It wasn’t the wish I thought I’d make. I didn’t save myself. I didn’t save Bastiaan. But the wish was still for him. Maybe not for his healing, but for his dreams.

With my final exhale I succumbed to death. I’d completed Bastiaan’s one pursuit. He’d be proud. I knew that much. So I bid him farewell. Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same peace in death as I felt just now. I held on to hope, knowing I’d see him in mere moments . . .

. . . on the other side.

Chapter 54
Bastiaan

If only the earth would devour him.

Bastiaan had never felt such prolonged agony, of both body and soul. It lapped at what remained of his senses. Needles of helpless pain stitched him into the floor of the Well. Death lurked in the shadows, laughing at his suffering. Creeping close, then feinting back in an elusive dance.

Let me fade. Let me die. He longed for the black nothingness of unconsciousness. Death, even.

His body felt hollow and breathing became labored. Every time he thought it was the end, his will seemed to defy him and hold on a little longer. But he could feel it—the finality. His body couldn’t recover from this. Even if help came. Even with Mother’s healing hands or Hilda the healer’s appearance.

The minutes ticked. The hours stalled. His own blood soaked his whole side, no longer warm.

Was this how King Vämbat felt after crawling from the inferno? Alone? Ready to die? No longer afraid of his story’s ending? He hadn’t seemed angry when Bastiaan found him and wept over his brokenness. He had never placed blame on Bastiaan during those last days.

Death left no room for regret. It was time to acknowledge his story. His choice. His mistakes. Bastiaan had not lived the story he’d once envisioned for himself. But he’d lived as best he could. And wasn’t that all the Well had asked of him when it gave him his Talent?

Use this Talent. For me.

Use it for others.

Those were its final words before his Talent Mark burned his finger. He’d vowed to obey. Now, as he thought through the flow of his life story, he realized how often he’d used his Talent for himself. To save himself. To educate himself. To learn more . . . so eventually he could do what the Well asked.

He’d missed so many chances to use his Talent for better purposes.

A tear trickled from the corner of his eye. I’m sorry.

It dropped to the earth and made a small, almost inaudible splash.

I’m here.

Bastiaan stilled. It had been so long since he’d heard the voice of the Well. To be honest, it’d been a long time since he’d sought it out. What can I do?