And another of the woodsfolk was trying to save his fellow . . . and kill Hedy. Whatever this man’s Bane, it was doing a number on her. Hedy’s veins bulged from her temples, about to burst. Blotches of broken blood already marred the inside of her neck.

Across the room a woodsman wielded two daggers—the only clear weapons in the battle. Purple smoke rose from the blades, indicating they were crafted from Bane power. Bastiaan plucked one from his fist and carefully sawed through the bowstring Hedy had wrapped around the other woodsman’s neck. He nicked the skin once or twice, but since he had no skin-to-skin contact, the man remained in stopped time.

It was slow going, weaving through the room and ducking outstretched hands or unconscious bodies. Aside from the daggers, there were no weapons. No swords being thrust or arrows being shot. No matter where Bastiaan looked, he could find no weapon except the wielded Banes and Hedy’s bowstring.

Touching a single person would bring them into the Stillness with him. And he didn’t want to welcome war or death into this frozen time. The only way to get them back out of the Stillness would be to restart time for everyone.

Myrthe was his focus. Only Myrthe.

Then he saw a small form in a militair uniform that pooled around his ankles and wrists. A freckled face of determination and brokenness.

Runt.

Blood smeared the palm of his hand, which he splayed outward into the fray . . . ready to snuff a life with a mere touch. Even in the Stillness Bastiaan detected the inner turmoil straining Runt’s muscles. Despite a command from the king, Runt didn’t want to take life.

Bastiaan stood beside him for a long moment. His hand raised halfway to touch the tips of Runt’s fingers. But he restrained himself. He wanted Runt at his side—not as an assistant but to gather the boy to himself. To speak reassurance to him. To present him with the canteen of water from the Well of Talents. But with Runt under the command of King Mattias, he couldn’t risk it. It was too precarious—for himself and for Myrthe.

“Your time will come, my friend.” He dropped his hand and turned away from Runt. “It’s nearer than ever before.” As Bastiaan walked away he couldn’t help but feel like he was breaking another promise to Runt. Every time he walked away from the boy, he vowed to himself it would be the last time. Yet it kept happening again and again.

The next time Runt saw him in the Awake would be with water from the Well in front of him. And if Bastiaan’s theories about his own Talent were correct, the water could silence Runt’s Bane.

That choice would be up to Runt.