Bastiaan opened his mouth to argue and water filled it.

Just as I am here with you . . . I am there with Myrthe.

How? How could the water be with her when it was here in this Well?

A stream of bubbles rose around Bastiaan. Was the water . . . laughing? What felt like enormous hands wrapped around his body and lifted him to the surface.

I’m in you, Bastiaan. I’m in her.

Their Talents. They were not just gifts—not just power—they were water. Bastiaan had always thought that since he never drank of the water and Myrthe never visited the Well, Talents must be disconnected from the water itself. But it seemed so obvious now.

The Talent water existed both in the Well and in its Talented.

Bastiaan rested his arms on the edge of the Well, half submerged. Though time was stopped, the water itself still moved and acted like water. No one could stop the maker of stopped time.

The wind reminded him of life. This time, he spoke to the Well with his voice, weak as it was. “So . . . is this my end then?”

Why ask me?

The water now seemed warm. Soothing.

Why was he asking? His wound was fatal. He had balanced on the brink of death for hours now. He knew this was his end, and yet he asked the Well as though . . . as though it could change that.

Did he want it changed? Did he want to live? I don’t deserve a second chance.

None deserve even a first chance. That’s grace.

Like when Bastiaan received his Talent—a gift. Grace. Dehaan hadn’t allowed him to drink the water or even approach the edge of the Well. Bastiaan used to think he was given a Talent because he was a better man than Dehaan. But now he realized his merit had nothing to do with it.

I see the heart of man, woman, child. I see futures and pasts and untold stories.

The Well had seen him. Seen his future—seen how he might use his time Talent. It had seen his story of failure with King Vämbat. It had even known his magic would result in the king’s death, and yet it still gave him the Talent.

That truth settled into his body, giving both hope and despair. You must be so disappointed. He didn’t want to hear the Well affirm his assumption. How could it be anything but disappointed in how he’d used his Talent? What now?

It’s your time, Bastiaan.

Oh no. Not yet. He deserved it, but . . . Myrthe. I’m not ready. His Talent. He wanted to try again. He wanted to save her. Please.

It’s your time.