The schloss would be foolish to think it had succeeded in killing Bastiaan. The scout never returned—that should be alert enough. King Mattias was no fool. He wouldn’t be satisfied without a dead or shackled body. He’d released Runt to show his power. His control. His cunning.

But schloss militairen hadn’t come. This increased Bastiaan’s tension.

King Mattias knew Bastiaan had killed his father. He now saw Bastiaan as an enemy of the worst kind. The only way he could have rectified the relationship was through a wish. Now even that opportunity was lost.

“You’ve been moping for two days.” Mother stood in the doorway. “And don’t tell me it’s because of Runt’s injury.”

“I don’t need a heart-to-heart,” he growled, grabbing books from a messy pile on the ground. If nothing else, they busied his hands.

“How about a head-to-head? Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He slammed three books on top of another stack. “I don’t need to.”

“I need you to,” she barked.

He looked up. Her arms were folded and both shoulders brushed the frame of the narrow doorway. She seemed as though she wouldn’t move from that spot or let him pass until he acquiesced.

“You don’t like to talk. You don’t open up. I understand that about you, Bastiaan. But I also understand it’s a choice. And when something is eating you from the inside, the way to rid yourself of it is to get it out. I’m your mother. Despite not having a Talent, I have wisdom. You’d be a fool not to seek it.”

Sometimes she reminded him of King Vämbat. A force to be reckoned with. A leader firm and stalwart. If women had been allowed to rule Winterune, she’d have made a brilliant queen. Of course, she’d refuse the position, which made her all the more brilliant.

But that didn’t make him want to talk. Still, she was his mother, and despite the lifetimes he’d lived, he still sometimes felt like a new man sprouting from the soil of youth.

“This is about Myrthe,” she said.

“She’s the Wishtress.” His stomach twisted with the information. Again. “But she hoards her wishes. She wouldn’t even use one to save Runt.” He waited for Mother’s face to mirror his own horror and fury.

It wasn’t there.

Her lips quirked to one side. “Did you ask her why?”

“Why what?”

“Why she wouldn’t give a wish for Runt?”

“It was obvious! She heard me say you could help him and then she changed. She separated herself from the situation. Detached. Like she was hardly even human.” So different from the girl he’d met at markt. The girl he’d wanted to kiss in the forest. The girl he’d wanted to know better.