Palamedes exhales through his teeth without looking up from the page where he sketches. The matter of Gideon’s divine origins lurks at the back of his mind, of course. How could it not? One of your dearest friends is a child of God is a lot to take in. To his own shame, his first thought when Gideon had shared news had been, so that’s why you’re so difficult to kill, though he’d had enough tact to avoid saying that aloud. After his initial surprise, he had been left with an ache in his heart that lingers, even now.

Yet for all the horrors she has seen, many at the hands of the Emperor, Palamedes almost wonders if, by dint of His absence, He treated Gideon better than he did his spiritual children.

He keeps those thoughts to himself. Whatever form his relationship with Harrow has transformed into, it isn’t one where discussing Gideon’s strange paternity will ever feel natural.

“Fuck if I know,” says Palamedes, who swears more than anyone suspects, but is particularly inclined to swear on a day like today. “Though if I were to hypothesize, I would say that it has something to go with John Gaius’ pathological desire for control.” Pal presses his lips together, expression darkening. “What an absolute shithead.”