They crested a hill and nearly rode straight into a pile of firewood. Sterk dodged it expertly, then hopped over a doused fire. Bastiaan reined them all to a halt and took in the remnants of a camp.

A rather large camp.

Abandoned piles of wood, over two dozen burned campfires, hoofprints, and boot prints spoke more clearly than a notice board.

This camp had been set up by King Mattias’s militairen. And judging from the direction of the tracks and the spray of windblown ashes from the fires, they’d vacated the spot over a day ago. The odds of overtaking them—or even catching them, for that matter—seemed bleak.

The benefit, though, was that he, Runt, and Anouk could now use the road and travel more openly without fear of being overrun from behind. A king on a mission rarely looked back.

“Let’s keep going.” They skirted the edge of the camp and followed the tracks at a distance.

They stopped three more times to feed and water the horses throughout the day. Every delay wriggled like an itch beneath Bastiaan’s collar. But King Mattias was having to navigate the same setbacks. And he had even more horses to water.

Unless King Mattias had already reached the Well.

And stolen its water.

And captured Myrthe. Or killed her.

Bastiaan shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. Focus on the Well. On the mission. He’d get Runt to the Well. He’d find Myrthe. He’d make things right—and he’d fight the king in any way he could.

Bastiaan used to think he’d feel something if the Well was stoppered. But now that his Talent had been snuffed, he no longer trusted anything he’d previously thought about the Well. It was as though all his research and study had been for naught. Had he merely been gathering information for information’s sake?

Had he missed the entire point?

“So what happened to my cousin?” Anouk piled kindling for a fire to melt more water for the horses. “I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, but I’m not going to wait any longer.”

Bastiaan fumbled the flint. “Myrthe?”

“Last I heard from her, you were going to take her to the Well. Yet we’re making the pilgrimage and she’s not with us.”

“I left her with Sven.” A spark caught and he gently breathed it to life amid the pile of sap and dried brush. “I regret it most bitterly.”

“Surely she doesn’t fault you for caring for Runt.”

“I was cruel to her the last we spoke. I expected a wish to save Runt and then abandoned her when she wouldn’t give one.”

Anouk snapped small sticks in half and added them to the growing flame, nurturing it with a tender hand. “She’ll forgive you.”

He released a hollow laugh. “How can you know that?”