What is a Rantholic? Irregular Words and Terms from The King's Thief

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What is a Rantholic?

I've talked before about words unique to THE KING'S THIEF before. 

Well, here's another word that might trip up those who don't know. 

Rantholic.

Don't remember this word in the story? Let me give you a snippet of where it is!

​*Any reason to give you a teaser, right!*

THE KING'S THIEF Excerpt

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The two soldiers tipped their heads, and one of them called for others. Detrien squeezed my hand and winked. “Easy as stroking a cat.”

I let out my tension. “You could have told me you were known here.”

“Didn’t I mention I’d been back to Rouelle?”

He had in passing. “You are a brute for torturing me so.”

He chuckled and for that brief moment I was home.

“The problem is getting to the palace alive.” Detrien scanned the crowd. “Any moment they’ll recognize me, and we’ll be the middle of a crush.”

A line of twenty metal-suit escorts surrounded our party, and we walked forward. The rogues had covered their faces the moment they realized they might come under scrutiny. With this many people they didn’t know, the men were edgy. Torg remained in front and scanned the crowd keeping his hand over the pommel of his dagger. The others hunched over, trying to melt into their saddles. But people stayed focused on Detrien… our companions wouldn’t be remembered.

Once people saw my cousin, the whisper mill began, and jittering energy consumed the streets. It grew into a frenzy to take a gander at the singer. People jostled against each other, following our small caravan, staring. I was sure our guides were the only thing preventing dirty faced admirers mobbing Detrien. My cousin walked with a raised chin, eyes straight, hands loose, and shoulders relaxed. He gave the people no eye contact, which for him was unusual. He loved people, loved talking with them. Our walks in Xaxyia had became strolls due to Detrien’s nature of entertaining friends and passers-by taking precedence.

“Don’t stare at them,” Detrien said. “They’re likely to rush the guards if you do.”

But I could not help looking at them. The drab clothing they wore and their scrambling reminded me of rats in the streets. The stench of too many bodies in one place became overwhelming. The further in, the worse it got. The pike-men lowered their weapons as they walked beside us, making us a path. A construction I’d never seen, a wall around the palace, came into view. During my time nothing separated the people from the monarchy. While sentinels were posted, the inhabitants of the city were civil during my uncle’s time as ruler.

I saw a boy of maybe fifteen years of age climb the seven-foot wall and crouch on top watching Detrien with soulful eyes. He was as filthy as the grownups but with his innocence still intact. He looked at Detrien as if he were a god. I heard someone yell for the boy to get down and from the opposite side of the wall I saw the butt end of a pike strike the boy’s head.

I gasped and clutched my steed’s mane watching the boy fall and then disappear behind a crowd of people. “The boy!” 

“Dauphine.” Detrien clutched my hand. “Ride.”

“But the boy.”

Detrien shook his head. “It’s too late for him.”

My heart reeled back at the malice in his voice. He blamed these people for the crimes of their regime. Perhaps my cousin burned for the destruction of the Randish more than I believed.
Once past the wall, the palace was more civil. The gate locked, and I halted my steed. Turning to the soldier next to me I said, “Sir, please, a good Rantholic would check on that boy even if he deserved reprimand.”

​The guard turned his steely gaze to me, and we locked eyes.

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So now you have context. 

And now I will give this simple explanation. 

My editor said she didn't understand the meaning. But it was my crit partner that eluded to making this a word. 

Here's the background.

Lady Dauphine is in Randish territory.

The Randish are super Catholic. Like beyond Catholic's. Their lives are a "celebration" of god. There is nothing else. You don't marry your spouse, you marry god. 

So Rantholic is a play on Catholic. 

For all catholic's out there that want a piece of me, please take in mind that this world is already in place and is not mine. It's a game, that sadly, might never be. But I have the honor of telling the story of said game and so I shall keep to the confines of the game's rules. 

So, that's the easy explanation. 

Does it make sense now?

Still don't get it?

Wish you never heard of it?

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Until next time!

Happy reading!

~ Stephy