Runt stepped on top of Kravin’s dead body and planted his fists on his hips. “That’s right! I killed your dungeon master and my blood will kill you, too, if you get in my way!”

The militairen hardly had a moment to process the scene or Runt’s words before the boy bolted through the doorway, inches from their hands, and up the stairs toward the exit.

“Oy!” One militair gave chase. Runt cackled like a wildling and then Coralythe heard him no more.

She picked at the lock to her other wrist, hoping the key worked for both. The militair who had remained behind turned his attention to her. “Still working at that, even with me right here in the doorway?”

“It’s worth a shot.” She shrugged but didn’t lower the key. So close.

He walked into the room and nudged Kravin’s dead body. “Kravin taken down by a canal rat. That wasn’t expected.” He turned to Coralythe and took the key ring from her hand. “I think the kid thought we’d follow him, leaving you to escape.”

“You’d have been wise to do so.”

He fit the correct key into the shackle, turned it, and released her hand. Her legs accepted her full weight for the first time in two days and barely kept her upright. She braced herself against the sticky, stained wall, then rubbed her raw wrists.

“Well done, Coralythe,” the militair said. “King Mattias will be pleased.”

Chapter 25
Bastiaan

Bastiaan was unused to being cornered.

He examined his Talent Mark . . . for the tenth time that day. Depending on the amount of sunlight splashing through the branches, the purple mist appeared lighter. But then he’d look again and it was as dark as ever.

“I’m sorry Anouk could not offer more help.” Myrthe stepped from behind the mare.

He hadn’t even noticed he’d wandered to the horse grazing spot—a spot where he knew Myrthe would be, especially after he received her note about Queen Anouk’s response that morning.

“It’s not her problem to solve, nor yours.” When Myrthe first offered to write the queen, he’d been annoyed. She hadn’t offered a wish. But there must be a reason. Perhaps she had a limited supply. Or maybe her ability to create a wish hadn’t renewed since she last used one.

When she confessed her Talent to him willingly, he saw kindness. When he’d taken her hand, touched her face, she’d become so soft—like he’d gotten a peek past her invisible armor.

“What are you going to do?” Her fingers combed through the mare’s mane, undoing the tangles as though she could undo his predicament.

“Go after him.” No hesitation. “I’ll go to the schloss. Give Mattias what he seeks.”

“Turn yourself in?” she asked, aghast. “How long do you think he’d keep you there?”