Work Text:
The marriage between Palamedes Sextus, Master Warden of the Sixth House, and Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House, had been arranged when they were fourteen and sixteen respectively. Harrow had done most of the arranging, forging her parents' hands to politely make overtures to the Sixth on her own behalf. She had realized not long after her parents' deaths that things could not continue in the direction they were headed - the Ninth House rapidly dwindling like the way the great-aunts shrank a little more each year, on their way to a crumbling and arthritic demise. Therefore, she had sat herself down and conducted research on the other houses, as best as she could, and determined that the Sixth House was likely to be the least intolerable to her. The Sixth liked books. The Sixth valued knowledge. The Sixth knew how to keep their mouths shut. That, she decided, was as good as it was likely to get.
(She was distracted enough by the receipt of the unexpected acceptance letter that she didn't notice Gideon making good on her forty-ninth escape attempt, slipping on board the shuttle that had conveyed the message, stowed away and gone before anyone could stop her.)
The correspondence that continued between Harrow and Palamedes for the next several years was at first stilted, more dutiful than anything, but gradually became more engaging as they warmed up to one another. Harrow found that she enjoyed having someone intelligent to talk to. It was something new. Still, they both made it quite clear that their respective interests lay elsewhere. They agreed that, at some point in the nebulous future, a vat-womb might be employed to produce an heir or two. Palamedes spoke of his wish for an "intellectual partnership," and Harrow in her turn made what she hoped were polite enough references to a vow of chastity that she had not, in fact, taken.
(One day, in desperation, she had approached Ortus to ask if there was a subtext to Palamedes' most recent letter that she was not comprehending, anxious that there might be something flirtatious about it. Ortus had read it over with a resigned and mournful expression, and concluded that the young man was excited about something to do with psychometry. "Lady, he's more interested in touching your books than in touching you," Ortus had said, and Harrow had shuddered with relief and embarrassment all at once.)
Although they would primarily reside in the Ninth House, the wedding ceremony took place on the Sixth, at Harrow's insistence. She harboured a lingering fear that if Palamedes saw the dire state of the Ninth House before the marriage was finalized, he would back out of it in horror. She brought with her Ortus as her attendant cavalier, and Sister Glaurica, who would not let Ortus leave the Ninth without going with him, as her unwanted chaperone. It was a meagre party, but she made up some story about ceremonial guardians and hoped that everyone would chalk it up to Ninth eccentricity.
The Sixth House was daunting. Its size and population were far greater than anything Harrow had ever experienced in her seventeen years. Everything seemed to be crowded with people, and constantly in motion, to the point where it almost made her nauseous. She was glad her veil hid her face, so no one could see her staring.
Palamedes was tall and thin and looked like an ambulatory bookmark. Despite having corresponded with one another for three years, neither of them quite seemed to know what to say to the other now that they were face to face (well, face to veil). Finally Palamedes was the first to break the silence. "Ah, shall I take you on a tour of the Library, Reverend Daughter?"
(The dark-haired woman at his side had frowned and elbowed him gently, and he had added, "Or, well, you've had a long trip, maybe you want to rest and freshen up?" but it was clear he was just saying that as an afterthought, to be polite. Still, Sister Glaurica assented hastily to the offer of refreshments, dragging her son along with her - she had originally come from the Eighth, and this must have seemed something like a return to civilization to her.)
"I would like to see it," Harrow agreed. There was a moment of awkwardness when Palamedes tried to offer her his arm, and she stared blankly until he was forced to pretend he had only been stretching and put it down again.
The library on the Ninth was a dusty catacomb where books went to moulder. On the Sixth, by contrast, everything was excruciatingly neat. There was a pressurized air system to keep any speck of dust from finding a home on the volumes, some of which were old enough or expensive enough to be made from real paper, not flimsy. There were necromancers here whose primary task was scanning the shelves for life - that is, insect life, in the form of bookworks or moths or any other unwanted pests. There were scholars who devoted their entire careers to studying the marginalia of unique manuscripts that might once have belonged to a Lyctor. There was more codified, organized knowledge in one place than Harrow had ever imagined.
(There was also a dining hall, crowded with people, which served hot food in a variety and quantity that Harrow had never seen. It made her vaguely envious and queasy all at once.)
"Well," Palamedes said eventually, once he'd run out of wonders to show her, and had walked her back to her temporary quarters. "Now you probably really do want to rest. After all, it's going to be a long day tomorrow." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yes," Harrow agreed. "But... may I ask you something first?"
"Of course."
"Are you going to be bringing some of these books with you to the Ninth?" She tried not to sound greedy, but there was an excitement she couldn't entirely keep out of her voice.
"My personal collection, yes. Copies that can be spared of important volumes, that sort of thing. At least, if it won't be any trouble. If there's any concern about space, let me know so I can prioritize my selections."
"No, it should be fine," Harrow told him. The Ninth had plenty of space, as far as that was concerned.
"I've marked them so we can remember which ones are mine and which are yours," Palamedes assured her. Harrow did not think this would be a major concern, but nodded in agreement. "I've been meaning to ask, what sort of organizational system does the library of the Ninth use?"
Harrow's wince was, once again, fortunately hidden by her veil. "There isn't really a system, as such. It's more of a... well, once you've been there long enough, you get a general feeling for where something might be, based on the size, or the age, or how forbidden the subject matter is..."
Palamedes' grey eyes went wide and for a moment she thought he might pass out, he looked so pale. Maybe he was horrified? About to call off the wedding? Harrow worried her lip until it was raw, wondering if she'd said something grossly offensive without realizing it.
"Oh," he said at last, and rubbed his hands together in something approaching glee. "That's absolutely fascinating. Lady Harrowhark, I can see I'm going to have plenty to keep me busy from now on."
("He wasn't shocked," Camilla told her later. "I know that look, and he was excited. Maybe the blood was rushing away from his head for some reason, but it wasn't shock." In retrospect, Harrow had to agree - this was a librarian, being presented with a huge, disorganized collection of books he'd never seen before. It was the best wedding present she could have possibly given him.)