Rabb drew his knife. Its metal was still dull, untouched by the magic that hovered in pale wisps over the man’s skin. “Stop whining and let’s finish this.”
They went on to the house, a grim, dark knot of men with glowing blue eyes. Rolan stood back helplessly, his hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. What could hedo? He thought of Luc. Of Anaya. He considered running into the forest and never returning. He considered screaming at the top of his lungs. He remembered Luc’s warning about Arcana falling into the wrong hands, and if there had been any food in his stomach, he’d have thrown it all up then and there. He didn’t understand what sort of magic this was, but he knew it was twisted and wrong.
After another moment’s useless waffling, he decided to follow his pa and the rest. They’d reached the back door and found it unlocked—another bad sign. Why hadn’t Luc locked the doors?
Maybe it was a trap. Maybe Luc knew they were coming, and the warrior was waiting for them. It could all be an elaborate ruse. Thathadto be it.
If it was, he needed to see it play out.
Heart in his throat, he tiptoed inside, past his old bedroom door, and peered around the corner to the main room of the house.
At first, he felt a surge of relief.
Luc wasn’t there. Maybe itwasa trap. Maybe—
Then he saw the lump in the great bed, the same lump his pa and Cabbot and Hoff were slowly approaching.
Luc wasasleep.
Rolan nearly tore out his hair.
How could he be asleep? After all his lectures about staying alert, never being caught off guard? To be caught snoringnow?
They just wanted to talk, Rolan reminded himself. He knew that really meant they wanted to hold Luc at knifepoint while theypoured threats in his ear. But still. They wouldn’t hurt him. Theywouldn’t.
But they weren’t talking now.
They were quiet and very grim. They looked as puzzled by Luc’s state as Rolan was, but they made no effort to wake the Arcanist. Instead they gathered around his bed like ghosts. Ghosts with eyes flaming with Arcana.
“Truth,” whispered Hoff. “He looks half dead already.”
Then Cabbot reached into his vest and drew out a knife.
“No,”Rolan gasped. “LUC!”
His pa cursed as the Arcanist sat up with a start. Rolan saw then why Luc had been so oblivious to their entry. His face was pale, his hair soaked with sweat, his eyes bloodshot.
He was feverish, probably wrecked by some infection he’d picked up after the fight in the cave. That or the Cryptic venom had overcome the truth salve.
Luc’s hand moved to his pillow, but he seemed slow and delirious. Cabbot plucked the knife from beneath the pillow before Luc’s hand could close around it.
“Looking for this?” Cabbot taunted.
Luc ignored him, his eyes fixing on Rabb Strider.
“So,” he rasped in a voice like scraping stone, “come back to finish the job, have you?”
“That’s right,” said Rolan’s pa. “Thanks for looking after my boy, by the way.”
Luc’s eyes strayed, picking out Rolan across the room. He looked so small, so sad and helpless, that Rolan’s heart crumbled in his chest.
“Fight back,” he whispered. “C’mon. Fightback.”
He envisioned Luc leaping out of the bed with a roar, taking up his sword, and driving them all away. Then they’d ride back to Crisanth on Apple and rescue Anaya.
But Luc only shuddered weakly. “Who taught you to use Arcana?Who?”
“We’re wise to your secrets now, Arcanist,” Hoff said, taking Luc’s dagger from Cabbot and watching the blue light swirl in the steel. “Or should I say, yourlies. Keeping all this power to yourself. Tsk tsk. I always knew your kind couldn’t be trusted.”
