Building a dam—building ten dams—wouldn’t hinder it.

King Mattias was planning to force Banes on every one of his subjects. And they would accept it as a gift. Then he’d be able to command and control them.

There was no way to stop him.

No way except a far-fetched theory Bastiaan had concocted. It wasn’t in any book by Well historians. It was based on his own knowledge that he once prized—a prideful knowledge that had played a part in his own ruin.

The Well of Talents was the only power equal to the Nightwell. Bastiaan used to view it as more powerful, but now he wasn’t sure. His one hope was to get to the Well and . . . what? Talk to it? Ask it to remove Runt’s Bane, give Anouk a Talent, restore Bastiaan’s snap, and nullify the Nightwell?

Bastiaan didn’t know if even one of those things would happen. They’d have to team up with Sven and make sure they secured plenty of Well water in order to offer the people of Fairhoven a cure.

He’d always understood that Banes and Talents linked to the heart of a person. That was why he was taking Runt to the Well—because Runt’s heart was stronger than a Bane. Bastiaan was sure of it.

The glow of dawn began as he reached the opening of the ravine that led to the Well of Talents. The first Trial stretched as tall and wide and intimidating as Bastiaan remembered. The last time he’d seen it in the Awake was when he took his original pilgrimage to the Well. Rather, when he assisted Dehaan on his pilgrimage.

All other times had been in the Stillness when the Trials posed him no threat.

He averted his eyes and scanned for his comrades. Runt and Anouk weren’t there. No one was.

He peered toward the overlook, but they weren’t on the plains either. Could they have gotten lost? They wouldn’t have entered the Trials alone yet, would they?

He waited another hour, but still no sign of them. They should have been here to meet him. He kicked Sterk into a gallop and headed toward the overlook.

It took him less than two bells to reach it, but all that remained was the now-dead fire. He let out a bird whistle that Runt would recognize. Perhaps Runt had taken Anouk to the canals and met up with Sven.

Had his instructions not been clear enough?

A warning tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. He spun. Movement in the shadows. His throwing discs were in hand before his next breath.

Runt emerged. “Bastiaan, it’s me!”

“What are you doing?” Bastiaan hissed, stowing the discs.

“Searching for you.” Tension coated Runt’s answer.

Bastiaan gazed past him into the shadows. Something was wrong. “Where’s Anouk?”