Now he was a man with the ability to suck time from a person’s life.

One year. Ten years. A single touch paired with a single thought would subtract as many days, months, or years of life as his heart desired.

The Bane spoke to him, whispered its uses in his ear. A thick circlet of purple wound around his arm above his elbow. He stared at it, aghast that the Nightwell had won.

It was a perfect balance of control and innocence. Possibilities darted through his mind as he pieced together the implications. He could take away forty years of King Mattias’s life, limiting his reign but not actually being responsible for his death.

The Bane enticed him . . . which disgusted him. Was he so weak?

He rose from the ground, trembling and dripping the poisonous water, and faced Coralythe. Though a Bane had been forced upon him, he’d made it to the other side. The Nightwell was so bloated on its own victory that it hadn’t considered its victim might put up a fight with a weapon that had invented the word victory.

“I am a Talented. I will not set aside that gift or calling for the temptation of anything less.” The Bane inside him tried to laugh, but there was little heart in the sound. Perhaps it sensed his determination.

If he gave in—even one time—it would be like a drug. Calling him back for more. Compelling him. The best way to mute a voice was never to give it attention in the first place.

He strode to Coralythe, stood before her long enough to gather his thoughts. Then he touched her.

Her clothes fell from the frozen breeze and flapped against her body. She blinked several times, then frowned, her gaze passing over the paused Nightwell water. When she saw Bastiaan, understanding smoothed her brow into a blank slate.

“Ah. He lives.” She glanced at his maimed right hand. “Even without your finger, I see your Talent still works. You are truly unstoppable, Bastiaan Duur.”

“I’m here for one thing.”

She smirked. “You think you’re so beyond those of us with Banes.” She gestured to the purple ring around his arm. “You have a Bane now, Bastiaan. You’re like us. Now you get to suffer with power too.”

“I’ve already suffered with power, and it didn’t have to be a Bane for me to use it wrongly. We are all alike, Coralythe. Everyone has a choice.” This wouldn’t be a quick conversation, so he sprawled out on the damp, icy earth. Showing her he wasn’t intimidated. Nor was he a threat.

The Nightwell water still rose. He tried not to imagine it passing over Myrthe’s pale, open lips and filling her lungs as she slept in stopped time.