I looked into his face, which might have been a mistake because it was very close. And the concern in his eyes was enough to make me confess my guilt right there. “She must have sensed my tension. And I might have urged her onward a little too . . . hard.”

Why couldn’t I catch my breath?

“We should continue on foot.”

“No!” I cleared my throat as Runt caught up on his own horse. “No. That will be . . . I’d like to try riding again.” I wouldn’t be able to manage such a long walk, even if Bastiaan and Runt checked their own paces.

Besides, my pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Then why don’t you ride with me for now? Sterk can easily carry two.” He gave a small whistle and Sterk clopped over to us.

That would be far worse, only because it sounded so appealing. “Thank you, but I’ll manage.”

I clambered back onto the mare, who seemed just as calm as before I bruised her with my heels. Bastiaan hoisted me into the saddle. I patted her neck and took the reins, trying to relax into the rhythm of her gait.

“Comfortable?” he asked, climbing back on Sterk.

“I usually entrust my body and balance to two skate blades, not an animal with a mind of its own.”

He gave a surprised grin. “You’re a schaatser?”

I floundered a moment between joy and sorrow at remembering my skate-racing days. “I was. Do you race?”

“I’ve not done so for a very, very long time.” He nodded toward the boy. “But that’s how I met Runt. He used to sharpen blades as a canal rat.”

“And now he’s your servant?”

“Bodyguard, actually.” Bastiaan winked.

I smiled in spite of myself. He had a way of inviting me to forget the weight of my curse and the sting of Anouk’s rejection and the nerves of seeing Sven again.

Sven now had a Talent. Would he be willing to share the location of the Well with me? After everything that had happened today, it grew hard to cling to optimism.

“So what’s your story?” Bastiaan asked. “What you’re willing to tell of it, at least.”

I stiffened and the mare quirked her ears. I couldn’t blame Bastiaan for asking—he’d found me drugged in a hedgerow after all.

He must think me mad.

Part of me wanted to divulge my story. See him recoil at the ugly truths. My guilt. At least then I would be known. Hiding my past was exhausting, and when facing a stranger it was tempting to find relief. But I couldn’t let myself. Even now, Oma’s lifelong warnings of staying silent, keeping information about my Talent invisible, guided me. Especially now that the king was hunting me.

Secrets were lonely things.