I stared at my skates as though they’d leap from the snow and slice my throat open. I couldn’t put them on. The sorrow of finding Mutti only to lose her within less than a day threatened to rob any joy remaining in this world. And yet, to allow myself to feel hopeless was to forget the joy and belonging of Mutti finding me.

I should have seen it coming. Should have been suspicious of Mutti’s coughing or the fact that she’d looked as sick as she had when I saw her five years ago. She knew she was sick, and she came for me anyway. She knew she was dying, and she held me. She knew her breath was failing, and she used it to tell me she loved me . . . despite knowing me only in her heart and not in her memories.

I tried to stand beneath the heavy weight of sorrow. To allow myself grief meant allowing feeling into my heart—moving aside the guards flanking my emotional bridge and risking my life and my last wish for the sake of someone else.

Mutti would want me to keep going. Anouk would want me to break the curse.

So I could live.

Though the longer I told myself that, the more I wondered, why did I need to live? What exactly was there for me to live for?

I was only living for myself, to prove that Coralythe couldn’t destroy me and that Oma was wrong about the Wishtress’s purpose. But also for the hope of a cure. For answers from the Well. Throughout this entire curse my goal had been life. Break the curse, live my life.

I’d refused to consider failure. What if the curse couldn’t be broken?

I shook my head. Focused on my goal. Reach the Well. Find answers. And then deal with Sven, the king, the Vier, and my curse afterward.

If there was an afterward.

I left behind the mound of rocks I’d spent half the day collecting to properly entomb Mutti. I covered her grave with prayers and the soft portions of my heart that remained.

With every step across winter plains and through shadowed forests, with every footprint left behind in the blanket of light beneath my feet, I risked being found. Followed. By Sven.

I reached the canal again, strapped on my skates, and left the pain, the memories, the light and darkness behind.

By noon tomorrow this would all be over . . . one way or another.

Chapter 36
Bastiaan

“We’re like a tavern riddle,” Runt said now that the sun had risen. “What do a Talented, a canal rat, and a queen have in common?”

“Prepare yourself,” Bastiaan muttered to Queen Anouk. “This is day one.”