Runt nodded, but his next words revealed how desperately he desired a Talent despite Bastiaan’s explanation. “You could use your time snap. Then no one need know we went. Nothing would change except I would have a Talent that could help repay you for all you’ve done for me. Maybe I’ll even get a Talent that lets me thaw the canals. I could save the kingdom!”

Bastiaan pulled Runt close and met his gaze. Firm. Fierce. “You’re my one constant friend, Runt. There’s no repayment between you and me.”

Runt’s eyes swam and he choked out his next words. “I just want to be like you.”

“And yet I desperately need you to be like you.”

Runt’s chin quivered, but he lifted it high and gave a nod.

“You know my time snap doesn’t allow me to take someone through the Trials.” Not unless that person already had a Talent.

“Then take me to the Trials! I can defeat them—I know I can! And then I’ll earn my Talent.”

“You shouldn’t need to earn your Talent.” Bastiaan ran a hand through his hair. That was the whole point behind trying to eliminate the Trials. They were made by a king—by a man—as though the Well itself couldn’t discern between worthy and unworthy. Talents were a gift from the Well . . . and the Trials made it seem as though they could be earned.

“The Trials are deadly, Runt. I can’t take that risk yet. But hear this vow: I will take you at your next age day. Whether the laws are lifted or not.”

Runt gave a little wobble that might have been a bow. “Thank you, Bastiaan.” It made Bastiaan feel rotten.

The boy left the fields, passing Mother, who stood two rows down with her arms crossed. Judging by the comfort in her position and her lips pursed to one side, she’d been there awhile—long enough to hear the entire conversation at least.

She peered after Runt to ensure he was out of earshot. “You told him the same thing last year, you know.”

Bastiaan pulled up short. “I did?”

For Mother and Runt, that promise was spoken one year past. But Bastiaan had forgotten. That didn’t sit well with him. He wanted his words to be as reliable as the count of the sun—to stand upon a trustworthy character.

“I thought you of all people would understand why I’m not taking him.”

“I know the Trials enticed your father to abandon his family and ultimately claimed his life. But that was his choice. You are trying to make Runt’s choice for him.”

“He’s just a boy!”

“But you are not his father.”

“I’m the closest thing he has to one.” Or maybe a brother. Sometimes he wasn’t sure exactly what he and Runt were other than united by something far deeper than blood.