For us. For hope. Joy, even, that my Talent could finally be used for something that moved me. Used for someone else.

Wasn’t that what Bastiaan was always saying? Talents were to serve others.

Then he would save everyone else. Like when he plucked me from the hedgerow and took me to Windmill Cottage to heal. Because that was the type of heart he had.

It was almost moonrise. He could use his time snap and get free of Sven. Get to Mattias. He had all manner of knowledge and plans that would help the people of Fairhoven—stop the Banes from being let loose.

Knowing I was about to die made my words bold. “You can’t save lives by sacrificing another, Sven. Your own people are held by Mattias because you lied about your Talent. You claimed to have one when you didn’t. They trusted you.” My voice cracked. Kees looked to Sven, confused.

“Myrthe.” Bastiaan’s hand wrapped around my wrist.

I sniffed hard but maintained my focus. I had to say this. “I finally understand my Talent. It’s for others. You used a wish for your own false Talent, which you still used for your own gain. The Well sees the heart. And even though mine is stone . . . yours is dead.”

My anger at Sven fell away like a dropped cloak, and all that remained was sorrow—for him and the life he’d led and was going to continue leading. Because the fire in his eyes showed me he wasn’t considering my words. Not as something to change him. Only something to fuel his hatred.

“Oh, Sven.” The tears were close. “I’m sorry my wish turned you into what you are.”

I turned my full attention to the man in my arms. The man I loved. Did Bastiaan know I loved him? It was so different from when I thought I loved Sven. With Sven I viewed love as a choice—if I chose to love him with action, the heart would follow and then he’d free me from Oma.

That wasn’t love.

With Bastiaan it was still a choice, but it was a choice of head and heart. A mutual one. I moved hair off his forehead, my touch gentler than the breath of a snowflake.

“Myrthe,” Bastiaan croaked. “Don’t.”

I looked into his tortured eyes. “I have to.” It had been so long since I’d allowed my emotions to work as designed that my tears felt distant and buried.

“On the contrary, Myrthe. Do.” Sven pulled a small glass bottle from his pocket—the same one that had formerly held the wish I gave him so long ago.

He had Bastiaan shot so he could claim my final wish.

I blinked once and steel threatened to dam my tears. I couldn’t give the wish to Sven.