“Do you want to muck out the horse’s stall?”
It was weird, the way Luc had so many animals around but refused to name any of them. It was just “the horse” or “that sheep” or, when he was in an eloquent mood, “this thrice-blasted idiot of a brainlessgoat!”
“No, I don’t want to muck anyone’s stall,” said Rolan.
Luc continued in that horribly gentle voice. “Do you want to fix the leaky roof tile?”
Rolan looked up, up to the highest point of the house’s roof, where a loose tile had let in rain the night before. It wasveryhigh up, in the place where the roof was almost vertical. He blanched. “Not really.”
“Then whatdoyou want to do, boy?” Luc growled, his voice dropping about a hundred octaves, as deep as the core of the earth.
Rolan gulped. “I don’t know. Not any of those things, butsomething.”
“Something.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to—to—” Well, Rolan wasn’t sure what Luc’s game was, but he knew therewasa game, and that he didn’t like it. He jerked his chin up, finally meeting the Arcanist’s eyes. “Why did you bring me out here if you’re just going to ignore me?”
To his surprise, Luc’s gaze slipped away, almost as if the man wereashamed. It was such a startling moment that when Rolan heard his name being called, he dismissed it, instead studying the Arcanist to try to figure out what it was the big man could be ashamed of.
But the Arcanist sat up, the water in the tub sloshing around him, his brow lowering like a thundercloud.
And Rolan’s name was called again. He gasped in recognition of the faint voice.
At that moment it was like a storm had cleared and the sun shone down on the world for the very first time. Daisies lifted theirpetals. A lamb leaped into the air, kicking its heels in a moment of pristine, incandescent joy.
“Anaya!”Rolan cried.
“Who?” said the Arcanist, fumbling for his clothes.
Ignoring him, Rolan turned and ran. He raced over the green hill and around the house and down the path until he saw her, trudging along in her green dress and her apron, with her hair coiling around her shoulders.
When she saw him, she scowled. “Thereyou are, you absolutebrick!”
Rolan rushed to her and grabbed her up in a hug, lifting her right off the ground. “You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive!” she wheezed. “But I won’t be for long if you don’t let me breathe! What happened to your hair?”
He set her down gently, grinning from ear to ear. “Last I saw you, you said you were going to Sylvet and then you were justgone! I had no idea if you’d been eaten by Cryptics or fell down a hole or—”
“You’re one to talk!” Anaya retorted. “Iget back from our trip and what do I find? Rolan Strider has vanished from the face of the earth! People said you’d gone to prison, or been executed by the duke, or fed to Cryptics by the Arcanist!”
“How many times do I have to tell you kids,” sighed a weary, lilting voice. “Cryptics don’t eat people. They maul them to death, but they don’teatthem. They don’t eat anything. They’re not animals.”
Rolan realized then that Anaya wasn’t alone. Evaine stood on the path behind her, with her bulky apothecary’s satchel on her shoulder.
“Evaine!” He glared at the woman. “Why did you go to Sylvet? Are you moving there? You can’t move. You’re the best apothecary in Crisanth. We’ll all drop dead without you.”
“It’s nice to know my work is appreciated,” Evaine said drily. She was a tall woman with olive skin and a hooked nose and a great mass of dark, wavy hair. Her eyes were the bright, uncanny green of spring grass. Rolan had always thought her face belonged on the back of a coin or on a statue, carved out of some fancy stone. She wore a loose yellow scarf over her head and a long gown of deep blue with an apron that matched Anaya’s, only hers had flowers embroidered up the edges.
“I got an apprenticeship,” said Rolan. “Like you said, Anaya, it’s time one of us grew up.”
“But with theArcanist?” Anaya whispered. “Rolan, he’s a monster. You’ve heard the stories.”
“I had to interrogate Hoff before he’d confess what had happened,” Evaine said softly. “Rolan, if I had been here, I’d never have let—”
“It’s all right,” Rolan said quickly, because her words stung him more than he thought they could. If Evaine had been here, of course she wouldn’t have let Hoff drag him to prison or the Arcanist ride off with him. But shehadn’tbeen here. He’d been alone.
“Luc ain’t so bad,” he added. “He’s grumpier than a caged badger, but I pretty much get to do whatever I want.”
