“I have no lies to tell.” He didn’t expect them to believe him, but it was worth declaring all the same. He was not an enemy of Winterune or the throne—whether it had a king on it or not.

“Your first visit to the council was quite a different story.”

“I was quite a different man then.” Bastiaan didn’t resist Verena when she placed her palm on his shoulder. A Talent Mark was briefly visible beneath her thumb before it pressed against his shirt. Apparently the Talent still worked even if the touch wasn’t skin to skin.

“We are going to ask you a series of questions. It would be in your best interest not to resist them.” Hartmut waited for a nod from Bastiaan, then gestured to Runt. “Who is this boy to you?”

That wasn’t a question he thought he’d be asked. “Runt? He’s my most trusted friend.”

“Friend? This boy?”

Runt stiffened.

“Yes,” Bastiaan said. “Or if you’re unfamiliar with friendship . . . He’s my comrade. Ally. Companion.”

“How did you two meet?”

“I encountered him in a canal when he was four years of age and hired him to sharpen my skates. I liked the boy and offered him room and board.”

“In exchange for what?”

Bastiaan frowned. Could Hartmut and the council not understand compassion? Desire for life? “In exchange for him not freezing to death.”

“I mean, how did he pay off such a debt?”

“It wasn’t a debt. It was a gift.”

Hartmut gripped the arms of his regent chair and seemed to resist an outburst. He glanced at Verena, who shrugged. “And what has his role been with you?”

“He often traveled with me into the Stillness—”

“For how long?” Hartmut interrupted.

“Three or four years, off and on.”

The council muttered among themselves and shuffled papers. “In the Stillness?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know anything of his backstory—before you found him in the canals?”

“I did not.” Bastiaan tried to piece together their curiosity about Runt.

At a nod from Hartmut, Verena left Bastiaan’s side, then put her hand on Runt’s shoulder. Runt jerked away, but following a look from Bastiaan, he allowed Verena to touch him.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Runt.”

“Who were you before you met Bastiaan?”

“I was a canal rat. Do you know what that is, sir?”

Hartmut didn’t deign to respond, but the implication was clear. A wealthy council member with a Talent taking over the throne likely hadn’t spent much time among the commonfolk.

Was Hartmut trying to implicate Runt in King Vämbat’s death? That could be the only reason for these questions. If they kept drilling him, they’d back Runt into a verbal corner and he’d share whatever fate they placed on Bastiaan.

“Enough of these questions. Runt had nothing to do with my interactions with King Vämbat.”