For a week after his nephew is dispatched at almost too dear a cost, Claudius sits vigil at two different bedsides. There is no antidote under the moon, but he pulls both of his loves back from the brink more times than he can count and has to be reminded to rest to replenish the life force he keeps offering them.

He comes as close as he ever has to praying: he would give up all his magic if he had to, as long as the last of it could keep them alive, and safe, and whole.