Wishtress by Nadine Brandes

Author:Nadine Brandes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2022-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 29

Bastiaan

A dead fish held more color in its cheeks than Runt.

On the second sunrise since Bastiaan brought him home, winter had begun to prowl the skies, bringing thin sunlight and cutting cold at night.

The windmill smelled of herbs and blood. A pot of water boiled on the stove, refilled every couple hours by Bastiaan to keep his hands busy while Mother meticulously tended, rebandaged, and cleaned Runt’s wound without touching his blood.

When Bastiaan wasn’t refilling the water pot, he prayed. Even with King Mattias’s damning touch on his Talent, Bastiaan could still sense the Talent’s presence like he could when in the Stillness. When he had first traveled to the Well in the Stillness, he drank the water to see what might happen. The cool liquid had relieved his parched heart with a single swallow, and he never again felt thirst in his soul like that.

That difference—that satiated thirst—remained, even if his Talent didn’t. And to that inner spring Bastiaan prayed. Pleaded. Promised to do anything within his power if it would somehow revive Runt.

He’d spent the past two days on edge, watching the boy and watching the window, ready to fight should the king send militairen to the windmill.

The schloss would be foolish to think it had succeeded in killing Bastiaan. The scout never returned—that should be alert enough. King Mattias was no fool. He wouldn’t be satisfied without a dead or shackled body. He’d released Runt to show his power. His control. His cunning.

But schloss militairen hadn’t come. This increased Bastiaan’s tension.

King Mattias knew Bastiaan had killed his father. He now saw Bastiaan as an enemy of the worst kind. The only way he could have rectified the relationship was through a wish. Now even that opportunity was lost.

“You’ve been moping for two days.” Mother stood in the doorway. “And don’t tell me it’s because of Runt’s injury.”

“I don’t need a heart-to-heart,” he growled, grabbing books from a messy pile on the ground. If nothing else, they busied his hands.

“How about a head-to-head? Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He slammed three books on top of another stack. “I don’t need to.”

“I need you to,” she barked.

He looked up. Her arms were folded and both shoulders brushed the frame of the narrow doorway. She seemed as though she wouldn’t move from that spot or let him pass until he acquiesced.

“You don’t like to talk. You don’t open up. I understand that about you, Bastiaan. But I also understand it’s a choice. And when something is eating you from the inside, the way to rid yourself of it is to get it out. I’m your mother. Despite not having a Talent, I have wisdom. You’d be a fool not to seek it.”

Sometimes she reminded him of King Vämbat. A force to be reckoned with. A leader firm and stalwart. If women had been allowed to rule Winterune, she’d have made a brilliant queen. Of course, she’d refuse the position, which made her all the more brilliant.

But that didn’t make him want to talk.

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