“Your pulse is stable," Lady Arcantha murmured, fingers resting on Vera's wrist. “But your aura's torn. You both should be dead."
Vera blinked up at the flickering lanterns. Her limbs ached. Her head throbbed like a bell tower. “I feel… hollow."
“Good," Arcantha said briskly. “Means the bond severed clean."
Across the chamber, Carlisle sat propped against a wall, face pale, shirt soaked with sweat. His eyes were open but unfocused.
“Why's he not moving?" Vera rasped.
“Because the wine didn't just snap the bond," Arcantha replied, measuring a vial of something luminous. “It also burned the moonstone resonance inside him."
“Will he survive?"
“Depends. Did he drink for freedom, or for you?"
Vera tried to sit up, failed. “Both."
Arcantha gave her a look. “Then he might live. Or he mig
