Luc withdrew his hand, making two fists, his eyes drifting to the woods.
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “somewhere out there in the dark, there lurk a few Cryptics of my own making.”
Rolan took that to mean he wouldn’t get an answer to his question. Luc had secrets, but didn’t everyone?
Rolan had never liked secrets, but now he hated them. He hated that people could be so terrible. He hated that they couldn’t justtell the truth. Instead they kept their secrets until they turned monstrous, and then they sent people like Luc to defend them from their own dark natures.
And they despised him for it.
Minutes ago, Rolan had thought he knew his answer—that he would stay with Luc for good and become an Arcanist. He could live out here alone, with Luc, fighting monsters and riding Apple and minding his own business.
But being an Arcanist was more than that, wasn’t it?
Being an Arcanist was all about mindingotherpeople’s business, before their business grew claws and fangs and ripped them apart.
Later that night as Rolan tossed and turned in bed, he stared at the lamp flickering over his head and searched inside himself for what he wanted.
By the time the sun rose, he still did not know.
- CHAPTER 18 -APOLOGIES
Rolan sat tall on Apple’s back as he and the Arcanist entered Crisanth.
The day was still early; they’d ridden at first light, or rather, firstgloom. The sky foamed with clouds, and a drizzling rain soon drenched both Luc and Rolan. The city lamps were still lit. They would burn through the day.
The guards at the gates did not acknowledge them as they rode through. They kept their faces expressionless, shoulders rigid, but Rolan saw their eyes following the gray horse as it plodded by. Was it his imagination, or did they grip their spears a little tighter?
Inside the city they were met with hostility. He’d been expecting it, but even so, it set his temper to simmering. The people’s fear hadamused him the first time he’d ridden out with the Arcanist, but now he saw their hate. Now he felt it forhimself. He had never felt love from the people of Crisanth, not by any stretch. He’d been the object of their annoyance, their pity, their anger, their indifference.
But never theirhate.
It made Rolan want to snarl. He wanted to shout at them that they were being unfair. The Arcanist gave everything he had toprotectthem, and all they gave him were more terrible secrets to keep and more terrible monsters to fight.
Luc seemed to sense his tension. He turned in the saddle, eyeing him from beneath the shadow of his hood. His new scar, the one he’d gotten from the massive Cryptic Rolan had stumbled across, twisted his right eye into a permanent scowl. That, together with the hood, made him look as fearsome as the stories said.
“I told you it would change the way you see people,” Luc murmured. “But you have to remember—everyone has secrets.Everyone.It’s not their fault they’re human.”
“They don’t have to treat you like this!” Rolan hissed.
“And what would you do, if someone opened your heart and plucked out every secret you had? Every hidden desire, every shame, every humiliation, every stupid or malicious deed. Would you thank them?”
Rolan grumbled beneath his breath. That wasn’t the same thing at all, but he didn’t know how to put it into words.
He was glad when they finally reached Evaine’s apothecary shop. The building was painted bright green, the same shade as its owner’s eyes. Paned windows offered tantalizing glimpses of herbs and bottles, all the little things Rolan liked to pick up and shakewhen he visited. But now the only thing he was interested in was finding Anaya.
Leaping off the horse before Apple could fully stop, he hit the ground running. It was only when he burst through the door that he slowed, remembering how he’d left things with Anaya and Evaine. Unsure of where they now stood, he hesitated, letting the chilly, early autumn breeze leak in around him. It rustled the herbs hanging on their racks, sending fragrant scents wafting up Rolan’s nose. He savored the smells.
If he was truly honest, sometimes he’d felt a little jealous that Evaine had asked Anaya to be her apprentice, and not him.
“Shut the door!” called a voice from the back. “Come in or don’t, but keep out that draft!”
Evaine came through the doorway and stopped, her eyes widening when she saw him. She was grinding something with her mortar and pestle, the stone scraping away. “Rolan?”
He waited uncertainly as, behind him, Luc planted a hand on the door and pushed it all the way open. Evaine’s eyes lifted to the man, then narrowed.
“Arcanist,” she said thinly.
“Apothecary,” he grumbled back.
