Chapter 38 Promises
When Rolan opened his eyes, he felt a heavy, warm weight on his head.
Luc’s hand.
The Arcanist was blinking now, his eyes properly open. His chest rising and falling with deep, true breaths. Evaine was watching them, her fingers still pressed to her lips.
In truth only moments had passed, but to Rolan, it felt like a lifetime.
He remembered that day, with the bees and the honey. It had been before he’d learned about Luc’s family. They’d got the hive down the next day, just as Luc had said they would, and there were the jars of honey in the window now, shining like liquid gold.
He sat up, wiping tears from his face. Luc’s hand slid from his head, but instead of letting it fall weakly onto the bed, he directed a steady finger at Rolan.
“A white Cryptic?” Luc asked him. His voice was hoarse, but already so much stronger than it had been.
“Yes,” said Rolan, gazing down at the man’s craggy face. He could see the question in Luc’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more, to explain what he’d seen. All he could say was, “I’m sorry.”
Luc’s brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry,” Rolan said again. Then the words trapped inside him burst free, like bats from a deep cavern, a furious rush.
“This is all my fault. You must hate me. You should. I led them here, even though I knew it was wrong. I betrayed you. My pa, he—he hurt you and your family. And I couldn’t stop him.
I couldn’t do anything! I understand now, why you didn’t want me.
Who would? Who could? I mess everything up, always. I’m bad and selfish and so, so stupid!”
He trembled, cowering, awaiting the man’s judgment. His wrath.
Fully expecting it. Fully deserving it. Luc would send him away, and he would go, bearing his shame and his guilt.
Luc watched Rolan a moment, then replied quietly, “Back in the cave, you said you came to warn me, to prove yourself to me.”
Rolan nodded. His bones felt as weak as blades of grass. It was all he could do to hold himself upright, his gaze averted. Cheeks hot with shame and self-loathing.
“Boy… Rolan. Listen closely to me now.” Luc pushed himself up onto his elbow, gazing intently at Rolan. When Rolan wouldn’t meet his eyes, he sighed.
“You do not have to prove yourself to me, or to anyone,” Luc said. “You don’t have to earn your place in this world. You deserve to be here, to be wanted and loved, simply because you exist. Look at me, boy. Look at me.”
Rolan did, then found he couldn’t look away. White light burned at the rims of Luc’s irises, the last remnants of the powerful Arcana that had healed him. Something strange was happening in Rolan’s chest, like he couldn’t breathe deep enough.
“You don’t have to prove yourself to me,” Luc said again.
“Even after my father…” A sob broke from Rolan’s lips. “He killed your family! You should hate me!”
Luc’s eyes glistened with tears, but still he did not look away. “Did you set the fire that claimed my family, Rolan?”
“No, but—”
“Did you put that knife in my chest?” He pressed a hand to the wound, now closed.
“I led them here! I didn’t want to, but I did it!” Rolan buried his face in his hands.
Gently, Luc pulled them away, refusing to let him hide, and spoke in a firm voice.
“Rolan, I don’t care who your pa is. I don’t hold you responsible for his actions.
If I ever do catch him…” His eyes drifted to the scar on Rolan’s jaw.
“I would very much like to hold him responsible for his actions. But you? I chose you, boy. Once in the square, yes, for the wrong reasons. And for that I am so, so very sorry. I was foolish and weak and selfish.”
Luc paused to study Rolan, as if to be sure his words were being heard.
Then he continued, softer. “But I chose you again, for reasons that are true, because I decided to love you like you were my own son, my own boy. And love doesn’t make demands.
I love you as you are, because of who you are.
I don’t ask that you change or be someone you’re not.
You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He cleared his throat.
“But perhaps I need to prove myself to you.”
Rolan stared back at him, the breath he couldn’t draw suddenly flooding his lungs.
He inhaled deep, deeper. Air swept through him, gathering up every cobweb of doubt and shadow of fear and then rushing out of him again, scouring him clean.
It was like soaking up the noble Cryptic’s Arcana all over again, light suffusing his bones.
“You mean it?” he asked hoarsely.
“I mean it.”
“You sent me away.”
“To protect you.”
