Still Luc was as solid as marble under his fists, his face a mask.
“You’ve spent years chasing pain and death through the dark!” Rolan said. “It’s nothimyou really blame. It’s yourself! Hurting him won’t make you feel better. It will only make you as monstrous as he is!Luc!”
The Arcanist blinked. A shudder rolled through him.
“Luc, please,” Rolan sobbed. He felt as if his skin were peeled open and he were exposing every ugly, wounded, shameful part of himself. Every fear he’d been too afraid to speak came spilling out of his eyes, his lips. No more secrets. Only truth. He would turn himself inside out to save this foolish, kind, broken man.
But it was like wrestling him away from ghosts whose cold hands still wrapped around Luc’s heart, strangling his pulse and flooding his veins with ice. Rolan had to pull him back. Hehadto.
“I can’t go back to who I was, Luc. I can’t go back to my pa. I need you.Please.Don’t choose vengeance. Don’t let the pain and the past win. Choose the future. Choose me. Chooseme!”
The lines in Luc’s face eased. He drew in a shuddering breath as if he’d just surfaced from some dark lake. And he looked at Rolan. Truly looked at him, as if he were seeing him for the first time.
“I’ll go!” Benhald cried. “I swear it, brother! I hereby abdicate my throne! Let someone else have it!Youcan have it! I’ll go join a Confessory and take an oath of silence, I swear on the goddess, and I’ll live out my life in penitence! Just don’t take your vengeance, brother!”
Luc looked up at him, the sadness in his eyes as deep as an ocean.
“Go,” he whispered.
That was all the permission Benhald needed. He ripped off his ridiculous armor and hiked up his cloak, scampering away down the hill. His guards stared after him in bewilderment, then down at hisarmor and crown. They began backing away, as if unsure what to do now that there was no one to give orders.
Rolan dropped his arms, his relief rocking him like a hard wind.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“No,” Luc said, pulling him in for a crushing hug. Rolan could feel the man’s trembling, the gallop of his heart in his great chest. He felt as strong as a mountain, as fragile as paper. A paradox of steel and softness. His hot tears dripped onto Rolan’s hair. “No, my brave, wise boy. Thankyou.”
- CHAPTER 44 -THE ROAD TO SYLVET
The Cryptic lunged at Rolan with razor claws, swiping for his belly. With a yelp, Rolan twisted away, then channeled his momentum into a spin, his sword slashing.
“Are you going to kill the thing,” Luc called, “or dance with it?”
“Are you going tohelpme,” Rolan hollered back, “or just stand around scratching your—ugh!”
A wad of gooey Cryptic saliva splattered across his face.Goddess, he hated that.
The monster hissed, preparing to spit at him again. It puffed up like a bird, ruffling scales instead of feathers, its bulk taking up most of the path. It was a Rank Two, according to Luc, but if you asked Rolan, it was really a small Rank Three. It had to be. It was the first Cryptic he’d met that couldspitits venom.
Trees rose and bent overhead on both sides, creating a leafy green tunnel. This far from any city, deep in the forest, there would be no one to help them if things went south.
Still Luc leaned on his sword, arms folded, letting Rolan do all the work. Behind him Apple stamped a hoof and snorted, as if eager to lend his aid to the fight, but Luc kept the horse’s reins wrapped around his wrist.
The Cryptic spit again, a webby, slimy loogie of poison and stink. It struck Rolan on his chest.
“I really wish you would stop doing that,” Rolan snarled.
He charged the monster.
It slashed high with its fore claw, but Rolan threw himself into a controlled slide, one leg stretched ahead, the other bent beneath his hips. He jabbed his sword upward, missing the Cryptic’s aleth by a hair.
“Blast it!”
“Language, Rolan,” Evaine warned him.
Seriously?He was fighting for his life—for all their lives—and all the apothecary could do was scold his manners?
“Come on, Rolan!” Anaya called. “You can do it!”
