“In my defense,” says Palamedes, “a lot of things that happen here have a certain ineffable quality. I don’t always have an explanation.”

But in this case, he can at least give her half an explanation. “I have this memory of you, or at least someone I’m fairly sure was you. We were in this dusty little stairwell, and Camilla was with us, too—she’s my cavalier, the one who knows things about swords—and you had another girl slung over your shoulder. She didn’t like it when I called myself ‘the greatest necromancer of my generation.’ Which, to be fair, was a bit cheeky of me, but I was trying to get a rise out of her.”

“Look, the point is, I called you Ninth. And your name is Nav. The pattern fits.”