Rolan thought of what Evaine had said, about how love sometimes meant letting someone go.
Suddenly her words made more sense.
“Would you have come back for me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Rolan wrung out one last word, his voice raw and ragged: “Promise?”
The Arcanist’s gaze was as solid as stone.
“I promise. Stay, Rolan. Stay with me and be my apprentice. I swear to you my protection, my guidance, and my love, for as long as you will have it.” He gripped Rolan’s hand.
“You asked me what I wished for, when I killed my first noble Cryptic. I wished for my son to return to me, Rolan. I wished to have a family again. And for years I thought my wish had been made in vain. But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t. I was wishing for you, and I didn’t even know it until now. ”
Rolan crumpled against Luc, who wrapped his brawny arms around him and held him tight as he cried. It was like hugging a mountain. A solid, true mountain that would never move, never break, never abandon him.
He had never felt so seen.
So safe.
He didn’t ever want this feeling to end. He didn’t ever want to let go. It felt like a dream, a candle flame to be snuffed out. But as the minutes passed and Luc did not let go, that flame grew stronger. Brighter. More sure.
Until it blazed in Rolan like a bonfire.
After several moments he gathered himself and pulled back, hiccuping a little. Feeling shy. Feeling wanted.
It was the strangest, best moment of his life, and he did not know what to say. Thank you felt miserably insufficient. He should say something, right? Something about how he felt. Something to match the majesty of Luc’s words.
But then he remembered: I don’t have to prove myself. I just have to be.
So he sat in silence and let that realization continue to seep through him, like the warmth from a fresh bath easing the weariness and pain from his body.
It was enough.
He was enough.
Maybe not for everyone, but for Luc. And his was the only voice that mattered to Rolan at that moment.
“Ahem.” Evaine cleared her throat. Rolan had nearly forgotten she was there.
He glanced at her and saw she was wiping the corner of her apron over her eyes.
But when she spoke, her voice was clear and strong.
“I really do hate to interrupt, but can we focus on what just happened here? Rolan squished a glowing bug and somehow used that to bring you back from the brink of death?”
“It’s Arcanist stuff,” said Rolan. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Apothecary.” The Arcanist’s voice suddenly sounded thick. He started to sit up, until Evaine stopped him with a firm press of her hand.
“Not so fast, big fellow. Let me see that wound. And the others I suspect you’re hiding truth knows where. I want to do a thorough examination.”
“Eugh.” Rolan grimaced. “Not too thorough, I hope. I’ll wait outside.”
They paid him no attention. Luc was gazing at Evaine now with eyes so soft and doughy that it made Rolan groan aloud.
He went outside, Supper trailing after him. The rain had stopped falling, but the clouds still bubbled darkly across the sky like black fungus, bulbous and swollen.
With a heavy sigh, Rolan sank to the ground and rested his back against the house’s outer wall. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. They still tingled longingly, remembering the Arcana of the white Cryptic.
Such a small creature, born from Luc’s secret that very moment, and yet it had held so much power… He wondered what kind of magic that unicorn would have held.
In any case, Luc was alive. He was going to be all right. And what’s more… he loved Rolan. Like a son. Like they were proper family who properly belonged to each other.
That was a miracle of a magnitude no magic unicorn could grant, he was sure. It filled him with a warm glow that was entirely different from Arcana, yet, in a way, very much the same.
But despite his having made up with Luc, he couldn’t forget the events that had led them here. His father was still out there, and Cabbot and Hoff. What would they do when they learned their mission had failed? Would they strike again, and how?
“Rolan!”
Startled from his thoughts, he looked to the road.
Anaya was walking toward him, panting hard as if she’d run all the way from Crisanth. The front of her dress was smeared with blood.
Rolan jumped to his feet, his hands knotting into fists. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“Not my blood.” She lifted a trembling hand, pointing toward the city. “It’s bad, Rolan! It’s very bad!”
“What’s bad, Anaya?”
She gasped in a breath and shook her head. Tears simmered in her eyes, making Rolan’s chest tighten.
“It’s a Cryptic,” she whispered. “The biggest anyone’s ever seen. It’s attacking the city. Rolan, we need the Arcanist!”