“I already know about the boy in the dungeon.”

I shook my head. “A different story.” I would get to Runt’s predicament in a moment. But I couldn’t let the bitterness that had begun between us grow into something permanent. She’d wanted a wish from me my entire life. Perhaps my talk with Bastiaan last night allowed my heart to soften.

He’d said that he hadn’t asked me for a wish because he knew I’d give one if I could. I wanted to show Anouk the same courtesy. If she was asking me for a wish, it was because there was no other option for her. I wanted to understand, but first I needed to help her understand.

“I’m cursed.” No reason to deliver the information gently. It wasn’t gentle news. “The day I fell ill was because a woman with a Bane cursed me to . . . to die by my next wish. But”—I dropped to my knees and took Anouk’s soft hand—“if you ask it of me, I’ll give it to you.”

Anouk’s expression was one of shock, then grief. “Myrthe . . . what?”

“I’m cursed! Ruined. I can’t make a wish unless I choose to die.”

“That’s why Oma kept you asleep so long? To keep you from crying until she could come up with a plan?” Anouk joined me in the grass. “Oh, cousin . . . Why didn’t you tell me?”

My chest tightened. “Shame.” I was so tempted to leave it at the curse. To let Anouk believe I was unjustly attacked, but the pressure of guilt pushed from the inside. I needed someone to know. To see how despicable I was.

“I murdered two boys. Her sons.” I said the words so softly they almost dissolved into the damp soil unnoticed.

Anouk sat silent, letting me speak.

I told her everything. How I froze the canal to prove my Talent to Sven. How that resulted in the boys’ deaths. How I’d given Sven my last wish for his journey to the Well. How the curse came not even a full day later.

“I was wrong to refuse you a wish with no explanation. I should have been forthright with you of all people.”

“Oh, Myrthe, you have no need to apologize! What happened with those boys swimming, it was an acciden—”

“No!” I shoved away. “Don’t give me grace!” Already the burn of tears threatened my composure. “Don’t excuse this.” I reached for the ice inside. Called for winter until the beating of my heart slowed from the cold.

My next words came out stiffer than the metal of the frost bells. “I killed children with my Talent. Death should have been my sentence.” Death would have been easier. “And that’s not all. I killed my parents.”

Anouk gave a sharp inhale. There it was—the judgment. The disgust. That had to be what she was thinking.