The king’s voice spoke through the memories. “How long will you keep me here, Bastiaan?”

“As long as it takes for you to change your mind.”

“Until I die, then?”

Bastiaan had laughed. “I certainly hope not.”

“Stop,” he whispered to his empty room. “Please . . . stop . . . stop . . . stop.” It wasn’t supposed to go that far. They weren’t supposed to be in the Stillness that long. It was only supposed to take a conversation. Show the king his perspective. Make him understand.

But King Vämbat wouldn’t bend. “The commonfolk can’t handle Talents. They’re not educated enough. They’d misuse them.”

“I am common! The Well chose to give me a Talent, yet you still resist that.”

“You’re proof that commonfolk shouldn’t have Talents. You kidnapped me, after all.”

“Why is the decision up to you? Let the Well decide. It’s capable of giving or denying Talents.”

Bastiaan’s vision went black against the pressure from his fists. “Stop . . . stop . . . stop . . .” His plea turned to a shout until it drowned out all other speech or thought. “STOP!”

*  *  *

Bastiaan emerged from the darkness a fortnight later. The full moon had come and gone, renewing his time snap. He couldn’t even look at his Talent Mark. I will never use a snap again. Though that was a lie.

“I’ve never seen you so endangered,” Mother said during breakfast on his first morn with them.

“Endangered? From whom?” Had schloss militairen sought him out while he was . . . whatever he was? A captive of his mind’s darkness?

“From yourself, Bastiaan.” Her somber tone was all that kept him from laughing. “Whatever happened in the Stillness, you need to reconcile with your Talent, with the Well, and with your heart.”

She and Runt had endured his moody returns many a time. They recognized the intensity of this one and had kindly given him time. Bastiaan wanted to recover faster, but he also needed to respect the toll his Talent took on his mind in order to move forward with his duties to the kingdom and to the Well of Talents.

Mother knew something terrible had happened in the Stillness. But what made it ache all the more was that something beautiful had happened too. “I can never tell you.”

“You can always tell me. To share your story is a choice. Don’t underestimate the healing that can come from daring not to suffer alone.”

“I’m better now.” Bastiaan snagged a knife for the fresh loaf of bread and round of cheese on the table. “Fetch Runt, please.”

He was lying and she knew it. But Bastiaan had learned better than anyone else that time blunted pain. He needed to start forgetting. Ignoring. Healing was too laughable a word.

Mother sighed, then walked out the door to do as he asked.