“Because she forgave me for the same thing.”

“You asked her for a wish?” What did the queen want with a wish? Had Myrthe actually refused her?

“I asked for a wish before I asked for understanding.”

He could relate to that. Dare he hope for Myrthe’s forgiveness? He eyed the young queen, more questions burning on his tongue. Though he’d refused her offer of knowledge as payment, he wasn’t too timid to push the limits of her generosity. “Did she give you one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Anouk tossed the last sticks in the fire, then brushed off her hands and stood. “That is not my question to answer.”

“Can you at least tell me how she creates a wish?” He told himself he needed to add to the pages of research he’d assembled. But a deeper truth confessed he wanted to know Myrthe. Nothing more.

“She must weep.” Anouk’s forlorn voice almost disappeared beneath the growing crackle of flame. “Each tear she cries can be used to grant a wish.”

Sorrow. Or, on rare occasions, joy. That was what it took to produce a wish. A torn and bleeding heart. Vulnerability. That explained the Talent Mark on her eyelash. It explained the many times he’d seen her steel herself against different words and interactions.

When Runt had lain bleeding in the field on the outskirts of Sven’s camp, Myrthe had seemed so close to tears. She’d been about to create a wish.

Then Bastiaan had reassured her of Runt’s survival, so she’d detached herself from the emotions. The more he learned about Myrthe, the more he knew there was a deliberate reason she’d kept that wish back. He wanted to know that reason. And he wanted to hear it from her. No more guesswork, no more asking her cousin.

“Prepare to mount up within a quarter bell.”

*  *  *

Close to sunset they stopped. “We’re a quarter day’s walk away at most. Less on horseback. We’ll rest for two hours.”

Anouk’s fingers trembled as she tried to undo the saddle cinch.

“Here, let me.” Bastiaan moved to her side and she allowed him to remove the tack and spread the horse blanket on the ground for her—proof of her weariness. “Runt, can you manage the firewood?”

“Sure, Bastiaan,” he said in a thin voice. Maybe they should rest longer.

Bastiaan would make that call once he’d assessed the scene at the Well. “I’m going to climb that hill and scout our situation.”

The last time he’d been here was with King Vämbat. It was not a well-known location to anyone but Bastiaan. He’d found the hill and small rock cropping that rose above the plains and gave a clear view of the Well of Talents when he first visited the Well in the Stillness.

He would finally know how far behind King Mattias’s men he was.