“I surrendered.” He didn’t seem all that surprised by my response. I had died to my own desires and given up my breath for others. For the will of the Well. “And you— How are you alive? Healed?” I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t used my wish to save him, but he seemed to know.

“The Well made me new.” He moved my hair from my face, unsticking the strands from the blood. He frowned, then lifted my hair farther. “You have a Bane?”

I grimaced. “It was forced on me, but . . . I let it rule me. For a time.”

“Yet you overcame it. You gave it up for your Talent. I’m so proud of you, Myrthe.”

I shook my head. “You shouldn’t be. It was only in the last moments that I resisted. I should have been stronger.”

He lifted his shirtsleeve. A purple ring wound around his arm, pulsing with smoke. Waiting to be used—to be given dominance.

“It’s the struggle of this world: to have to choose between Bane and Talent, except the fight will be that much harder since few of us have Talents and Banes are being forced on all.” He looked over at the sea of Nightwell and his muscles tensed. “The Nightwell is gaining strength.”

“You feel it?”

“Pushing against my Talent. Yes.” He planted a hand on the ground to keep himself upright. There was more to his weakness than the battle between Nightwell and Talent.

“Bastiaan, what happened?” I saw movement by the dam. Coralythe. Pacing like an agitated thundercloud along the edge. Her face turned toward us and she paused, seeming to swell with rage and fury. Then she resumed her pacing.

“Why is Coralythe in the Stillness?” I turned to Bastiaan. “What did you do?”

He took a deep breath, straightening. The grim set of his jaw set my hair on end. “I took on your curse.”

“What?” I shoved myself upright. “Why?”

“Transferring it was the only way to remove it. You would have died, Myrthe.”

“So what?” My voice turned shrill. “I was ready! And perhaps the Well would have defeated it on its own.”

“Perhaps.” He sighed. “But I do not ask forgiveness.”

“What did she do to you?”

“The next time I enter the Stillness, I won’t be able to exit. I—and whoever I bring into it with me—will be trapped in stopped time and my snap won’t work.”

“Oh, Bastiaan.”

“It’s a sacrifice I was willing to make.” He steadied himself, as though to withstand a pang of sorrow. Loss. Pain. But then he lifted his eyes to mine. “Truly, Myrthe. I feel no loss. Not when I’ve gained you.”

I had to believe him. Had to accept that he’d made his choices just as I’d made mine. And in truth, I was thankful to have more life to live with him.