I skated a dangerous line. Should I tell him? No. Yes. Not yet. I must. I wanted freedom. And I wasn’t sure I had the courage to leave without his help. Oma would find me—she’d use a wish and track me down.

I couldn’t do this alone. Shouldn’t do it alone. I knew what happened the last time I used a raw wish. Pappje died. Mutti died.

I didn’t trust myself to manage this Talent alone. Not yet.

“Ah, sweet Myrthe.” Sven looked pitying. Almost . . . patronizing. “Your heart is good, but I’ll be accompanied by four of my fellows. Strong, smart men. No need to worry yourself.” Or come, he didn’t say.

“Five companions are better than four.”

He laughed.

I grew annoyed now. I thought he’d want my company. Instead I was having to persuade him.

“You don’t need a Talent,” he continued. “You’re perfect as you—”

“I already have one,” I said flatly. “I’m not going for myself. I told you, I’m going to help.” Only I no longer felt quite like helping. Or going. Or telling him my secret.

Sven gaped. “What . . . do you mean you already have one?”

“I’m not sure how to make it any clearer. I. Have. A. Talent.”

“When did you achieve a pilgrimage?” Then, as if realizing what he said, his amusement disappeared. “What are you saying, Myrthe?”

I felt close to tears. This wasn’t the freeing reveal I’d envisioned. I love him, I told myself. That was supposed to muster up some sort of emotion to strengthen me, but it didn’t. It felt more like trying to convince myself of a lie.

But I needed Sven to help get me away from Oma. In exchange I’d help him—us—find the Well. “I never made the pilgrimage. I was born with the Talent.”

“No one is born with a Talent,” he rebutted in a relieved tone as though calling my bluff. “Not unless you’re the—”

“—the Wishtress.” My words were a forbidden whisper.

Sven’s lips clamped shut. He wasn’t smiling now. “You aren’t the Wishtress. I would have noticed.” Something tainted his voice. A strain of . . . was that jealousy? “You’re common.”

Why did he see it as a mighty honor for him to be common yet seek a Talent, but he sneered at the idea of me being common yet the Wishtress? I plunged my hand into my pocket and withdrew the vial containing the singular wish. “Need proof?” I yanked off the cork.

“You could have bought that,” he croaked weakly.