“What have you done?” the duke said. The other council members stared at the water with something akin to desire. “You expect us to acquire a Bane? Banes are destructive. Those with a Bane should be stamped out!”

The woman in purple tensed. Mattias placed a hand briefly over hers. “What you call destructive I call . . . different. I’ve found a cure for our land. Isn’t it obvious? The wealthy want a Talent. The commoners want a Talent. Even my militairen want Talents. We all crave power, but Talents are too wild. Too dangerous if they are not loyal to the king. The Wishtress herself has been trading wishes behind our backs for years, unwilling to serve the people or the crown.”

Behind him, Hartmut gave a firm nod. Bastiaan felt more and more uneasy. The king knew Bastiaan had a Talent, yet he spoke against the Talented.

Bastiaan was in danger.

Two militairen filled the exit arch. That wasn’t coincidence. If things went wrong, he’d have to use his time snap to get out. Until then, he needed to risk what tenuous position he had to gain as much information as possible.

“So what are you suggesting?” the duke demanded, though Bastiaan suspected the answer.

“We give the people Banes. And you’re to be the first.”

A few council members released sounds of awe.

“How do you know it’s safe?” one man asked. “We have texts on the Talents, but I know of none on Banes.”

Bastiaan knew of at least two texts on the Banes, but they weren’t very thorough. He’d tracked them down during one of his times in the Stillness and read them through multiple times.

“Because I have a Bane. As your king I would not ask you to do something I wouldn’t do myself. You’ll have to trust your king.”

Trust your king. Receive a Bane. Or else.

The militairen at the entryway rested their hands on their hilts now.

“So what of the Talented already in your land? Those already loyal to you?” Bastiaan didn’t agree with King Mattias’s course of action, but he agreed with Hartmut’s assessment of Talents.

“I’m glad you asked.” King Mattias’s grin was as sharp as a fresh-sprung blade of grass. He held a hand toward Bastiaan. “Come here by me so all can see.”

Bastiaan should have kept his mouth shut. He walked along the edge of the pool until he stood at King Mattias’s side, facing the other council members.

“Reveal your Talent Mark.”

Bastiaan obeyed and held his right hand aloft. A single thread of silver encircled the skin between his first and second knuckle.

“Tell them what your Talent is.” Mattias’s tone held a hint of testing. Bastiaan had never submitted himself for the census. His Talent had remained private. To reveal his Talent could bring suspicion upon himself regarding Vämbat’s death.