“There’s not much to say. I worked the bread stall at markt and then our business went under. So I’m in search of a new life.” Or life in general. Because death hovered too close for comfort.

“How do you know Sven?” His casual tone masked the layers beneath the question.

“Oh.” Did I even know Sven anymore? “He and I are . . .” I stopped before saying, “in love.” Were we ever? “I loved him,” I finally concluded, but the declaration sounded awkward in past tense. “I’ve not seen him in months.”

Bastiaan glanced sidelong at me.

“I’ve been . . . ill.” The more I skirted his questions, the more unstable I sounded. For some reason I wanted Bastiaan to approve of me. I cleared my throat. “I’m recovered now, though.”

“I’m sure Sven will be glad to see you so healthy.” Bastiaan thought I looked healthy? “What do you know of his current pursuits?”

I knew next to nothing other than Sven alone had survived the Trials, had come home with a Talent, and was now involved in some militant group of woodsfolk. Could I share these things with Bastiaan? He knew where Sven lived. Did that make him part of Sven’s group?

“This will be a very long ride if we can’t manage a casual conversation,” Bastiaan said.

“This is casual?” I joked feebly.

“It’s hardly a quarter day’s ride,” Runt hollered from ahead. “No matter how awkward your conversation attempts, they can’t last that long.”

I giggled.

“That lad scares me with his ears sometimes.” Bastiaan turned in his saddle. “In the name of avoiding a dreary ride, let’s keep talking. I . . . need practice.”

Practice talking? “Sven always wanted a Talent.”

“And what about you? Have you always wanted a Talent?”

“No,” I said flatly. “I’ve never wanted one.”

“How could you not want a Talent?” This time Runt spoke.

“They’re not always the good things people present them to be. People can misuse them. I don’t want that responsibility.”

I could feel Bastiaan’s gaze on me but didn’t meet it, afraid he’d see more to my statement than I intended. “Besides, I’m common.”

“So is Sven,” Bastiaan said in a low voice.

“Yes. He alone survived of his companions.” And that was with my wish to help him. “I’m very proud of him.”

“Yet he never presented himself in service to the crown. Instead, he used the chaos of King Vämbat’s death to his advantage and is turning others against the new king.”

“If that tenacity helped him get through the Trials, why shouldn’t he use the advantages given him?” Why did I feel the need to present Sven in a good light? His reputation was not my responsibility. “Or do you think the Well is for the wealthy?”