Palamedes watches transfixed as the wolf morphs into a girl—unexpectedly small, surprisingly young-looking. In awe of what he’s witnessed, her nakedness barely registers. “Emperor’s bones,” he murmurs in wonder, gaze flickering only briefly to the helpful skeleton.

Then he’s hurrying forward, taking off the canvas jacket he’s wearing to drape it around her shoulders, not as much for modesty’s sake as because of the damp chill that permeates the underground tunnels.