“Your Radiant Order won’t exist when we’re done.” Ronan’s teacher would scold him for persuading against his own cause. But part of him still doesn’t want to recruit Karis at all—doesn’t want to put him at risk—and he definitely doesn’t want to recruit him without making sure he understands the consequences. “Not the same as it is now. Not everyone who has a contract with Vara will be able to keep it.”
Karis’s eyes narrow. “If they can’t keep it, they don’t deserve it.”
Ronan lets go, but the warmth of contact lingers in his palm. “What we’re doing is dangerous. If we get caught, we’re criminals—you should know this better than most. Take a few days to think about whether the cause is worth that risk to you. In the meantime, you can tell me—”
It’s Karis’s turn to seize Ronan’s shoulder, with strength Ronan never expected from him. “I don’t need a few days,” he bites out. “If you’re unbinding Vara, I want in. No—I’m already in, whether you let me or not.”
Ronan’s heart pounds with the fervor in his voice. The utter certainty shining in his glare. He wishes suddenly that the Trickster’s jurisdiction extended to truth as well. That he could ask why Karis feels so strongly about this, and guarantee himself an answer.Maybe he’s just that religious. Nothing more dangerous than a true believer.
Whatever the reason, the determination in Karis’s eyes sparks an answering flame in Ronan’s heart. Doubt and exhaustion burn away from his veins, reminding him of the clarity of purpose he’d almost forgotten. He agreed to this mission, not just because the Trickster asked it of him, but because it’s the right thing to do.
He’s given Karis a choice, and now he has to abide by it. He reaches out a hand. “Then welcome to the Locksmiths.”
The handshake lingers in Ronan’s nerves.
The rigid determination fractures from Karis’s posture. With a sigh, he flops back on Ronan’s bed, and fuck if that isn’t a distracting image. Ronan’s thoughts spin astray before Karis interrupts, all the fierceness gone from his voice. “Since we’re partners now, I’ll tell you about my magic. But you have to promise not to tell the others.”
“My promise isn’t worth much.” Ronan leans against the wall, with a good view at Karis’s sprawled-out form. The way his untucked shirt rides up his waist and exposes a stretch of pale skin.
“It’s worth what you want it to be worth,” Karis says, which is nonsense.
But Ronan can tolerate more nonsense than he thought. “I promise, then.”
“Great. Fantastic.” Karis’s voice is too easy. Ronan hears the nervousness rippling beneath the surface. “I’ve never needed a catalyst for magic.”
Ronan expected that, given the truth spell. The possibilities are endless, the ramifications potentially dangerous. He’s not surprised Karis would hide that information. “So, you could have escaped at any time.”
“Maybe.” Karis sits up, feet dangling from the edge of the bed. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have been quick enough, and you would have realized what I was doing.”
Ronan frowns. “Who else knows?”
“My parents.” Anger edges his voice. “I think Neradt suspects, because my parents told him, but I’ve never admitted it to him.” He speaks with casual arrogance, not even granting a title to the head of his church.
The young man has barely opened up, but he’s already closing in on himself again. Ronan probably only has one question left before Karis’s armor slams fully into place, so he intends to make that question count. He’s only met one person who could cast spells without a catalyst before—his teacher. The Trickster’s Voice.
Ronan asks, “Has Radiant Vara ever spoken to you?”
“No,” Karis answers easily, meeting Ronan’s eyes. Then he laughs and hops off the bed. “Wouldn’t that be something? Oh, and can I have my earring back? I want to be able to use magic in front of the others.”
Ronan moves to the table and upends his dice bag. Dark resin scatters across the surface—and a gleaming piece of gold and lapis. The earring is a simple, round stud, the jewel the size of Ronan’s thumbnail, with a push back. It looks especially delicate in his fingers when he picks it up.
Karis leans against the table. He doesn’t reach for the earring, and Ronan doesn’t offer it. Understanding shivers between them, and Ronan moves as if possessed to brush the hair away from Karis’s left ear. The curved shell feels fragile against his fingertips, and he notices faint freckles here too. He unfastens the earring’s back and takes hold of Karis’s earlobe. The piercing is clear, and the post slides easily through tender skin.
The hitch of Karis’s breath isn’t from pain. He catches Ronan’s hand and holds it against his ear. The soft warmth of his hair. He looks up, and the offer is clear in his amber eyes.
Accepting would be easy.
But there’s a tension in Ronan’s heart that he doesn’t know the name of. Perhaps the closest word isfear. He’s afraid of what he’ll do to Karis, and he’s afraid of what Karis is doing to him. He slides his fingers through Karis’s hair, then pulls his hand free. “You should go down and find lunch.”
The displeased pout of those pink lips threatens Ronan’s convictions, but for better or for worse, Karis doesn’t protest. “Sure.” His pout melts into a devious grin. “Boss.”
With that, he flees the room.
Ronan waits until Karis’s light footsteps disappear down the hallway, then locks the door. All his thoughts are still scrambled. He should consult with Dansa right now to figure out how they can best use Karis’s talents. Or he should at least head downstairs himself to tell everyone about the new member, rather than letting Karis break the news. He should check the progress of Evain and the sisters’ little explosives.
Instead, he falls back onto the bed, lying on the same stretch of sheets that Karis just occupied. He imagines the young man’s body heat lingering in the mattress. Karis has been sleeping here for days, in a bed that’s never felt like Ronan’s own. He wishes it did, now. That he felt like he was dragging Karis into his home, not just sharing a temporary room.
All he’s doing now is dragging Karis into the Trickster’s business.