Ah, so it was a matter of the heart. Runt felt like he’d betrayed their friendship somehow. “That’s okay. I’ve . . . I’ve taken advantage of your trust in many ways.” Like with the Well of Talents. He should have taken Runt long ago. Given him a chance at the Trials, even if it claimed his life—that was Runt’s choice.

“I started to think you’d never take me to get a Talent. And she said she could help. We were alone in there and had to save each other. It was the only way to escape. She said Banes are like Talents.”

“Banes are nothing like Talents.” Bastiaan tried to deliver the statement gently—he tried to withhold saying it altogether, but it went against his nature to allow such a comparison. Banes were shortcuts. People who sought out a Bane didn’t have the patience or appreciation for a Talent. They sought power with little thought of serving the people with it. They were driven by selfishness.

Bastiaan knew this because he’d once considered getting one. Before he had a Talent, when he wanted to free himself and Mother from the merchant.

“I think Coralythe was in the dungeon because of her Bane.” Runt’s voice took on a gentle tone. He’d befriended this woman—Coralythe. A servant of the king and of the Nightwell.

How had she gone from being on the council one moment to being in the dungeon the next? One answer made sense. “Did Coralythe escape too?”

“I undid her shackles and led the militairen away from her. I’m sure she escaped.”

Bastiaan closed his eyes. The entire situation in the dungeon had been a setup. When he opened his eyes again, Runt was staring at him. “You know who she is, I can tell.”

“Coralythe. Yes.” He didn’t want to tell Runt she was a plant by the crown. It would crush him. But he’d kept enough from Runt. Too much. He owed him openness, even if it pained them both. “She’s on King Mattias’s council. Runt, she . . . she’s loyal to the king.”

Runt’s small face fought Bastiaan’s words. He shook his head. “No. They tortured her, Bastiaan.” His voice broke. “She helped me escape—”

“So you could lead the scout to me.”

“No! I never told her where I was going.”

Bastiaan hated this growing argument. “Where else would you go?”

“You don’t know her,” Runt accused, his voice rising.

“She was in the council meeting the day you were captured.”

“I was captured because you left me!” Runt screamed, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes.

Bastiaan reeled, struck. He’d meant to address this matter much sooner. Instead he’d gotten caught up in a senseless argument.

“Runt.” Mother slipped into the room and gave Bastiaan a warning look.