Ilse had left Windmill Cottage because she saw Myrthe. “She must have recognized you when I brought you to the cottage.”

“I feared the women had seen the king’s reward when they spotted me. I never even saw her.”

“Where is she now?” He suspected the answer by the somber tones in Myrthe’s voice.

“She found me. Followed me. I think she pushed herself beyond what her body could handle. She . . . she died.” Myrthe pressed a hand to her forehead, and Bastiaan remembered with a jolt the risk she took by sharing these emotions. “We were together for a day. It was . . . so perfect.” Her voice broke.

Bastiaan wanted to know more—to hear more of her heart—but he also wanted her to be safe. He’d asked her to let him be her wall; he must protect her in this moment. He took her hand.

“Let’s keep walking. I can see it’s fresh in your mind.”

He wanted to kiss her temple. The desire took him aback.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand. He was glad she saw the encounter with Ilse as beautiful. More than that, he was thankful the women were reunited, even if only for a brief time. He knew what life his own mother gave him with her care and love. To grow up without that was almost unthinkable.

The spiderwebs grew thicker, yet still no spiders hung in the middle. The sun barely glowed and the shadows of the forest seemed like tar instead of absent light.

He’d always hated walking through this Trial even when it was time-stopped. The imagination did strange things when facing the unknown. He wanted to get through it as quickly as possible, but a building tension pushed against his will—his pride—and he knew this was the time.

He hadn’t finished telling Myrthe his story. And he could no longer leave it unsaid.

He guided them into a patch of forest that still gathered a weak beam of light, despite the temptation to remain in the shadows where he wouldn’t have to see her reaction, then he stopped and faced her.

“Do you want to know what I was doing when I entered the Stillness for thirty-two years?”

She didn’t nod. Didn’t answer. Just stared at him and let him decide whether or not to tell her.

“I was with King Vämbat. I brought him into the Stillness with me, befriended him. Spent half a lifetime with him . . . and then I killed him.”

Chapter 46
Myrthe

Bastiaan murdered the king. Bastiaan murdered the king. The way he said it sounded intentional. Almost void of regret.

Unease rolled in my belly. I was such a hypocrite! How could I recoil at Bastiaan’s past when his and mine were one and the same? Both murderers. Both desperately hoping the other wouldn’t see us as anything less.