Light—glorious, blessed light—flooded in from the streetlamps outside. Rolan vowed in that moment to never, ever again snuff out one of those magnificent lamps.
The light washed over the cell, and in response, the Cryptic shrieked with fury. It writhed, its rows of eyes flashing spitefully at Rolan one last time before it twisted through the cell bars and scuttled toward the open door.
To Rolan’s dismay, it wasn’t his father standing there.
It was Hoff.
The guard captain let out a yell and kicked at the thing racing toward him. The Cryptic lashed out, rushing up the guard’s leg and hissing. Hoff grabbed it in a gloved hand and smashed it against the doorframe, but the creature seemed unharmed. It darted around the corner and into the street, then out of sight.
A long silence followed, filled with heavy breathing and the clatter of rattling armor. Newt was trembling head to toe.
Then Hoff lunged for the table and relit the lamp, his face red.
“Never,” he roared at the young guard, “neverlet the lamp go out!”
“S-s-sorry,” Newt stammered.
“Leave!” Hoff ordered. “You’re on two weeks’ suspension. No pay!”
Newt didn’t wait to be told twice. He scrambled up, clanking and rattling, and rushed from the station.
Hoff walked to the chair and sat with a groan. He pulled off his gloves, revealing the deep scratches the Cryptic had left on his hands, even through the thick leather. With a snarl, Hoff looked at Rolan.
Rolan shrank back, hugging himself. “It weren’tmyfault.”
With a snort, Hoff tipped his water flask, washing the blood from his hands. Then he took a jar from his pocket and popped off the lid. Rolan studied the jar, noting the sprig of dried rosemary tied around its neck. The salve inside, which Hoff was now applying to the lacerations on his hands, was one of Evaine’s. He wondered if Anaya had delivered it to him.
The guard captain glanced at him, sneering. “You’re shaking like a leaf, boy. Don’t tell me that was your first Cryptic?”
When Rolan didn’t reply, Hoff roared with laughter.
“Oh, it was, was it? That measly little pest?” He hooted. “I’ve seencats with more bite to ’em! You should see the monsters out in the woods. Bigger than this building, teeth like swords. Aw, what am I saying? You’ll never see one of them. You’ll be locked in the cells beneath Crisanth. You won’t see thesunfor a decade, much less a proper Cryptic. I suppose that’s one thing in your favor, at least.”
Rolan jerked to his feet, still shaking. “I have one more day! My pa—”
“Your pa ain’t coming for you, boy,” Hoff laughed, but for a moment his expression faltered, as if somewhere deep in his cold, empty kettle of a heart, a flicker of pity had ignited. He quickly snuffed it out with a cough. “You’ll get a formal trial sometime, maybe in a month. But we both know how it’ll end, with all the trouble you’ve gotten into in your short, miserable life. You’re looking at ten years in a box. Twelve if you give us grief on the way down.”
Rolan’s scalp prickled. This wasn’t really happening, was it? He’d been as free as a bird two days ago, carrying on as always, minding his own business. Then thatstupidbaker with hisstupidbaguette…
But no.
This wasn’t Finkfloss’s doing, really. This was Rolan’s destiny. He’d heard it all his life, from Evaine, from the guards, from those adults with whom he’d collided and rebounded like a Cryptic from the light.You’ll end up no good, just like your old man. There’s a cell in the duke’s prison with your name already on it. Nothing but trouble. What a waste. What a shame. If only your poor mother were still alive…
Hoff opened the cell door. Rolan was too shaken to even run. First the Cryptic, now this. His world was shattering too quickly for him to comprehend the pieces, much less catch them and try to patch them back together.
“Come on, whelp. Your time’s up. They’ve got a real cozy cell prepared for you underground.”
Hoff moved him along with more gentleness than he usually did, but there was still no give in the man’s grip. He held Rolan by his upper arm and led him into the street.
The sun was rising. Blinking up at the pale-gray sky, Rolan wondered where the Cryptic had gone. He supposed that eventually it would go where they all went when they got big enough—the forest outside the walls, where it was always shadowed, and a little Cryptic could grow into a much bigger Cryptic. Then it would lie in wait for the unlucky, like little apothecary’s apprentices on their way to Sylvet.
“Your pa’s a worthless scab,” Hoff said. “You coulda just turned him in and avoided all this trouble. Still, be grateful an upstanding man like myself is stepping in to straighten you out. In ten years you’ll walk out of the duke’s prison a new boy, reformed and righteous at last.”
Rolan squeezed his eyes shut. He could barely hear the captain’s words for the pounding in his ears.
Hoff chuckled. “Don’t look so glum, boy. You want your pa so bad? Tell you what. I’ll catch him and throw him down there with you. How considerate of me, don’t you think? Going around, reuniting families, even ones full of cheap crooks like yours.”
Finally, defeated, Rolan slumped, letting Hoff tow him up the road.
