He spent a moment bending it to his will. A ticktock later, he had a workable key that wiggled neatly in the chamber’s main door. He unlocked it, peeked out into the hall, then closed the door again and relocked it.

Brilliant child. My, she was fond of him.

“Quite impressive.” She stepped from the shadows.

He spun on his heel, the makeshift key disappearing from his hand as though it never existed in the first place. Defensive. On guard. But then recognition widened his gaze and the tension left him.

“Coralythe!” He rushed two steps toward her, then stopped. Frowned. “What are you doing here?” He glanced around, as though piecing together that she was here of her own free will—maybe even on an assignment.

He’d seen her at the kleinschloss—at Mattias’s side—but they’d never been able to speak. She never got to explain herself.

“You lied to me in that dungeon,” he said.

“You freed me.” She needed to tread carefully, tell as few lies as possible. “Thanks to you, I did escape, but . . . I returned. The king apologized for his treatment of me.”

“He’s not king anymore.”

“So I’ve heard.” She directed the conversation to more comfortable waters. “How do you feel about your new role as heir?”

He’d yet to fully relax in her presence. Even now, he surveyed her with a suspicious squint. “You gave me a Bane. You made everyone have Banes.”

Not true. People now had to choose a Bane over a Talent. The wisest would do so. Only the fools would settle for Talents.

“I gave you the power to escape.” It hadn’t been her assignment from the king—to gift Runt a Bane had been a personal decision. She’d wanted to help him. Wanted to save him. Wanted to teach him how such a power could be freeing.

“I did what I had to so you could live—so I could live. Maybe I did not make the best choices, but it was all I could do in the moment.”

He nodded and she praised the Nightwell for this small victory. Runt, at least, seemed to understand that adults could make mistakes—could betray trust—and still have good intentions.

“I didn’t like my Bane,” he said. “It almost killed Bastiaan.”

“It will take practi—”

“I have a Talent now. My Bane is dead!” The joy on his face was a fierce contrast to the rush of anger that gripped her.