As though summoned by his implications, the discomfort in my hip and groin flared for a moment. I was so used to living with it that I didn’t view it as an obstacle unless I had to, whereas it always seemed to be one of the first things Sven saw or thought about me. With a start I realized Bastiaan had only inquired about it once. After I told him it was from the pox, he’d let it be.

Was that because it didn’t bother him? Or because he was embarrassed to talk to me about it?

“I’ll be fine, Sven.”

“You’ll slow us down.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?” Surely he wasn’t implying I stay behind. That didn’t align with his constant demand for a wish. Maybe he wondered why I hadn’t healed myself.

Oma had refused to let me use a wish on my ailment because she said people would suspect me far less of being the Wishtress if I looked frail. She was so good at running every excuse through the sieve of fear.

How was I so blind for so long?

And now that I was thinking for myself, I couldn’t use a wish on my bones even if I wanted to. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It felt like erasing part of my story. Part of my strength.

“The people already suspect you’re something special. Some even recognize you from the posters. I can’t always protect you.” He gestured to the now-flattened camp. “These people are relying on me. And I’m . . . well, I’m relying on you.”

Ah, there it was. He wanted the wish. Now. He wanted it to be like last time—me handing him a wish in a vial and kissing him good luck.

Well, this wasn’t last time.

That was a different Myrthe.

“I can’t give you a wish.” Finally. I’d said it. Now to wait . . . for the anger. For the rejection.

A vein pulsed in Sven’s temple. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t.” I banished any remorse into a black barrel at the bottom of my chest. “You want to know why I was sick? It was because of the wish I showed you, Sven. The one that froze the canal.” My words came out sharper. Hard like armor. Or were they weapons?

Get to the part about the curse. Get it over with.

Sven took a sharp breath, as if to deliver a verbal blow, but he clamped his lips shut. Exhaled through his nose, eyes closed. “Okay. You don’t have to explain any more.” He scuffed his shoe against the dead leaves on the forest floor. “But I have a confession.”

“What is it?”

He cocked his head to the side and ducked to meet my eyes. “I had a vision. Several days back, actually . . . and it showed you giving me a wish.”