She looked nothing like she had in the markt tent today. No longer withered, ragged, and broken. Instead, she stretched so tall her wild hair almost brushed the beams in the ceiling. Spine straight, face clean, and muscles taut with determination.

She was here to take a life.

Her wide eyes fixed on my ankle—on the string of light. A frown broke her murderous face. “Why are you here?”

“I . . . This is my home. Coralythe. What . . . what do you want?” She must have learned I was the Wishtress and not Oma. Was she going to force me to give her more wishes?

Coralythe struck out with a dagger. I flinched too late, but she didn’t cut me. Instead, she smacked the back of her hand against my cheek. The moment our skin connected, the string of light around my ankle disappeared.

“You?” Coralythe breathed.

Then I understood. Coralythe’s wish had led her here. She thought . . .

“You killed my sons?”

I held up my hands. “Of course not!” I grappled for some explanation—something to make sense of all this. How could the wish lead Coralythe here when it was specifically contracted to lead her to her children’s murderer? “There must have been a mistake with the contract.”

Did Oma miswrite it? To punish me somehow? To sabotage me?

Coralythe’s voice sank into an unearthly cold. “The contract can’t be wrong. I read every word.”

“Why would I sell you a wish that would implicate me?” I couldn’t bring myself to be afraid of her, not under the buzz of confusion. “I don’t even know how your boys died.”

“Ice,” Coralythe hissed, her gaze unfocused and turned to a memory. “Last night they were swimming in the canal and then it froze.” Pain pinched the corners of her eyes. “Trapped beneath its surface. Suffocating. I was . . . helpless.”

I stilled. Horror overtook me. No. My time with Sven . . . the wish . . .

Coralythe’s expression hardened. “It was you. I see the understanding in your face. You didn’t even know!”

I stumbled back and my heel kicked the chest of broken glass and wish water. Coralythe noticed the contents and somehow, in her rage and wildness, pieced together scraps of information at an impossible speed. “You’re the Wishtress. You wished that canal frozen! For what? For fun?”

Mute, I could only shake my head.

“How many people were killed because of that wish? My boys. Canal rats. Washerwomen. Sailors. Because of your precious Talent.” Coralythe spat on the floor. “King Vämbat was right to block off that Well from the foolish and ignorant.”

“I-I’m . . .” What could I say? What could I do? “I-I didn’t mean to.” Meaningless words. I’d killed children. To prove my worth to Sven.

Oma was right. I didn’t deserve this Talent. I had no right to hand out wishes or use them for my own desires.