“He loved books,” Luc said quietly. “He loved to draw. He was a quiet boy, my Mylas. Kind and patient with everyone, especially cats. Oh, he loved cats. Kept six of them in his room. Goddess, thesmell.”
Mylas.Rolan mouthed the name, imagining this boy who’d died in a fire, leaving his boots behind for Rolan to inherit. He sounded like a bit of a bore, not that he could tell Luc that. Books and cats indeed. He’d probably needed a friend like Rolan to show him how to climb and run and steal guards’ lunches. Poor kid.
“I was supposed to be alone that night,” Luc went on. “We had a little house by the river. Quiet and discreet, to escape to when thepalace became too oppressive. I would go and fish and be alone. But that day they insisted on coming with me. Mylas had read a book about fish, and he wanted to come identify the species in the river.”
Rolan waited, breathless and awkward, unsure if he should say something.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went out to fish by moonlight,” Luc went on. “I fell asleep still holding my rod. And I woke to flames behind me.”
Rolan felt a chill run down his spine. He sat up and saw that Luc was still staring into the fire, motionless.
“How did you come by the scar on your face?” asked Luc, so casually that Rolan almost answered.
Then he caught himself and scowled.
Luc poked the fire. “I can ask personal questions too, boy.”
“I fell when I was a kid,” Rolan lied.
“Careful about keeping a secret.” Luc glanced at him. “It might try to kill you one day.”
Rolan’s scowl deepened. Itwasn’ta secret how he got his scar. Someone else knew the truth, and that was enough to stop a Cryptic from sprouting in the corner.
He pointed a finger at Luc. “What about your wish, the one you made when you killed a noble Cryptic? Ain’t that a secret?”
“Isn’tthat a secret, and no, it isn’t.”
“Does yourbrotherknow?”
Luc glanced at him, hoisting one eyebrow. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Why’re you out here fighting Cryptics, instead of living it up in your brother’s palace? You’re older than him, aren’t you? Your beard is longer, anyway.”
“I am older. And I was in line to become duke after our father,yes. But after… the fire, I didn’t much feel like being a duke.” Luc raked his calloused fingers through his hair. “So I took up the Arcanist’s sword. It’s the king’s law, you know. When a duke has two sons, the elder goes on to inherit his title, and the younger must go and be an Arcanist. Abdicating meant we had to switch places.”
“Really? Why?”
Luc shrugged. “The world needs Arcanists.”
“More than crusty old dukes,” agreed Rolan. “No offense to your brother.”
Luc’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you meant offense.”
“Yeah. I did.” Rolan grinned. “To be fair, he was going to let me be chucked into his prison forever and all time.”
Luc tossed another stick onto the fire, then lay back on his own bedroll, his eyes reflecting the flames. “Because you wouldn’t give up your pa, as I understand it.”
Rolan drew his blanket up, his fist knotting the fabric. “I’m no snitch.”
Luc glanced at him, a furrow between his eyebrows. “You’re a loyal son.”
“That’s right.”
“And does your pa deserve your loyalty?” Luc’s question came softly.
A prickle ran up Rolan’s spine, the way it did when he felt he was being watched by one of his pa’s men, or when he sensed the city guards would be lurking around the next block.
It was the feeling he got when he was approaching a trap.
