She bowed her head. “Because I want to serve you the way the Talented were meant to—my Bane is yours. My barrels of Nightwell water are yours. All my knowledge is yours—for the betterment of your reign and your kingdom. You deserve faithful subjects and power. I have the ability to give you both.”

She had practiced those words during the long wagon ride back from the Nightwell, after bending and breaking her back loading the water into wide barrels to deliver here to the king. Six wide barrels pregnant with mystery, their exteriors as common as their contents were rare.

She needed this chance—to change not only her future but the future of all those with Banes. And to defeat the Talented once and for all. If he accepted her . . . it would be the start of a new life. And a new power. One where folks wouldn’t wrinkle their noses in disgust or thrust her out of their circles when they learned what she was.

She had to hope such a future could exist.

“We shall see.” He placed a hand on his councilman’s shoulder. “Have the barrels of Nightwell water delivered to my chambers.” The councilman bowed and left.

Then King Mattias turned to Coralythe. “I appreciate your sentiment and your gift. I don’t fully believe in your loyalty. You have your own agenda. No person is truly selfless.”

“I do not claim to be selfless, Your Majesteit. Of course I desire good for myself. But I, too, lost my loved ones to a Talented. My two sons were murdered. Long have I been shunned simply because of my birth.” A shame she had no control over—like Mattias being born as the third son.

She met his eyes and saw understanding. Not kindness, but at least an acknowledgment of their similarities. “I don’t believe you are my enemy, Coralythe.”

She released a pent-up breath.

“Nor do I believe you are my ally. Time will reveal your true motives.” He gave a small nod. “Thank you for your gift.”

She’d done it. He’d accepted. She hadn’t even had to play all her cards—she could tell him about the identity of the Wishtress later when it would serve her best. If the girl was still alive. “It is my honor.”

King Mattias indulged her with a smile, then turned to his generaal. “Throw this woman in the dungeons.”

Chapter 9
Myrthe

First came the sounds. Softer than the kiss of a snowflake on a rosy cheek. Gentle shuffles, the breath of a breeze, a rustle of leaves, bird chatter, pouring water. Sounds of life.

Next came the disorientation.

I drifted up toward consciousness, fragments of knowledge gathering at the edges of my mind, leaving scrambled memories trying to catch up.

I am asleep.

I am waking up.

I am Myrthe.

“Here we go,” someone said from overhead.