“I wouldn’t know. I stopped working for him after our pilgrimage.” Bastiaan’s Talent had been his path to freedom, for both himself and his mother. And the other women slaving away in that man’s cellar dyeing cloths until their hands were raw and cracked.

King Mattias inquired no further but spent a good while observing Bastiaan. Bastiaan offered no additional information and willed his posture and mannerisms to reflect trustworthiness.

“You must become my son’s advisor. His most trusted. It’s the only way to save the kingdom.” King Vämbat’s last words to Bastiaan throbbed like a heightened pulse in his veins. He couldn’t fail. But Mattias didn’t seem interested in another advisor. Or anyone’s advice for that matter.

“I know who you are, Bastiaan Duur. I know you’ve gathered great knowledge about the Well of Talents. Many bring me your name, claiming you’re a seasoned scholar.”

Bastiaan held his ground. Renown could either work for him or ruin him. “I’ve always seen it as my duty to collect information to help serve our kingdom.”

“I have a job for you.” Mattias lifted a rolled piece of parchment from the small table beside his throne. He handed it to a militair who strode toward Bastiaan. “I want you to find me the Wishtress.”

Bastiaan’s mind reeled. The Wishtress was the one Talent he knew the least about. There were no books on her. The most he’d discovered were a few letters of theories during one of his forays into the Stillness.

A woman born with a Talent—having never even visited the Well. And it was the most coveted Talent in the world. No one was even sure when she existed. According to the meager texts he’d read, the Wishtress might come immediately after the previous Wishtress or a hundred years later.

Of all the things King Mattias could have asked him to do, this was the nearest to impossible. “I . . .”

“She resides in Fairhoven—or at least she did at the start of summer. I thought I’d found her, but . . .” King Mattias’s lips tightened until they turned white. “We need her to thaw the Vier.”

The queen shifted her stance ever so slightly. Mattias nodded to the piece of paper. “That is a sketch provided for us by a new . . . ally.” He snickered. Bastiaan tried not to read into the repeated undertones that flavored Mattias’s statements. “Find her and deliver her to me. And perhaps I will see your desires for the Well of Talents granted.”

Perhaps. Not the most promising word.

“My desire is to serve my king.” Bastiaan bowed and accepted the parchment from the militair. If this was how he could keep his promise to Vämbat, he’d do it.