My laugh sounded shrill to my own ears. “You think I could afford a wish?” He shrugged. My eyes burned a warning, starting as a coal and building to a flame until a tear blossomed. No. Not now. How was it so easy to cry in front of him yet I had to burn my own arm with a poker to bring forth a tear for Oma?

Best use this moment to my advantage. I needed Sven to believe me. I needed him to take me with him.

“Fine.” I threw the vial to the dirt, letting the liquid wish splash out and soak into the earth, losing its magic. Sven lurched toward the discarded glass—too late. “Then I’ll show you.”

Everything within me screamed to stop. To stay my hand. To remember what happened last time.

My tear spilled over onto my cheek. Hot then cold, leaving a trail of fire and ice. I scooped it from my cheekbone with the pad of my pointer finger as I’d done a hundred times. But instead of dropping it into a glass vial for Oma . . . I let the tear rest on my skin.

Did I dare?

Sven stared. In that moment I felt no affection toward him and yet at the same time a desperation to prove my worth.

I stretched my hand over the waters of my small branch of Canal Vier, willing my voice to be steady. Water bugs skidded back and forth along the ripples near the bank, oblivious to what was about to come. This would be a simple wish. Nothing more. Besides, I was of age.

“I wish for these waters to turn to ice.” Please work. I flicked my finger and the tear dropped into the shallows of the canal.

Where I anticipated a plink from the droplet reaching the water, the wish hit the smooth shallows with a sky-shattering crack. Sven and I both jumped. A burst of cold, white blue spread from the place of impact like a splash of winter. Thick ice sped across the water, a parched creature lapping up the liquid of the canal and digesting it into a hard, resilient snake.

My forearm twinged under Sven’s grip.

The cracking stopped and evening sunlight skipped along the glassy surface of the frozen canal. The very sight of the ice sent my heart sprinting for my skates. Rather than succumb to the urge, I lifted my eyes to Sven’s. He stared at the ice, but his jaw worked as though grinding through a hundred meaty thoughts.

I opened my mouth, unsure what I was about to say, but he spoke first in a quiet voice. “Forgive me.”

The tightness in my chest eased. “Of course.”

“This”—he gestured to the canal—“you . . . are amazing. Why didn’t you tell me before?”