“Not just any fountain! This is la Fontaine des Muses!”
“I can see that.” I gesture toward the women carved into the base of the fountain, illuminated even now that the park is closed.
“Wow, don’t sound so enthusiastic.” She plops down on the wide rim of the fountain that’s obviously meant to double as a bench. “Do you not like the muses or something?”
“I like the muses just fine,” I answer, even though I’ve never thought about them one way or the other before. “I’m just trying to figure out why this fountain is any better than the one across from the patisserie. You know, the one that isn’t behind a locked gate?”
“Are you telling me that I finally know something about this country that the great Prince Garrett, His Royal Hotness himself, doesn’t know? Have I finally hit on something that your encyclopedic knowledge of Wildemar hasn’t covered?”
“I’m going to go with yes. Short of the fountain on the palace grounds, I’m going to say my education is sorely lacking when it comes to fountain lore here in Wildemar.”
“Fountain lore!” She laughs a little, clapping her hands. “I love it!”
I settle myself next to Lola on the bench, figuring I might as well join her since this night has definitely proven that I’ve got no chance in hell of beating her. “So tell me, oh wise one. Why exactly is this fountain so special?”
“Because the locals have a tradition.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out two coins, handing one to me.
“Throwing a coin in the fountain? That’s the big tradition?”
“It’s not just throwing a coin in the fountain! You have to kiss the coin three times and then throw it over your right shoulder. If it lands in the uppermost tier, then your fondest desire will return to you.”
“Return to you? What if you never had it to begin with?”
“Then it probably isn’t your fondest desire. You can only really want something or someone that badly if it’s already been yours—at least in some capacity.”
I think about the crown, about all the work I’ve done to be worthy of it, and wonder if Lola is right. I want it so badly because my whole life I’ve always assumed it would be mine. I shove the thought away. Lola was supposed to be a fun and interesting distraction, not a reminder of everything I’ve already lost.
As if she senses that she suddenly made everything way too heavy, Lola pushes up until she’s standing on the bench, her back to the fountain. “Are you ready to do this?” she demands.
“I think I’m going to sit this one out.” I hold the coin out to her. “You make two wishes.”
“Nope.” She actually puts her hands behind her back. “No one can have two fondest desires. You’ve got to choose and I’ve already chosen, so…”
She kisses her coin three times and then tosses it over her shoulder with the same careless joie de vivre she has when she does everything else. It goes soaring past the center tier and all the way over the fountain to land somewhere in the grass.
“Oops.” She grins at me.
“Here, take mine. Try again.”
“Nope, fair’s fair. It’s your turn.”
I don’t want to do this. It’s stupid. Ridiculous, even, how much I don’t want to do this. Not because I don’t have a fondest desire, but because the one I do have is so huge, so overwhelming, that losing it has devastated me—even more so than being abducted and tortured did. I’m terrified that wishing it back might kill whatever small part of my soul I still have left.
But I’m not about to wuss out, not when Lola is watching me, all bright eyes and I-dare-you-to-do-it. With a grimace, I do as she instructed and kiss the coin three times, then turn my back to the fountain.
“Let it rip!” Lola crows and I do, tossing the stupid coin over my shoulder like this whole thing doesn’t matter at all. Which it doesn’t, I remind myself as the coin makes a small splashing noise.
“Can we have dessert now?” I ask, trying not to sound as testy as I feel. It’s absurd for me to feel this annoyed about participating in some local tradition, but I do. I am.
“Don’t you want to know where it landed?” she asks, eyes roaming over my face in the dim light.
“Not even a little bit.”
She thinks about that for a second, even opens her mouth like she’s going to argue with me. But in the end, she just shrugs and lifts the lid on the pastry box. “Lemon tart?”
It’s just one more reason I like this girl so much more than I should.
Chapter 10