“Good.” She didn’t want to take him there. The dungeon was dark enough. “Why are you here?” She already knew the answer—she’d seen Bastiaan Duur’s flight from the schloss after the council meeting. Heard King Mattias send his militairen after his servant. But she wanted to hear Runt’s point of view.

“I’m here until my master retrieves me.” Runt’s words were more hollow than his emaciated chest cavity.

“Does he know you’re here?” She twisted her left wrist in the shackle, trying to relieve the pinch already creating a welt on her skin.

“He . . . left me.” The statement was almost a question, as though he couldn’t believe his own words.

“Intentionally?”

Runt didn’t respond. Didn’t move. The burn of protectiveness rose in Coralythe, followed swiftly by a sharp sting of grief. No. She’d moved past this—redirected the pain into a forge of revenge. She must remember her new goals. New role. New life that she would achieve no matter who stood in her way.

But would it cause that much harm to allow her heart to care for the boy? He had no one else but the master who’d abandoned him. She knew what it was like to be abandoned.

“I’ve been left before. By someone I thought loved me. I learned that I could manage on my own.”

Runt looked over at her. “He’ll come back.”

“My husband has been gone five years now.” A blessed but cruel day when he finally abandoned her—showed his true colors.

“I meant . . . Bastiaan. He’ll come back for me.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“He will!” Tears dropped from his eyes. “You don’t know him! And when he comes for me, I’ll ask him to free you too.”

Part of her hoped Bastiaan would return for the boy. But everyone eventually had to live through betrayal. Disappointment. It was the cruel way of the world. And it was Runt’s turn to learn. He’d be stronger for it. Someday.

“Bastiaan must have kept many promises to earn such loyalty.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His head hung. Lower. Lower. Until he shook it ever so slightly.

“Tears already?” Kravin reentered the room, and Coralythe cursed him to the depths of the murkiest bog. Though not a true curse like she’d given the Wishtress. She could do that only once per death of a loved one. Since both of her sons had died, she had one curse left.

Her future relied on using this curse strategically.

“You’ve hardly been in here two days and you look ready to give up the ghost.” Kravin chuckled as he poked Runt in the ribs with the butt of a short, corded whip. “Shall we break you today?”

Runt’s small body trembled.

“Wait another day, Kravin,” Coralythe said. “Runt and I have only just met.”