation of Canaan House, Harrowhark had been busy mapping its secrets. The Reverend Daughter emerged from days of solitary exploration with architectural drawings and a theory that would change everything. Beneath the decaying mansion lay a facility of impossible age, filled with laboratories and testing chambers that predated the Resurrection itself. The descent into sterile corridors felt like entering a tomb. Here, in rooms marked with clinical precision, ancient necromancers had conducted experiments that pushed the boundaries of death itself. Harrow had already lost over a hundred skeletons to the facility's guardians, each attempt teaching her more about the trials while bringing her closer to exhaustion. Their first joint challenge in Laboratory Two nearly ended in disaster. The construct that emerged from the testing chamber was a nightmare of fused bone and sinew, its bladed limbs moving with inhuman speed. Gideon's rapier could barely scratch its surface while Harrow struggled to maintain control from the observation room, her consciousness bleeding into her cavalier's mind in ways that left them both reeling. The breakthrough came when Gideon closed one eye and saw the thanergetic overlay that guided the construct's movements. Through her vision, Harrow could perceive the weak points in the creature's necromantic matrix, the threads that needed cutting to unravel its existence. The battle became a dance of death, cavalier and necromancer united in purpose if not in trust. Victory came at a price neither had anticipated. As the construct dissolved into component atoms, both women collapsed from the strain of their psychic connection. Harrow's nose bled from the effort while Gideon found herself changed in ways she couldn't comprehend. They had passed the first trial, but in doing so had opened a door that could never be closed. The construct left behind a crimson key, and with it, access to secrets that would reshape their understanding of the Emperor's true purpose.

Chapter 4: Death Walks Among Us: Murder in the House of Trials

Magnus Quinn's terrible jokes fell silent forever in the facility's depths. Gideon found him and his wife Abigail at the bottom of the access ladder, their bodies twisted together in death, limbs broken and faces destroyed beyond recognition. The sight burned itself into her memory—two kind people who had offered friendship, reduced to cooling meat and congealing blood. Six necromancers tried to raise their spirits, but the dead would not return. Even Silas Octakiseron's soul-siphoning powers managed only to animate Abigail's corpse for moments before Protesilaus ended the grotesque display with a punch that left the boy-priest unconscious. Teacher wept as he ordered the bodies removed, speaking of monsters in the depths and ancient dangers stirring. The deaths shattered the Houses' fragile civility. Captain Deuteros demanded military intervention while the teenage necromancers wept openly for their mentors. Suspicion poisoned every interaction as the survivors realized the trial's true nature—this was not just a test of knowledge, but of survival against something that hunted in the dark. The Fourth House children were next to fall. Isaac Tettares and Jeannemary Chatur had ventured into the facility's depths seeking the missing Protesilaus. Instead, they found a massive bone construct that impaled Isaac with dozens of spears while his cavalier watched in horror. Gideon arrived too late to save the boy, managing only to drag the traumatized Jeannemary to safety in one of the sealed studies. But even locked doors offered no protection. Jeannemary died in her sleep, pinned to the bed by bone spears that materialized from nowhere. Above her corpse, someone had written "Sweet Dreams" in her blood. The message was clear—whatever hunted them could strike anywhere, pass through any barrier, kill with surgical precision. The ancient facility had spawned something beyond necromantic theory, a predator that fed on death and grew stronger with each murder.

Chapter 5: Masks Fall Away: The Enemy's True Face Revealed

The box hidden in Harrow's wardrobe contained Protesilaus's severed head, perfectly preserved and staring with dead eyes. Gideon's world tilted as the implications crashed over her. Harrow had known. Had lied. Had let them all search for a man she knew was dead, his body animated through necromancy so advanced it defied comprehension. In the Sixth House quarters, surrounded by Palamedes's research notes, Gideon confessed her discovery. The head showed signs of careful preservation, necromantic techniques applied to prevent decay. But why hide it? Why the elaborate deception? Palamedes examined the grisly trophy with clinical detachment, noting the precise cut that had separated head from body, the lack of defensive wounds, the expression of surprise frozen on dead features. The revelation recontextualized everything. The mysterious deaths, the missing keys, the creature in the depths—all were connected by a single thread. Someone among the survivors was not what they seemed, had been playing a longer game from the beginning, manipulating events and eliminating threats with surgical precision. The truth emerged like poison from an infected wound when the woman they had known as Dulcinea Septimus shed her disguise. Cytherea the First, seventh saint to serve the King Undying, stood revealed in all her terrible glory. The dying consumptive had been a mask worn by one of the Emperor's original Lyctors, an immortal who had spent ten thousand years planning her revenge. "I loved him once," she told them as her true form emerged, wounds healing as she fed on the ambient death energy. "We all loved him. But love isn't enough when you're asked to burn your cavalier's soul for eternity." The real Dulcinea had died before ever reaching Canaan House, her body disposed of while Cytherea wore her face like a costume. The massive bone construct that had killed Isaac was her creation, powered by accumulated death and controlled by a Lyctor's inexhaustible will.

