“I’m sorry I can’t give you a wish.” She said can’t. As though something were blocking her. But her Talent Mark shone perfectly, filled with magic. Ready to give a wish. He had so many questions.

Something—the potential for something sweet and blossoming—had been broken between them. And it didn’t matter . . . because he was leaving and she was staying.

He’d failed Runt.

He’d failed his country.

He’d failed Vämbat.

But this wouldn’t be the end. For a moment he allowed himself to dream of a hopeful ending to all this—somehow he’d get Runt free and gain King Mattias’s trust. He’d gain Myrthe’s trust and she’d give him a wish, which he would use to become a schloss advisor. He’d help make the Well accessible to all. He’d destroy the Nightwell. Myrthe would thaw the Vier. There would be no more rebels in the forest, no more fear of the Talented, and no more paranoia running the kingdom.

While it felt backhanded to imagine Myrthe in such a way, she was the Wishtress—this was part of her purpose. He hoped she’d start seeing it that way in time to make a difference.

In another lifetime he could have helped her with that.

Someone hollered from the central camp area. Myrthe inclined her head. “That sounds like Sven.”

Bastiaan should leave. Let Myrthe and those following Sven go ahead with their plans. He should have already headed for the schloss, but it felt like giving up.

“Where’s Bastiaan?” Sven’s shout tumbled down the hill.

Bastiaan strode toward the sound, Myrthe hot on his heels, until Sven came into view. The other people in camp scrambled to douse fires and gather belongings. Bastiaan lifted an arm to catch Sven’s attention. “What’s going—?”

“Your boy’s leading schloss militairen here.” Sven stumbled to a halt inches from Bastiaan’s face. “He betrayed us!”

Bastiaan pulled up short. “Runt would never betray you.”

“Then how do you explain what I saw?”

“Maybe your visions aren’t always correct.” Bastiaan tried to calm his defensiveness. Sven was this camp’s leader. He was right to be concerned. “Tell me what you saw.”

“He’s in the plains. Not far from here. He entered and then exited my vision. A few moments later I saw a militair.”

“Only one? A scout then.” Judging by Sven’s vision, Runt was unaware of the militair. Which was saying something because the boy could practically hear the whisper of shadows. How did he not know he was being followed? If Runt knew, he never would have come to the forest.

But how did he get out of the schloss dungeon?

Bastiaan bolted back down the hill toward Sterk.

“I hope you’re buying us some time to get out of here!” Sven yelled after him.