They were in a quiet part of the city, following back roads Rolan knew well. He was acquainted with all the shadier parts of Crisanth, of course, and could have run them blindfolded. He knew, for example, that the sewer drain four paces ahead was a back entrance to his pa’s underground hideout, and that often Rabb had a pair of eyes posted on the rooftops in this area. Looking up, he thought he saw a flash of something—or someone—moving just out of view.
A pigeon? Likely not.
“You were talking about me,” he accused, forcing his gaze back to the Arcanist.
Luc didn’t reply. He marched stodgily on, like a boulder, if boulders could walk and wore dramatic capes and had eyes that could darken like thunderclouds when they were being stubborn.
“I don’t like being talked about,” Rolan added.
Still no reply from the Arcanist.
Rolan sighed. “I miss Apple. Wish we hadn’t had to leave him in that stable. Nowheknows how to carry a conversation. I mean, sure, he mostly speaks in snorts and whinnies, but if you listen close enough, I swear you can hear him say—oof!”
He didn’t notice Luc had stopped until Rolan walked smack into him. He rebounded, slightly dazed, as if he’d walked into an oak tree.
“So you’ve made your choice?” Luc asked in a low voice.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“What about your father?”
Rolan froze. How did Luc know—
“You have a father, here in the city, don’t you?” Luc continued. “Rabb, was it? Hoff mentioned him.”
Rolan felt the fist of panic in his chest relax.
So Luc didn’t know about the encounter behind the apothecary.
“Was it your father who didthat?” Luc asked, his calloused thumb brushing the scar on Rolan’s jaw.
Rolan jerked back, bristling. “I don’t ask rude questions aboutyourscars, do I?”
Luc arched an eyebrow.
“All right, fine,” Rolan huffed. “Maybe I do. But that’s different.” He’d only asked because usually Luc’s scars had some fantastic story involving a daring battle against vicious Cryptics.
“Where are we going next?” Rolan asked, ready for a change in both subject and location. He was pretty sure now that they were being watched by someone on his pa’s crew, and his pa’s threat still echoed in his memory.
You’re mine, and Iwillget you back.
Well. If his pa wanted him back, he should’ve showed up when Rolan was shivering in a cell, waiting to be dragged off to the underground prison, with Cryptics scuttling over his head. Rabb had his chance. He’d wasted it.
To his relief, Luc turned and continued walking. “We have to pick up our supplies for the month. We’re going to see my brother.”
Rolan’s head whipped up. “Yourwhat? You havefamilyin Crisanth?”
His shock made him stumble, and he had to sprint to catch up.
Rolan thought of what Anaya had told him, about Luc’s wife and child, lost in a fire. A boy Rolan’s own age. Would he have been Luc’s apprentice, if he hadn’t died? Is that why he’d resisted taking on a new one?
He didn’t dare ask. He liked needling Luc with questions, buthe knew the difference between poking a bear and stabbing it with a sword. Rolan was reckless, but he wasn’tstupid.
Still, it was terrifically hard to imagine Luc with a family. Falling in love, getting married. Holding a baby. Having abrother.
They passed a small group of people huddled by the wall of a Confessory, and at first Rolan thought they were waiting their turn to go in and spill their secrets to the masked Listeners inside. But as they drew nearer, a few of them turned and seemed to recognize the Arcanist. Predictably, they backed away with frightened expressions, then began to scatter.
But one man, barrel chested with a thick red beard, scowled at Luc and spat on the ground.
