Cold came through the stone walls and floor of the servant's room. Wind whistled through the unrepaired window and moved the thin blanket on the cot.
My shoulder burned. I slid down the wall and pressed my good hand to the torn flesh, yet blood kept seeping between my fingers. Zane's moonstone was gone, and no healer came.
I was alone. Once that would have terrified me. In that room, it settled my mind.
Cold gathered beneath my ribs. It felt older than the room and far stronger than the winter outside.
The power moved through my veins until it reached my shoulder. My blood slowed. The torn edges of the wound turned pale, and the worst of the pain went numb.
My heartbeat steadied. With the pain quiet, I could think about what still had to be done before midnight.
I touched the puckere
