“But you already know that, don’t you?” he says.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I say, thinking of all the maps of the wall I studied.
“They lock the door with a sigil. Somehow never occurred to them that the girl with the gilded eyes could open it.”
He knows I sneaked into the library. Am I to think he told no one? No… Why wouldn’t he? This is a trick. It has to be.
“You were…impressive back there,” he says. No doubt changing the topic so I don’t probe too deeply.
“You going to tell the vicar I used a sigil?” It goes against notjust his ethos when training me—the vicar always insisted that if I were to draw Etherlight it’d be with a sigil or not at all—but also the rules of Vinguard. I’m not a full citizen yet. I haven’t passed the Tribunal. I shouldn’t even know the full design of a sigil.
“If they didn’t want us to get them, they wouldn’t have put them here.”
I’m not sure if that’s the case, but I like the theory too much to argue.
“I always suspected you had spark to you that you weren’t letting show around the vicar.” There’s that low, thoughtful voice of his again. The one usually reserved for prayers. The same one that praised me and made me believe I could trust him…Who are you, really, Lucan?
“You’re different, too,” I reply cautiously. He’s never said so many words to me in one sitting. Never been so forward or blunt. I see the outline of the kindness that he showed me before, but this time it’s in full detail.
“Guess we both had parts of us we protected from him.” His sentiment startles me. It feels almost like a peace offering. Or an invitation.
I try to glance at him from the corner of my eye. All I catch is a furrowed brow as he works dutifully on my back.
“It’s strange to see someone being part of the curates before the gilding…before it’s confirmed they’re not cursed. Did they make an exception for the vicar’s son?” The words feel like putting my fingertips into bathwater to test if it’s too hot. Saipha theorizes that Lucan has been trained from a young age to be my keeper—perhaps it’s time to find out if that’s true.
He scoops more of the paste and then resumes treating my wound, which now is blissfully numb. “It’s strange that you’ve known me for years and never once inquired about my background.”
He’s right. Since I began at twelve, he’s been at almost everyone of my training sessions and history lessons from the vicar. Silent and in the background, dutifully doing the vicar’s bidding.
“You were around. I saw you. I don’tknowyou.” Because he was always lurking, mostly expressionless, sometimes scowling, but never interacting, so I refuse to accept the premise of his accusation. The first time Lucan and I ever properly spoke to each other was a few months ago when he alone was assigned to train me one day. I tried to convince him to let me leave to spend my mum’s birthday with her, and he promptly ratted me out to the vicar. I shift out of his reach and lift my chin in challenge. “And when we did officially meet, you told me you believed in me, let me leave, and then turned around and screwed me over.”
That same raw anger from months ago rises, hot and sharp-edged in my throat, as if his betrayal just happened. I turn my head away to stare at the empty plant pots stacked haphazardly in the corner.
He wipes the remaining salve off his fingers in harsh, jerky strokes on his pants leg. “Sorry, not all of us have the privilege of wearing Valor-named armor to be able to rebel against Vicar Darius when it suits us.” His hands still, and he huffs softly. I think he’s trying to stop himself from saying anything more, so I let the silence hang like an invitation. He takes it. “He calls me his son, but I’m really just another ward of the Creed. Orphaned after a dragon attack.”
“What?” I can’t stop a gasp. “You’re adopted?”
“The vicar isso charitablefor taking me in, don’t you think?” If looks could draw Etherlight, several plants would be on fire now from his glare alone.
“But…you’re still his son, aren’t you?” I say softer, gentler. Something isn’t adding up here.
Family is the blood you choose over the blood you’re born with; all of Vinguard knows this. We’re a city where people lose their loved ones with painful regularity. Just because he’s adoptedshouldn’t mean he’s loved less… But the way Lucan is acting makes me worry that it’s true. Then again, the idea of the vicar loving anyone but himself is as strange to me as a Mercy Knight in the Undercrust.
“In name.” He shrugs, then adds, quieter but just as angry, “As long as I’m useful to him.” Lucan rakes his fingers through his hair, letting out a noise of disgust. “To be fair, I asked him for this.”
“Youaskedhim? To be his son?”
“Just to join the Creed. The whole ‘adoption’ business was his idea.”
“How old were you when you asked to join the Creed?” It’s a big decision. The Creed takes in orphans, but if it was all he knew…
“Twelve.”
“That’s so young.” My gaze softens. Twelve was when I found out I was meant to be Valor Reborn. “Too young…”
“I’ve always been someone who knows what I want.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a weight to it of things I don’t quite understand.
“No one ever came forward for you?” Obviously not, if he stayed with the Creed.Nice one, Isola.He gives me a look that suggests he’s thinking the same, and I mumble, “Sorry.”
