She shrugged one slender shoulder. “He’s the obvious choice.Not that I think it’s true, of course! But they already hate him, because they’re afraid of him.”
“Luc would never tell the secrets he knows!” Rolan exclaimed. “He can’t! It’s part of his oaths!”
“So hedoesknow people’s secrets!” Her eyebrows rose, and Rolan cursed himself for the slip.
“Yes, but it’s not like you think. He’s not some monster who reads minds. And hedoesn’ttell them to anyone, not even me.”
“I guess not everyone’s as convinced as you. I mean… let’s face it, Rolan. A few months ago you and I would have believed he was guilty along with everyone else.”
Rolan scowled, even though she was right. He’d always imagined the Arcanist to be half man, half Cryptic, looming in the dark and stealing secrets out of sleeping children’s ears.
“It’s so stupid,” he snarled. “He risks his life every day keeping them safe, but all they do is treat him like—like a monster! If it weren’t for Luc, the city would be overrun with Cryptics!”
Anaya laid a hand on his arm. “I know.”
Somewhere in the woods a wolf howled, causing Anaya to jump. Rolan was used to the wolves by now—they were an awful lot better than Cryptics in his mind—but he knew she wasn’t accustomed to the way the night sounded outside the city.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you back inside.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, well, aren’tyouMr. Gentleman now.”
“I just—”
“Never mind.” She smiled. “You know, I kind of like Rolan the Apprentice.”
“I’m not any different than I was before,” he muttered.
“Yes, you are. Just like I was different before Evaine took me in.” She grabbed his hand, and her touch sent a spark of lightning shooting up his arm to explode in his chest, making him sizzle to the ends of his hair. It was like absorbing Arcana,withoutthe burden of a terrible secret to follow it. “Just don’t forget where you came from, Rolan Strider, and neither will I.”
Swallowing fire, Rolan choked out the promise.
- CHAPTER 25 -FIRE
Rolan dreamed that night of Cryptics. They hissed and clicked in the corners of his mind, always disappearing when he turned to look at them. He was running through the forest, carrying something in his arms. Something precious, something the Cryptics wanted.
He leaped over a log, tripped, and landed on his face in the mud. When he tried to get up, he found his legs were trapped in the ground, sunk down to his knees. He struggled and wrenched himself, but couldn’t get free.
He looked down at the thing in his arms, and gasped.
It was a little Cryptic, with a dozen legs like knives. It screeched and lunged for his face, shredding his skin—
“Rolan, wake up!”
It was Luc, shaking him roughly. Rolan sat up with a start, his hair full of straw. He was in the barn’s hayloft, the world a confusing, dark blur. He could still feel the Cryptic squirming in his hands, and the chill of fear gripped his spine. His hand went to his face, to be sure there weren’t wounds opened on his cheeks.
“Luc? What—”
“GET UP!” Luc roared before rushing away.
Clarity washed over Rolan like a splash of icy water. He rolled to his feet and raced out of the barn door, past an anxious, stamping Apple.
It was dead night outside, and the sky was filled with red stars.
No. Not stars.
Sparks.
Luc’s house was burning. Flames jumped in the windows, along the roof.
