Luc was gone for hours.
Rolan roamed the house, bored senseless. He ran his hands over his shorn hair, feeling like a stranger in his own freshly cleaned skin. How long would it take for his hair to grow long enough that he could tie it into a knot, like Luc’s? The man was a truthforsaken menace, but he did have awesome hair.
For a while Rolan tried to train Supper to sit, or dance, or doanything, but the goat only stared at him andmaaed and tried to take a bite out of his new boots.
“Useless creature,” he muttered, abandoning the idea.
He explored more of the house, even taking a candle and climbing into the loft. There he found boxes of pelts, broken bows, books, ropes, empty flagons, and other bits and ends. Nothing too exciting, but he brought down a length of rope to tie knots with. After an hour of knot tying, he grew bored of that.
Recklessly, he got it into his head to go after Luc, and he got as far as opening the front door. But the vastness of the night beyond stopped him dead in his tracks.
For a long moment he stood staring into the inky shadows, finding little difference between opening his eyes and shutting them. The night went on forever, though off to the west, Crisanth shone like a distant fire, aglow with its thousand lamps.
Then Rolan looked up, and gasped.
Stars.
That’s what those little lights had to be. He’d heard about them, but he’d never seen them. Crisanth burned so brightly every night,stars were a myth Rolan had only ever half believed in. But there they were, countless tiny lamps in the sky. Awed, he slowly waved his hand over his head, as if he could stir the stars with his fingers. He stared and stared, until he heard a rustle in the grass, and with a yelp, he slammed the door shut and did not dare open it again.
Finally, he opened the chest of Cryptic parts, picking the lock Luc had used to replace the last one. This one was more complicated and took him ten more minutes, and he let out a whoop of victory when it finally succumbed to his fingers.
“Secrets, huh?” muttered Rolan. “What d’you think, Supper? You ever eat Cryptic stew with your old man?”
He tossed a glowing scale at the goat, but Supper panicked and bolted for the door. He bleated so loudly and frantically that Rolan finally let him out, opening and shutting the door as quickly as possible so no Cryptics could sneak in.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t think you’d take it likethat. But don’t blame me if a monster eats you up!”
Returning to the chest, he methodically took out every piece in it, arranging them on the floor by type. Each item glowed when he touched it, and soon the room was filled with hazy blue mist. There were twenty-two teeth, nineteen scales, five feathers, thirty-one assorted bones, twenty-seven claws, and one odd-looking, twisted thing that might have been a bone but looked more like atusk. He set it on its own.
Done, he stepped back and considered the array, letting out a long, low whistle.
“That’s a lot of Cryptics,” he said. He tried to add up the numbers but gave up quickly. Still, it was a lot.
He thought of the monster that had attacked him in his cell, and felt ill.
Had Luc killed them all himself? Or were some of them killed by whatever Arcanist had come before Luc? There must have been someone before him to teach him the ropes. It was hard to imagine Luc as an apprentice. He seemed eternal, unchanging, like a mountain.
Rolan inspected the Cryptic parts one by one, wondering what Luc had meant bysecrets, but beyond the fact that each glowed when disturbed, giving off a misty essence, they were ultimately boring. Finally he piled them all back in the chest and shut it, taking care to lock it again.
Then he threw himself across the armchair and waited for Luc to return.Ifhe returned. Maybe hehadbeen eaten, in which case Rolan figured the house and everything in it was probably his now. Wasn’t that how it worked, when you were an apprentice? He’d have to ask Anaya.
Anaya.
Had she and Evaine made it to Sylvet? Had they made it back? He didn’t even knowwhythey’d gone there. Nobody traveled outside the city unless they absolutely had to. The risks were too great. Was something wrong? What if Evaine was moving to Sylvet permanently? What if he never saw Anaya again?
Rolan fretted until he fell asleep, curled like a cat on Luc’s great chair.
When the door banged open some hours later, he sat up in a panic, disoriented. He cringed, expecting his pa to come at him, cursing and red faced and swinging his stick.
But it was only Luc, looking battered and weary. He had a fresh cut on his jaw, the blood dried around it.
“I see you’re still alive,” said Rolan accusingly, jumping out of the chair.
Luc only glanced at him before stumbling to the fire and leaning against the mantel with a groan.
“Are you hurt?” Rolan asked, surprised to find a twinge of worry in his chest.
Again Luc ignored him. His eyes were shut, and he seemed to be concentrating on breathing. Rolan anxiously looked for signs of other wounds but saw nothing obvious. Maybe Luc was just old. Adults often groaned a lot and leaned on things when they got old, as if they were always on the verge of dying.
