Palamedes stills with his mug of tea halfway to his lips. Call it necromancer arrogance, call it Sixth emotional stuntedness, call it the Master Warden's unique brand of single-minded audacity, but it hadn't even occurred to him that Gideon would react so explosively.

"It was no picnic from my end, either," he says, sotto voice. Pal takes a breath, he sets down his mug, he presses his palms together. "The results weren't guaranteed. There were at least three dozen things that might have gone wrong, and those were only the ones we had the ability to predict." Another pause, another breath. "Gideon, it wasn't like I wanted to blow myself to bits, believe me."