I had never met a Talented or a Baned before. Coralythe seemed to recoil from the idea of her ability to curse. She said her Bane had been forced upon her as a child. What mother would do that?

Were Coralythe’s boys murdered by someone she’d cursed? Now that time had passed and emotions had settled, I wished I’d asked more questions. I didn’t like that Oma and I had argued. More than argued—fallen out. I might have given up my chance to finally learn about my own Talent and how to use it properly. I regretted some of my words, but I didn’t regret standing up to Oma’s passivity toward Coralythe’s plight.

Or the fact that Oma viewed me as merchandise.

I had grown up with a bottle to my cheek more often than an arm around my shoulders when I cried. I didn’t know this was abnormal until Anouk—the one person who comforted instead of used me. It was the brightest day of my life when she entered it five years ago. I’d told her almost immediately that I was the Wishtress, and instead of using me like Oma warned she would, Anouk helped me work through all the questions that seemed to have no answers.

The Wishtress was the only Talented born with a Talent. All others had to drink from the Well. Why was I given this Talent? Why was I chosen? I wanted to use my Talent right. I wanted to swear fealty to my country and see how I could make life better—for canal rats, for women like Coralythe, for bighearted people like Anouk.

Well, maybe not fealty to the Murder Prince.

I needed to go to the source for answers. The Well of Talents.

Sven wouldn’t take me. Oma definitely would not take me. Perhaps it was time to travel there on my own.

I pushed myself up from the floor and glanced outside. The moon still hung low—Oma would not be back from town for another turn of the hour. With resolution I marched across the living space to her room.

I halted on the threshold. I’d never been in Oma’s room before. Never been permitted.

Today was a day of eliminating nevers.

I pushed the door open. I surveyed the room. A tidy bed in a carved frame. A single nightstand with a half-burned candle and a pile of used matches. On the floor against the wall with a window were stacks of books and papers. Halfway to them to write her a note, I spied a carved trunk tucked beneath the foot of the bed and secured with a thick padlock.

The last time I’d seen her open it was the day my Talent revealed itself. The day I killed my parents.