He stared at the unicorn as it flicked its ears, his hand going to his knives. But Luc caught his wrist, stilling him.
“It’s not the bad kind,” the Arcanist said. “We’ve nothing to fear from it.”
“There aregoodCryptics?”
Luc nodded. “They’re very rare. I’ve only ever seen a handful. Some precious few Cryptics are born not of shameful secrets, but noble ones.”
“Noblesecrets?”
The Arcanist watched the unicorn, his eyes as soft as Rolan had ever seen them. The expression made the man look younger. Gentler. Like another person altogether. “A poor mother who gives all her meager food to her children, telling them she isn’t hungry. A man who gives his fortune away in secret, to help the needy.” He looked up at Rolan. “There are many terrible secrets in the world. But there are some so beautiful, they’d split your heart open to hear them. It is our misfortune that they are so much rarer.”
“Have you ever killed a good Cryptic?” asked Rolan. “Did it drop a relic too?”
Luc stayed silent, and Rolan was too afraid of spooking the unicorn to press him for an answer. They watched the creature meander through the meadow, shaking its mane. It never dipped its head to graze, like a living creature would. Cryptics did not need to eat.
He wished fiercely that Anaya were there to see it. He tried to engrave every detail of the unicorn into his memory so that he could tell her about it later.
“Once,” said Luc, and it took Rolan a moment to recall the question he’d asked. When he did, he turned his gaze from the unicorn to stare at the Arcanist, his eyes round.
“It’s said the relic of a noble Cryptic can grant any wish,” Luc added, his tone strangely wistful.
“Seriously?” gasped Rolan.
Too loud.
The unicorn snorted and took off at a gallop, vanishing in moments, and Rolan gave a regretful sigh. “Can it really grant any wish?”
“No,” said Luc, his eyes going hard again, his jaw flexing. “Perhapssomewishes. But not all. Come, the sun’s low and the cave is near.”
That, at least, was a bit of good news. The cave wasn’t just dry. It was stocked with a cache of supplies, including, to Rolan’s delight, food. Jars of peaches preserved in honey, flagons of blackberry cordial, and other delectables that had Rolan weak in the knees. Apparently Luc used the place to camp quite frequently, and Rolan was only slightly annoyed they hadn’t spenteverynight in the woods here. It was hard to stay indignant when he had honey dripping down his tongue and Luc was frying flatbread on the campfire, the sunflower-seed oil in his pan sizzling tantalizingly.
“What’s that?” Rolan asked, pointing his dagger at a list of names carved into the cave’s rock wall.
Luc glanced at the names. “Arcanists. My predecessors who spent their lives guarding Crisanth.”
Running his fingers over the carvings, Rolan sounded out a few of the names until he foundLucas Farlightat the bottom. The letters were precise and sharp, just like Luc’s handwriting. “Hey, that’s you!”
Luc grunted.
“So these are all the Arcanists who came before you? Will I get to add my name to the list?”
He looked back at Luc and saw the man gazing into the flames, his dark pupils drinking in the light. “Perhaps.”
After running his fingers over the blank space beneath Luc’s name, Rolan wandered back to his bedroll and flopped down upon it.
“So what was your wish?” Rolan asked. With the fire’s glow warming the cave walls, he couldn’t even fear the night outside. “Did it have to do with your wife and son?”
Luc’s expression went flat, but not before Rolan saw the surprise flash in his eyes. He turned away, silent for so long that Rolan began to feel uneasy.
“It’s just that…” Rolan cleared his throat. “If it were me, I’d probably wish for my ma to come back, you know? She got sick and died when I was really little. I don’t even remember what she looked like.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Luc said quietly. “Nothing can bring back the dead.”
Rolan looked down at his boots, at the scuffs and stains that had been on the leather even before he’d first put them on. “What was he like? Your son, I mean.”
This time Luc’s silence stretched until Rolan thought the man had fallen asleep. The Arcanist’s eyes were closed, and though he sat upright, he was as still as stone.
Swallowing, Rolan curled up on his bedroll, facing away from the man. He shouldn’t have asked. Now Luc would go into one of his stormy silences, and it would go on for days, and—
