King Mattias remained as still and firm as the throne upon which he sat. “Can you prove this?”

Bastiaan bowed. “I have only my words and character as proof.”

King Mattias’s only response was a rhythmic tap of his fingers on the arm of his throne. Waiting. “You’re a commoner.”

“I am. But I believe all people are equal.”

King Mattias’s fingers stopped tapping. “That’s easy to say when you’re living on the lowest rung. Of course you want to be seen as equal. Yet you have a Talent, commoner. Why should I not throw you straight into prison?”

Bastiaan had prepared for this. His story about receiving his Talent was one he never had to embellish or twist. It was his proudest moment. “My mother and I were servants to a dye merchant in Gevanstad since my birth. While my mother worked with cloths, I was given to the merchant’s son as a manservant. His son, Dehaan, decided to make the pilgrimage to the Well. I was to accompany him.”

“What age were you?”

“Fourteen. After getting through the Trials, we reached the Well and he drank, then spent the day praying. Nothing happened. He drank again and prayed some more, first demanding a Talent, then pleading for one. Still nothing happened, so he told me to pray with him. For him. I did so . . . and to my great surprise I received a Talent.”

“Yet you hadn’t drunk of the water?”

“No, Majesteit. I’d not been allowed.”

“Did you tell this tale to my father?”

“Yes, Majesteit.” A hundred times over again.

“And did he consider your advice? About allowing commoners to access the Well?”

A bittersweet memory twisted Bastiaan’s lips. “It took a long time, but by the end he started to see my point of view.” Once it was too late. Once he was too old. Once Bastiaan realized he couldn’t undo what he’d started.

“By the end?” King Mattias leaned forward, elbows propped on the wide throne arms. “When did you last speak with him?”

Bastiaan had allowed himself to grow too conversational. “Four days before his death.”

“Tell me, did you understand my father’s stance on the Well of Talents?”

Bastiaan understood more than Mattias would ever know. He knew so many details about King Vämbat’s beliefs, it felt nearly impossible to condense them into a few sentences’ explanation. But Bastiaan was an old friend of the impossible.

“He believed that those who desired Talents should be tested and tried to the utmost as they pursued the Well to prove their worth. Hence the Trials.” And now for the part Bastiaan hated. “He also believed commoners were not educated enough to use their Talents properly.”