"I dunno," Larrikin said thoughtfully, rubbing his weirdly short hair. "I've always known, and by the end of the war, everyone else always knew too. It's kind of hard to miss the bloke whose evil twin bursts out of his chest and murders a battlefield."

He tugged thoughtfully on one of the longest strands by his temple. "Actually, he's never tried to hide it, that I remember. I mean, sure, when the war started we were across the Continent and wound up joining the army 'cos we were helping another group get there alive and no one asked what our magic was 'cos mine's obvious and they all assumed Anton's was martial--where did that sentence begin? Eh."

Larrikin shrugged and flopped into the chair nearest Krei, so he could sprawl across both their chairs and dangerously close to Krei's lap. "He didn't tell anyone for a while, but he couldn't afford to keep it hidden for long. Gist-users are too valuable in a war, see? They're like--like--I don't know, some massive weapon which can single-handedly change the course of a war. Like Greek fire to ships. He had a guard for a while at first, until they were sure he wouldn't get taken over by the gist, but Anton's stable. He's the oldest gist-user in known history, yanno. Most of 'em don't live much over three hundred, and from what he's said about his timeline he's over five."

He grinned. "That's my boy."