Chapter 6: Blood and Sacrifice: The Price of Lyctoral Ascension

The truth about Lyctorhood emerged in blood and betrayal when Ianthe Tridentarius revealed her true nature. While her golden sister Corona had played necromancer, Ianthe had been the real power, concealing her abilities behind a facade of weakness. When the pressure mounted and survival demanded sacrifice, she made her choice with surgical precision. Naberius Tern died with his necromancer's sword through his heart, but death was only the beginning. Ianthe consumed his soul, absorbing his memories, his skills, his very essence into herself. She became something new—a Lyctor, immortal and terrible, powered by the eternal burning of her cavalier's spirit within her own. Her eyes flickered between pale violet and Naberius's brown as she demonstrated abilities that defied natural law. Silas Octakiseron's response was swift and merciless. The Eighth House necromancer branded Ianthe a heretic and ordered his cavalier to destroy her. But Colum Asht was no match for a newly-made Lyctor, even one still learning to control her stolen power. The battle was brief and brutal—Ianthe fought with Naberius's perfect technique while her necromancy made her nearly invulnerable. The fight's end came when ancient spirits, drawn by the necromantic energies, possessed Colum's body and turned him into a puppet of writhing darkness. His eyes became mouths filled with teeth, his tongue extended like a serpent, and his strength became inhuman. Silas's attempts to reclaim his cavalier failed, and in desperation, he poured all his power into one final siphoning attempt. It wasn't enough. The possessed Colum drove his sword through Silas's throat while Ianthe watched with clinical interest. She ended the abomination's existence with casual efficiency, snapping the possessed cavalier's neck and leaving uncle and nephew dead in each other's arms. The Third House had won their immortality, but the cost was becoming clear—Lyctorhood demanded the ultimate sacrifice from those who served, burning their cavaliers' souls as fuel for powers that should never have existed.

Chapter 7: One Flesh, One End: Gideon's Ultimate Choice

The final battle raged across Canaan House's collapsing structure as immortal powers tore through stone and steel like paper. Cytherea the First fought with ten thousand years of experience behind every strike, her massive bone construct filling entire chambers with writhing death. Ianthe Tridentarius matched her with stolen skill and desperate cunning, but the ancient Lyctor was dying from Palamedes's final curse, her body consumed by aggressive cancers, and she had just enough strength left to complete her vengeance. Camilla Hect fought like a woman possessed, her twin blades seeking gaps in Cytherea's defenses, but mortal steel couldn't pierce Lyctoral flesh. Harrowhark's constructs bought them precious time, her perpetual bone techniques trapping the massive servant, but the effort was killing her. Blood poured from every pore as she held their bone shelter together against the construct's relentless assault. "We're going to die here," Harrow admitted, her painted skull-face streaked with crimson. "But I can break us through to the sea—you might survive the fall." It was a desperate plan, doomed to failure, but it was all they had left. The ancient fortress groaned around them as Cytherea's power tore it apart, seeking the necromancer who dared stand against her. Gideon looked at her tormentor—really looked at her for the first time. Harrowhark Nonagesimus, heir to the Locked Tomb, daughter of genocide, the most insufferable person in the galaxy. She was also brilliant, brave, and utterly devoted to keeping Gideon alive. The realization hit like a physical blow: Harrow had been protecting her all along, in her own twisted way. "One flesh, one end," Gideon said, and threw herself onto the iron spikes of the garden railing. The pain was extraordinary but brief. As her blood soaked into Canaan House's ancient soil, she felt Harrow's necromancy reach for her, desperate to preserve what could be saved. Her soul, her memories, her essence—all of it flowing into the one person who had never stopped fighting for her. The transformation was immediate and terrible. Harrowhark became something new, powered by Gideon's sacrifice and guided by her warrior's instincts. Together, they faced Cytherea with sword and sorcery united, love making them stronger than the ancient Lyctor had expected. The final strike came with Gideon's sword through Cytherea's heart, ending ten thousand years of pain and hatred.

Summary

Harrowhark Nonagesimus awoke aboard an Imperial flagship, alone in ways she had never imagined possible. Gideon's voice echoed in her mind, but it was fading, becoming memory rather than presence. The Emperor himself sat beside her bed—a surprisingly ordinary man with extraordinary eyes, offering explanations that felt inadequate in the face of such loss. The Empire was dying, he told her, threatened by enemies that even death couldn't stop. He needed new Lyctors, saints who understood the true cost of their power. Harrow accepted his offer not from ambition but from emptiness. There was nowhere else to go, nothing else to be. The Ninth House would endure, but she could never truly return home. She was something new now, something that belonged neither to the living nor the dead. Gideon Nav had given her life to create this monster, and now that monster would serve the King Undying until the stars went out. The universe stretched before them, vast and hostile, but in the quiet moments between battles, she would remember a cavalier with golden eyes and a two-handed sword, who had chosen love over survival and made them both immortal in the process.

About Author

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Tamsyn Muir

Muir reframes the boundaries of speculative fiction by interweaving complex themes of identity, mortality, and loyalty in her works. Her narrative style uniquely blends science fiction, fantasy, and horror, which can be seen in the Locked Tomb series, beginning with "Gideon the Ninth". Tamsyn Muir’s writing is distinguished by its sharp wit and inventive world-building, crafting stories that engage deeply with the macabre while maintaining a humorous undertone. This unique blend allows readers to explore the intricate dance between life and death, challenging conventional genre norms and expanding the horizons of contemporary storytelling.\n\nFor readers who appreciate multifaceted characters and intricate plots, Muir's works offer a rich tapestry of emotional depth and dark humor. Her books, such as "Harrow the Ninth" and the novellas like "The Mysterious Study of Doctor Sex", showcase her ability to create worlds that are both haunting and captivating. Muir's bio reveals that her success is not limited to novels; her short fiction has also earned nominations for prestigious awards, highlighting her influence in the speculative fiction community. Her achievements in literature make her a pivotal figure for readers and writers alike, offering insights into the seamless integration of complex themes and genres.\n\nMuir's impact on the literary world is further evidenced by the recognition her works have garnered, including nominations for the Nebula and Shirley Jackson Awards. As a New Zealander residing in Oxford, she bridges cultural and geographical divides, bringing a distinct voice to the global stage. Her contributions have resonated with a wide audience, making her a bestselling author whose works continue to captivate and inspire both critics and fans. By challenging genre boundaries and exploring profound themes, Muir’s literary achievements enrich the landscape of modern speculative fiction.

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