“I think Evaine’s warming up to your Arcanist,” said Anaya. “She told me about his family, you know.”
Rolan paused. “His family?”
Anaya glanced up, a flash of alarm in her honey-dark eyes. “Oh… he hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze sliding away. “I don’t think I—”
“Told mewhat, Anaya?”
Something in his voice must have swayed her. She sighed and dumped a handful of apple peels into the bucket, then gazed at him.
“Luc had a wife and a kid. A son. They died in a fire when the boy was our age.”
An image flashed in Rolan’s mind. A pair of boots by the door, perfectly his size.
He looked down at his feet. At those boots.
And felt sick.
“He never said,” he murmured.
“It was before he became the Arcanist,” said Anaya softly. “I think maybe that waswhyhe became the Arcanist. Maybe Cryptics had something to do with their deaths. That’s the rumor, anyway.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut. He should have been the one to tell you.”
“A wife and kid?”
“Yeah. Pretty tragic, huh?”
Rolan nodded, his mind turning over this new information, trying to piece it together with the Arcanist he knew.
Anaya stood up and he stood with her, each of them with a hand on the scraps bucket. “Were you really talking to yourself out here, Rolan?”
“Huh? Yeah, of course.”
Anaya frowned. “Hm. I guess you haven’t totally changed, then.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re still a liar.” She toed something on the ground. It was the wad of chewed mint. “He always smelled like mint, when he came sniffing around after you.”
Rolan flushed. “He’s my pa.”
“He left you to rot in prison. He’s a criminal.”
“So were you, when I met you.”
“He’s different and you know it. Hebeatyou, Rolan. You tried to hide it, but I knew. So did Evaine. You always had bruises hidden under your clothes. Why do you keep defending him? The way he treated you… he’s a monster!”
His cheeks burned. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “He’s mypa.”
She shook her head, tugging on the bucket. “I should tell Evaine.”
Rolan groaned, tugging the bucket back, but she wouldn’t relinquish her grip on the handle. “Don’t.She’ll meddle. She always meddles!”
