We’d been protected in a bubble of chaos and stopped time and surrendered death with the Well. Now time had resumed. The chaos had settled. A new world existed, but I was still seen as the Wishtress, Bastiaan was still the accused assassin of King Vämbat, and Runt was a sympathizer. There was no reason to expect lenience, not even after what we’d done to stop the Nightwell.

Especially after what we’d done to stop the Nightwell. We’d ruined Mattias’s entire plan. We’d given the world Talents alongside the Banes. King Mattias couldn’t control people unless they let him.

“I need to get Anouk.” The last I’d seen of my cousin involved shackles and a disturbing display of King Mattias’s power. But I couldn’t ask Bastiaan to endanger himself any longer. “I’ll meet you—”

“I’ll help you.” He ran a hand down his face. “It’s my fault she’s even here.”

Runt planted his fists on his hips. “And I will protect us all!”

A few yards away, Sven lifted himself off the ground, dripping and bleeding. Not two yards from him lay Hedy. Her skin was mottled and bruised as though her very veins were tied in knots inside her body. For all I knew they could have been.

She must have run out of the kleinschloss during the Battle of the Waters.

Sven crawled over to her and took her hand. Pressed a finger to her neck. She didn’t move. Didn’t awaken. Even her Bane Mark had turned black.

She was dead.

He moaned and gripped her to his chest. A Talent Mark lined his temple, but it appeared dull and sleepy. On the opposite temple purple mist wove among his ratted hair. Strong and active. Angry.

His eyes found mine and burned through me with fury.

I didn’t stick around long enough to learn what his Bane was. Bastiaan, Runt, and I sprinted toward the entrance to the kleinschloss.

“Myrthe!” Sven gave chase. “Get over here and fix this!”

I stumbled over the threshold. Runt paused at the door and swept his finger through the dust at its base. Then he folded his arms and waited.

Sven barreled into his invisible barrier. He fell back with a burst of blood on his forehead and a smashed nose. That was the second time for him. The first had been from my headbutt at the Well.

Runt smirked. “Stay down, little bird. There are more glass panes to come.”

We continued into the hall. Runt’s barrier would keep Sven out for only so long. There were other entrances. Other doors. Sven wanted a wish. To escape. To undo.

I wasn’t the Wishtress anymore. And I knew long before Sven became a power-hungry maniac that regular Myrthe wasn’t enough for him. I doubted anyone ever would be.