“Are you all right?” The Arcanist took Rolan’s face between his hands, studying it. “You mad, mad boy. That was too much Arcana, too much foranyone. What were you thinking?”
“Give me some credit, old man.” Rolan held up his blade, the motionmaking it flare with light. Far from empty. “Did you think I’d use itall? How many times do I have to tell you people, I amnotan idiot.”
He grinned.
Then his eyes rolled back and he flopped limply to the ground as the secret took hold of his brain.
The hour is late, and my wrist aches from penning letters. But I have one more to write, the one that will seal my fate and the fate of my family.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I love my brother, but I am not fit for this life of fighting monsters and slogging through the wilderness and risking my neck for worthless fools who don’t even care. I am no Arcanist. I am a duke’s son, and I deserve better than this wretched little hovel at the edge of the forest. It is a trick of chance that I was born second, and Luc first. A mere coincidence that he will inherit our father’s title and estate, while I inherit nothing but a sword and a duty I never asked for.
I love my brother, but I will do as I must.
I write quickly, hastily, with my left hand so that the script cannot be traced back to me. I know my actions will result in some Cryptic stalking the world later, but that won’t be my problem anymore. Not when I’m done. This is a secret I am willing to let grow teeth. Let some other fool Arcanist put it to rest.
Once the ink is dry, I fold the paper and slide it into a little linen bag, heavy with gold coins. A king’s ransom I’ve stuffed into this sack. Or a duke’s. Its recipient will never know where it came from, nor will he care. Once the job is done, the secondhalf of the payment will be sent, and my assassin’s tongue—and curiosity—will be silenced. Nobody cares where the money comes from, so long as there is plenty of it.
Hearing a knock at the door, I rush to open it. A man stands there, scratching his large nose, his heart-shaped earring dangling in the light of the torch he carries. It’s dark, and he’s afraid to be out here. Because he’s not a fool. I still flinch at every cracking stick, every gust of wind. But it’s easier to bear, knowing I will soon be home again, in my palace. MY palace.
“I don’t like being out here in the dark,” the messenger growls.
“Deliver this to a cutthroat named Rabb Strider,” I tell him.
“Arcanist business?” he asked.
“It decidedly isn’t yours,” I snap. “Just see it’s delivered, and maybe the Arcanist won’t find you in your sleep. Tell no one of its source.”
I put a silver coin in his hand and see the fear flash in his eyes. He will deliver the message and the gold, the fear of the Arcanist strong enough to discourage him from stealing the money for himself. These underworld scabs, you cannot trust them any further than you can spit.
Once he is gone, I go inside and sit at the little table, looking around at the Arcanist’s meager things. Truth, I hate it here. Guilt sours in my belly, but I think of the warmth of my family’s palace, the rich food and the soft beds and the total lack of monsters, and the sour eases somewhat.
I love my brother, and I will care for his family, but I cannot, I will not, be the next Arcanist of Crisanth.
I am so very much more suited to a crown.
The memory oozed from Rolan’s mind like oil, leaving a sickly residue that made him want to vomit. He sat up and found Luc gazing hard at him.
“What did you see?” the Arcanist asked.
Rolan just stared, his head still spinning from the revelation.
“What did you see?” Luc demanded again. His grip on Rolan’s shoulder tightened. “You’re not an Arcanist yet, boy. You can tell me without consequence.What did you see?”
Rolan’s tongue felt as heavy as a stone. He’d seen something terrible. He’d seen the words the secret bearer had written on that letter. They were forever penned onto his memory, the ink dripping like blood from a dagger.
A commotion drew his eye. The duke and his guards spilled around them, having closed the distance from the palace.
“Luc!” Benhald called. “Brother! Is it finished? I was coming to aid you, but it seems you did not need it. Are you hurt?”
“Wasit his?” Luc whispered urgently to Rolan. “The secret.Was it his?”
Rolan met his master’s eyes and realized then: Luc already knew. Or he suspected, anyway. He thought of the conversation he’d heard between Luc and his brother weeks ago.
I know what secret you are hunting,Benhald had said.How do you know you will find what you are looking for?
And Luc’s reply:Secrets have a way of always returning to those who hatched them.
The duke drew nearer, flanked by his guards. So many guards, so many swords.
