Mother crossed the row separating them and blocked the glare of the sun. “You’re afraid, Bastiaan. It’s so clear.”

Of the Trials. He hated how exposed he felt with his fear vocalized. After everything he’d been through, he shouldn’t fear anything. But the Trials had always remained an unknown threat—a threat he’d seen defeat man after man, wealthy and peasant alike.

“I can’t lose Runt. Not after . . . not after everything.” That was no excuse. That didn’t give him permission to try to control Runt—to use the boy’s loyalty against him. “I’m going to convince Prince Mattias to remove the Trials. Then I’ll take Runt.”

Mother laid a hand on his cheek. “This last visit to the Stillness took something out of you. Before you left—weeks ago for me—you were filled with life. Zest. Hope for a better future and recognized convictions. You’ve returned to us so . . . tired. So unsure.”

She saw him—much more than he saw himself. Her observation reminded him of another. Of the king.

“Things didn’t go as planned.”

“They rarely do,” she said. “Despite the Talents, we don’t dictate the moves of this world. We can only learn to balance and skim along the crest of the waves. You’re still awakening, Bastiaan. And once you’ve recovered you’ll rediscover who you’ve now become.”

*  *  *

The rumors came with the sprout of the year’s first head of grain. A young man—a commoner—had found the Well. Survived the Trials. Eluded the prince’s militairen and returned to Fairhoven with a Talent. Masses swarmed him in the center of the markt, begging to know how he’d done it—how he’d found it and survived.

Bastiaan and Runt stood among the crowd, gathering what news they could. The head of messy blond hair belonged to the same man who’d announced the king’s death. The bread girl—Myrthe—had run after him.

Sven, was it?

He stood on a dusty crate speaking to the people in a voice that invited both rebellion and trouble.

“Just because we’re common doesn’t mean we don’t have rights! The Well existed before the kings and it chose to give me a Talent! I’m proof that the Well accepts commoners even though our old and new king alike do not!”

“How did you find it without a map?” someone shouted.

“I was meant to find it . . . so I could bring others to it.”

This incited murmurs and shouts that drowned out any clarity. Almost chaos but not quite. Sven was handing the people hope after a summer of need, loss, and desperation. It was so enticing even Bastiaan was intrigued.

“Can your Talent thaw Canal Vier?” another voice managed to ask above the ruckus.