But real.
“The rite will proceed as Lady Sabine and Prince Lucien have spoken it,” Aeron said. “Record that, Trial Marshal Corvek.”
Corvek’s pen moved.
Legal.
Witnessed.
Commanded by the king.
Ilyra’s expression did not change, but her eyes sharpened.
She had known this was possible.
Now she would use it.
Serast stood very still, and that was worse than rage.
His eyes had already left the chamber and gone to the story he would tell about it.
With Maelor stopped and Serast checked by royal command, Sabine and Lucien spoke the final line together.
Their voices overlapped in High Veyran, the bond carrying the words between them before sound reached stone.
“The blood travels together, not alone. The answer is mutual, not given.”
Then Lucien completed his answer.
“I receive no surrender. I claim no emptied vessel. I answer equal witness with equal burden. My blood does not seal her silence. It stands beside her will.”
Their blood crossed at the center channel.
The submission reservoir closed with a sound like grinding stone.
The chamber trembled.
Then chose.
The pressure released from Sabine’s body.
The channels settled into a pattern she had never seen in any archive diagram.
Not descent.
Not domination.
Flow crossing and returning outward equally.
The basin cleared.
The black water receded.
The cracked stone did not mend, but the chamber accepted the wound.
Hidden names remained visible where plaster had split.
The circlet waiting on the altar stone trembled.
