My arms dropped to my sides. What could I say? That I killed my own parents? That I’d lived in shame my entire life? That the longer I made wishes for Oma, the deeper I desired to escape her?

“Yesterday you accused the Wishtress of murdering the king. How could I know my secret would be safe?”

“Did you kill the king?” he asked in a whisper.

My gasp stuck in my throat. How could he ask that?

“It’s okay if you did—”

“Of course not!” The peace I thought I’d feel having my secret known had yet to come. Instead my lungs seized as though I’d stepped outdoors at the height of winter. Eyes burned. Tears built.

“I didn’t mean to distress you.”

I shook my head, embarrassed. “I’ve . . . I’ve never told anyone.” And Sven’s first thought was asking if I killed the king? “I suppose I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“You’ve never told anyone?”

“Well, Oma’s known since I was little.” And my cousin, Anouk. But for some reason I didn’t want Sven to know that. He’d always admired Anouk and I didn’t want to shift the focus to her.

I had already crossed a forbidden line in telling Sven about my Talent. I couldn’t tell him about Oma’s wish business hidden beneath the tent flaps at markt. “Oma forbade me from telling anyone . . . for my own safety.” And for everyone else’s safety.

I eyed the pulse in his neck, listened to his rhythmic breathing, waited for his heart to stop or his body to go limp like Pappje’s, even though logic told me there was no reason for it to happen. I’d frozen one tiny branch of canal, nothing more.

I willed away the cloying emotions, but not before a tear slipped free. Out of habit I lifted it from my cheek with care. I scrutinized the wish for a moment. I could save it for Oma—use it to fulfill next week’s quota. But in an act of defiance I moved to flick it away.

“Wait!” Sven’s shout echoed over the darkening canal. “You can’t just discard that. It’s . . . wasteful!” He scooped up the tossed vial. “Here.”

Old anger flared at having my tears valued more than my heart, but I dropped the wish into the bottle and stoppered it. The liquid bounced and danced, held captive by the cork. Sven stared at the tear for a long second, then held the vial out to me.

I tucked it into my pocket. His gaze followed my movements. Of course he was tempted. Who wouldn’t be? Yet he did give it back to me. That was . . . noble.

“Now I really can’t take you with me.”

“What?” Even after I told him my secret? “Why?”