Supper blinked at him andmaaed.
“Hear that? He likes it!” Rolan exclaimed. “Anyhow, I’m hungry. What’ve you got to eat? Besides blueberries. You’re out of those. Supper ate them all.”
Luc narrowed his eyes at the blue stains on Rolan’s collar.
“I tried to stop him,” Rolan explained, his eyes all sparkling innocence. Beside him, Suppermaaed in his own defense, dirty little traitor that he was.
Grumbling, Luc went to the kitchen and began taking things out of jars. He returned with a plate of pickled eggs, white cheese, and tomatoes, which Rolan took greedily. He sat cross-legged by the fire and shoved handfuls of food into his mouth, watching eagerly as Luc spitted a slab of pork and set it over the fire. Soon the meat was crackling, dropping tantalizing juices that sizzled in the flames.
Plate empty, Rolan looked mournfully up at the Arcanist until the man relented and filled it again, this time with twice as much food. Rolan practically snatched it from the man’s hand and went to work, sprawling on his stomach with his elbows propped on either side of the plate.
Luc sat and watched with an alarmed expression as the boy licked the plate clean.
“What?” Rolan said. “I’m a starved boy. I haven’t eaten in ages. Don’t judge.”
“I’ve seen wild animals with more manners.”
Rolan rolled his eyes and licked his fingers, then glanced at the pork browning over the fire. With a sigh, Luc nodded, and Rolan leaped up to remove the meat. He slid it eagerly onto his plate, and in minutes was licking it clean again. Only after he’d finished the pork off did it occur to him that the meal had likely been meant to feed Luc, too.
Well. If the Arcanist had wanted some, he could have snatched it off Rolan’s plate like a civilized person.
“Are youdone?” asked Luc, the question strained.
“For now.” Grinning, Rolan rolled onto his back to admire his considerably paunchier stomach. But that only reminded him of his pa, and the smile slowly melted off his face. He stared up at the rafters and the bundled herbs and skins hanging to dry.
“Why don’t you burn lamps outside?” Rolan asked. “Won’t Cryptics come?”
“That’s the point,” answered Luc, tapping the hilt of his dagger.
Rolan gulped.
“You’ll be fine if you stay inside. The biggest ones keep to the woods.” Luc paused a moment before adding, “Usually.”
“Oh.” Rolan’s voice was weak. He’d glimpsed the woods through the window in a particularly bright flash of lightning. They were no more than twenty steps from the house. “Well, that’s all right then. I feel much better now, thanks.”
Luc sank deeper into his chair. He looked exhausted, his eyelids heavy, his breaths deep and slow. Rolan watched him from the corner of his eye, wanting to ask what he’d been doing out in the dark. Why he’d claimed Rolan. What he was expected todoout here, outside the city with this strange man who’d plucked him off the street like a stray pup.
Not that he wasstaying. He wasn’t.
He’d need to steal a pair of boots in the morning. But maybe he’d wait until he’d had breakfast first. It was never a good idea to run away on an empty stomach.
Everything felt unreal, this place a dream, the man in the chair a ghost. Rolan shut and opened his eyes several times, hard, just to see if it all might disappear. Would he wake up in his pile of blankets back home in his father’s hideout in the southern quarter? Or in thewarm hay behind the blacksmith’s place, where he liked to soak in the heat from the ever-burning forge? Would he see Anaya standing over him, her hands on her hips and her lips pursed, disappointed in him for oversleeping again?
But none of those things happened.
Instead, every time he opened his eyes he only saw the Arcanist—who’d begun to snore in his chair—and the crackling fire, and the open chest of claws and teeth, which still glowed faintly blue.
Secrets, the Arcanist had called them.
Feeling cold despite the fire at his back and the goat snoozing against his leg, Rolan curled up on the rug and watched the flames until he fell asleep.
CHAPTER 8ROLAN FALLS IN A HOLE
When Rolan woke the next morning, the Arcanist’s chair was empty and Supper was gone. He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes.
The storm had dissolved. Sunlight poured through the windows, warming the floors. A plate of ham, cheese, and flatbread had been left on the hearth, which Rolan devoured at once.
The big door was open, letting in a cool morning breeze that smelled strange. Sniffing, Rolan realized the earthy, wet, green scent must be the forest, and he grimaced.
