“The young son of one of the other women ended up receiving a Talent from the Well and rescued all of us women. He took us to a new home that could be all our own. A windmill with lands to tend and freshly built housing beside a stream.” She tilted her head. “Bastiaan Duur.”

I jolted at his name. “Bastiaan?”

She nodded. “I was working the fields the day you showed up at the windmill. I’d seen your face sketch posted in the Fairhoven markt a week prior, and that was the first time I learned your name. Myrthe. I saw you astride Diantha’s horse. You met my eye for a moment but seemed afraid. I could hardly believe it was you. Then you bolted away from Windmill Cottage.”

“I didn’t recognize you!” Winter’s breath, I’d been so consumed with my fear of being hunted as the Wishtress, it blinded me to seeing my own mother. Right there. So close. Instead I’d run from her. “I thought maybe the women in the field recognized me from the king’s poster and wanted to claim the reward.”

She shook her head with a wan smile.

“You’ve been following me this whole time?”

“I left the fields that very minute, pausing only to grab food. In hindsight I should have waited until Bastiaan’s return—asked for his help. But I didn’t know when he would return. I couldn’t wait. All I knew was that I saw my daughter. And I needed to get to you.”

Her daughter. Me. Myrthe. Not the Wishtress. Not a commodity. She didn’t have memory of our life together, but she knew me. A single memory of me calling her Mutti was enough to remind her heart that she loved me.

Not even my wishes could erase her love for me.

A tide built in my chest, swelling until it pushed a sob out of my throat. “Oh, Mutti.”

I scrambled for my sleep herbs with numb fingers and a raw, vulnerable heart. The fire burned in my throat. I barely managed to croak out, “I’ll explain when I wake.” I pressed the soaked cloth against my nose and mouth. My vision went dark.

When my eyes fluttered open, dawn was fully upon us. Mutti had a small fire going on the bank and had slid me as near to it as she could.

Mutti. Still here. Could this be real? I pushed myself to a sitting position.

“It’s so nice to see your full face beneath the sun and not from a piece of paper or memory,” she said.

“Likewise.” Except her face looked even sicklier now that it was fully illuminated. I made my way over to the fire and held my hands out to warm them.