"Aiglamene, look away," Gideon mutters. She was never even allowed a knife in her off hand, much less another sword, a whole length sword. These are rapiers, not Camilla's twin knives. Her left hand holds close, the rapier a sharp edge between her and something coming for her. In a burst of movement, Gideon closes twelve feet to her reach and stabs the rapier neatly through a bright red eye.

This isn't like facing Naberius in the training room or constructs in Drearburh. It's the heralds, the fucking space wasps, except these snakes are the color of space, dark voids like shadows on the ground or around the tree trunks or anywhere else they come from. There's more. There's always more. Gideon doesn't want to test her ability to regrow a thumb. Thankfully, she has muscles.

Sticking near Camilla's back, guarding her as much as anything else, Gideon practices her precision in bursts of movements, counters that parry snakes to the side, and an occasional second shishkabob. "What you up to?" Gideon asks, stabbing number six through the top of its mouth to its brain.