The small room housed one long table in the shape of a horseshoe with a high-backed throne chair at the top of the curve. A few people milled about, all men except one: a lone woman among the king’s advisors was draped in flowing shades of purple. Bone-white skin with black hair cascading down her back. She engaged in no mingling nor conversation. Was she as new as he or just so mysterious looking that no one dared approach her?

She stepped to the table and sat to the left of the king.

Mattias finished greeting the other attendees and then approached Bastiaan with a young man at his side. “Welcome to my council, Bastiaan Duur. This is Baron Hartmut, my personal advisor and scholar regarding Talents and Banes.”

“Ah, a man who shares my passions.” Minus the Banes. Bastiaan extended his hand.

Hartmut smirked indulgently and took the proffered hand. “Why the glove?”

“It covers my Talent Mark and keeps me from using it accidentally.”

Hartmut gave a nod. “The king mentioned you were a Talented. I appreciate that you don’t hide it. When did you make the pilgrimage?”

“Many years ago.” His Talent Mark burned with a calling to snap, to stop time. Surprised by the sudden urge, he forced the temptation away.

“It can’t have been that many years ago. You’re no older than two score.”

Technically it was five years, but to Bastiaan it was two lifetimes ago. “I suppose when one fills each day with life, it makes time multiply.” Bastiaan adjusted his glove. “It feels long ago to me.”

“Well said.” Hartmut ran a hand through his light hair and Bastiaan caught the Talent Mark on his temple. He suspected that was Hartmut’s intention.

“Any news regarding the Wishtress?” King Mattias asked as Baron Hartmut took his seat to the right of the king’s chair.

Bastiaan bowed. “I’ve learned of her whereabouts.”

“And where might that be?”

“With the woodsfolk rebels.” Since Mattias was already trying to locate the rebels, this changed very little for him . . . except perhaps incentive.

The meeting bell rang.

“I’m disappointed you haven’t made more progress.” King Mattias moved to his place. Bastiaan waited until all seats were filled and took the last one. “Shall we begin?”

The chattering quieted and faces turned to the young king, some amused, some prepared to listen. How many council sessions had Mattias led thus far? It didn’t seem like all the members took him seriously yet.

“I’ve learned more during these first several weeks as king than I have my entire life as prince. Some of that has come from your advising.” Several members turned smug, but Mattias hadn’t necessarily said it as a positive thing. “Most has come from those willing to risk their reputations and lives to bring me knowledge. To strengthen my hand as king.”

Bastiaan gathered from the frowns that this hadn’t come from council members.