She bowed her head and let herself wander back down the path of history she had so long ignored. “The Nightwell is a lake near the Well of Talents. Should you choose to submerge yourself in its waters, you’ll reemerge with what is called a Bane—a great power.”

“Like the Well of Talents!”

“No,” she snapped. “The Well of Talents gives out Talents recklessly. Then people with Talents murder children and kings alike.” She forced herself to take a calming breath. “The Well of Talents is a tiny spring, and its power is nothing compared to the Nightwell’s.”

“You’ve been to it?” Runt asked, awed. “The Well of Talents?”

Why couldn’t he see she was talking about something greater? He was too caught up in wonder at the Well of Talents, like those decrepit advisors on Mattias’s council. “Focus, Runt.”

Never mind that she hadn’t been to the Well of Talents. The Nightwell had told her plenty about it. “I was birthed in the waters of the Nightwell. And I was gifted a Bane that allowed me to curse someone or give them a Bane.”

“Curse?”

“Not a pleasant word, is it?” She gave a wry smile. “It’s a complicated gift.”

“I’ve always wanted a Talent. Bastiaan told me again and again he’d take me to the Well of Talents. He must not know about the Nightwell.”

“You’d be surprised at how many people do know about the Nightwell, but they keep it secret. More people have Banes than Talents in Fairhoven.” A door slammed out of view and Coralythe’s attention snapped back to her purpose. “Enough history, Runt. I can give you a Bane. It might be able to save you, but I won’t know what type of Bane can be woven until I start to give it. Do you want it?”

“You can do that . . . even if I don’t swim in the water?”

She was an ambassador of the Nightwell. She was the water. “Yes.”

“It’s not the same thing as a curse?”

“No, that’s a different power.”

“But what about you?” he cried.

“It doesn’t work on me.” Not that she wanted another Bane anyway. She had felt like an outcast in her life long enough. Now, at least, the king was revealing how Banes were superior to Talents. She was no longer less than. Eventually, everyone would have a Bane whether they wanted it or not.

“My very own Talent,” he breathed, hope shining fully on his face for the first time.

Fine. Let him think it was a Talent. As long as it saved him, she cared not about his ignorance. She caught a few notes of Kravin’s raucous singing in the distance. He was likely gathering his torture tools.