They are in terrible trouble, of course; but she knows what Gideon means. "No," she says. "There will be--disapproval. Obstacles. Not as great as two necromancers of different Houses marrying, but perhaps comparable."

"Yet they cannot actually stop us. And if I am a Lyctor--" She shrugs, dropping her hand to her knee.

"But I am irritated that anyone should think it wrong, even if we have the power to ignore them. Others do not. It is a pernicious doctrine and I will not accept being a mere polite exception." That mark puckers between her brows.

There is something deeply, unbeautifully Harrowhark about this; the stubborn self-righteousness and ambition and prideful all-or-nothing brinkmanship.