“My militairen will take action within a fortnight,” Mattias said.

Another advisor stood and lifted his hands in calm. “You’ve undergone a lot of strain these past few months, Majesteit. Losing your father, assuming the role of king, taking a bride, attempting your own pilgrimage to the Well . . . Should we not consider other options before stoppering up a Well that has served our kingdom and people for centuries?”

King Mattias had visited the Well? Cryptic clues clicked into place. No wonder Mattias seemed bitter toward Talents. Bastiaan had seen this type of bitterness before. Mattias had been denied a Talent like Bastiaan’s former master, Dehaan, had been.

“A king is always under strain,” King Mattias said. “This is no rash decision on my part. But fret not, Duke. I have a gift for you. For all of you. Come.” He stood from his chair so swiftly, Hartmut reached out a hand to keep it from toppling.

Then King Mattias left the council room, the woman and Hartmut trailing him. Bastiaan hurried after them, not about to miss a thing. The scraping of chairs and disgruntled mutters followed.

They passed the line of servants, and Runt didn’t even glance at him. An expert spy, that boy. Though the widening of his eyes showed his confusion. Bastiaan offered a small shrug without eye contact.

They descended into the belly of the schloss. Down great corridors and wide staircases and then narrow hallways and dark stone stairwells. The duke puffed to keep up. King Mattias didn’t slow.

Two militairen joined the procession. It gave the appearance of nonthreat, but Bastiaan wished he had his weapons all the same. At least he had a time snap. He tugged his gloves off and stuffed them in his belt, just in case.

Hartmut whispered to the king. Bastiaan couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow Hartmut knew his thoughts. But in all Bastiaan’s studies, he’d never come across a Talent that allowed someone to read minds.

Hartmut’s Talent Mark was at his temple, so his ability was likely something mental, like Sven’s ability to see the future, though Bastiaan had yet to locate Sven’s Talent Mark.

“Through here.” They were in corridors of stone and the air smelled damp and old. The muttering of water lapped at Bastiaan’s ear. King Mattias walked through a wide stone archway into an open room where a web of light reflected off a pool of water in the center of the room onto the walls and ceiling, illuminated by lit sconces.

Though no current existed, the water churned and moved on its own. The hairs along Bastiaan’s arms stood up. This water was magic. But not the magic he was accustomed to.

“Water from the Nightwell,” King Mattias pronounced. “A gift brought to me by a most loyal subject.”