He wanted her to feel like he was letting her go, giving her freedom and space. That he didn’t suspect who she was.

That he wasn’t a threat.

All lies.

*  *  *

Bastiaan stopped a half bell toll from camp, where he made his own meager camp. Runt would likely find him within the hour. He’d spent more of his lifetime sleeping outdoors than in. It was second nature to gather firewood, tuck his bedroll against a tree trunk, and allow the sounds of the woods to direct his thoughts.

Tonight they were about Myrthe . . . and the good of the kingdom. But to give Myrthe to King Mattias was to give him unlimited wishes. And the king wanted to prove himself, wanted more loyalty from his militairen—and had big plans he wasn’t sharing.

Bastiaan would learn more at the council meeting.

He took the drawing of Myrthe out of his pocket. It wasn’t an exact likeness. In fact, he wasn’t sure a stranger would connect the picture with her. Who had described her to the king’s artist? Someone knew Myrthe was the Wishtress but couldn’t lead the king to her. Interesting.

Runt strode into camp carrying an armload of kindling. His horse plodded in behind him.

“Hey, Runt.”

Runt dropped the kindling, removed his horse’s bridle, and then hobbled it near Bastiaan’s. “She was pretty fiery. Think she’s the Wishtress?”

Talent Mark. Never visited the Well. Matched the drawing. “I think she is.” Though he still didn’t know how she made a wish. What were the limitations? Could she make one per month like Bastiaan’s time snaps? Did she have to snap her fingers or prick her thumb to grant a wish?

“Well, I’ve thought it through. We can use the drugs from her pack—the ones she used on herself for whatever wild reason. Make her sleep. Deliver her to the schloss.”

That had crossed Bastiaan’s mind. “That would be the easiest way . . .”

“But”—Runt plucked a long thin piece of kindling from the pile and poked the meager fire Bastiaan had started—“why not get a wish for ourselves first?”

Bastiaan raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the boy was able to read minds. He hadn’t brought it up to Runt for fear of stoking his thirst for Talents.

Apparently he’d already been stoked.

“We could use it to destroy the Trials, or to change Mattias’s mind about the Well, or to transport us to the Well.”

“I’m sure there are rules and limitations to her wishes.”

“If one wish doesn’t work, then we take another one.”

“Take?”

Runt gave a sheepish grin. “Or ask her for one.” He looked at Bastiaan. “Yeah, probably ask.”

“You know what I always tell you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Treat others with respect. Better than ourselves. On and on and on.”