“…I realized she was there.” Palamedes’ expression lights up like the sun. “Fuck, I’m good. And you,” he gestures at the Reverend Daughter. “Harrowhark Nonagesimus, forget being the greatest necromancer of a generation, if you’d had access to the resources of the Sixth—hell, even the Third or the Fifth—you’d be the greatest necromancer in recorded history.” He claps his heads together. “Don’t get me wrong, what you did to your brain was barbaric, but theorizing that partitioning off the memory of Gideon would also partition her soul was genius. Insane, but genius.”

He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirttail. “You’ve probably ascertained that I finally spoke to Gideon.”