“Furthermore, if you want to be precise, you brought him here. At least, your armed friends did.” My breathing doubled by the time I finished.

Sven stood silent for a long moment, taking me in. “You’ve changed, Myrthe.” His voice held admiration, but all I could hear was Bastiaan’s similar comment that certainly wasn’t a compliment. “You’re quite a different girl from the one I met at markt.”

“A lot has happened in the past several months . . . to both of us.” Should I tell him of the curse?

“Very true.” He led me farther from camp where not even Bastiaan’s keen gaze could follow. “Have you come to join the cause?”

“I don’t even know what that cause is. And as much as I’d like to be part of it with you, I’m here for hel—”

“I’m not simply part of it. I’m its leader. Oh, Myrthe, what a tale I have to tell you!” His blue eyes lit with the flame of memory, and my heart was tempted to warm itself at his hearth.

I lowered myself onto the mossy trunk of a fallen tree. “Then tell me everything.” Sven felt the most loved when he felt heard. I’d learned this early on. And if he felt heard, perhaps he would hear me when I asked if he could tell me how to find the Well.

What if he refused to tell me? What would I do then? Could I attempt the pilgrimage alone?

“The Well was everything you could imagine. I wouldn’t have gotten there without the help of your wish.” He took my hands in his. “You saved my life, Myrthe.”

“You would have come home victorious either way,” I encouraged. “How did you even know how to get there?”

He glanced toward the fellows we’d left. Their chatter was distant and indecipherable. Far enough away for secrets. I leaned forward, giving Sven my full attention. Tell me. Tell me.

“Family knowledge.” He put more space between us. I had the feeling he’d been about to tell me something else. Something more.

I needed to know what that more was. “You are able to keep it all in your head like that?” I tried to make my voice sound awed, admiring.

He swelled. “Most of it.”

Wide-eyed and enraptured, I asked in a breathless tone, “But what if you forget the way?”

“Don’t you worry, Myrthe. I know better than to rely on my memory.”

That he thought I was truly concerned almost made me laugh. All it took was a decently placed compliment and he was eating from the palm of my hand. I wouldn’t have noticed this before the curse—I was softer then.

“Family knowledge,” he’d said. But he’d been raised by his grandfather who died several years ago. I needed more. “Will you tell me how to get there?”