Palamedes merely smiles when Harrow offers her half-hearted defense of Ianthe, a smile that lingers when she pointedly holds out a hand for a pen. As it happens, Pal has one tucked behind his ear, which he offers to her without missing a beat.
His smile briefly grows when Harrow grants her approval of his work—the Reverend Daughter never says you’re right lightly, after all—before he grows serious again. He moves to stand behind her so that he can peer over her shoulder at their work. “I will grant that the Princess’ theoretical capabilities far surpassed what I would have guessed, but her ego got in the way of her accomplishment. Shocking, I know.” He purses his lips. “Honestly, what’s more interesting is that the original Lyctors—your elder siblings?—“ he lifts his brows, “made such similar errors.”
Pal’s fingers twitch, aching for a pen of their own. He bends down to retrieve another from his messenger bag, along with a spare notebook, and goes to sit on Harrow’s sofa. “The Lyctorhood theorem has always, at heart, been a question of power.” He smiles briefly, a little darkly—there’s a pun in that statement, and not the funny kind. “How does one produce enough thanergy to fuel a necromancer’s unlimited powers in perpetuity? The Lyctoral well is one solution.” Absently, he begins to sketch a little well—stone base, thatched roof, bucket, and all. “What if, instead, there was a Lyctoral wheel?” Once the well is done, he starts to sketch a little water wheel. “A continual exchange of thanergy between two souls, instead of the continual consumption of one by the other?”
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His smile briefly grows when Harrow grants her approval of his work—the Reverend Daughter never says you’re right lightly, after all—before he grows serious again. He moves to stand behind her so that he can peer over her shoulder at their work. “I will grant that the Princess’ theoretical capabilities far surpassed what I would have guessed, but her ego got in the way of her accomplishment. Shocking, I know.” He purses his lips. “Honestly, what’s more interesting is that the original Lyctors—your elder siblings?—“ he lifts his brows, “made such similar errors.”
Pal’s fingers twitch, aching for a pen of their own. He bends down to retrieve another from his messenger bag, along with a spare notebook, and goes to sit on Harrow’s sofa. “The Lyctorhood theorem has always, at heart, been a question of power.” He smiles briefly, a little darkly—there’s a pun in that statement, and not the funny kind. “How does one produce enough thanergy to fuel a necromancer’s unlimited powers in perpetuity? The Lyctoral well is one solution.” Absently, he begins to sketch a little well—stone base, thatched roof, bucket, and all. “What if, instead, there was a Lyctoral wheel?” Once the well is done, he starts to sketch a little water wheel. “A continual exchange of thanergy between two souls, instead of the continual consumption of one by the other?”