Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga Book 4)

by Forthright

  His rescuer’s long coat looked like the sort of thing to keep off the weather, as did the hat with its drooping brim. He pushed it back on his head, revealing a remarkable thatch of gray hair and bright eyes. This Amaranthine was very much in need of a haircut. And quite possibly a bath.

  “What have we here?”

  The male’s voice had a teasing lilt. A relief, since it meant Tenma probably wasn’t in trouble. With formal phrasing, he said, “Thank you for your concern. I am sorry to trouble you; however, I seem to have become stuck.”

  “You certainly are. Quite trapped. In what, I wonder?”

  The leading tone took Tenma aback. But he was used to the Amaranthine tendency to go all cryptic, especially when trying to explain him. So he stated the obvious. Again. “Clay.”

  “You have an interest in clay?”

  He came close enough for Tenma to realize that his fair skin wasn’t smudged with dirt or ash. He had freckles. Gray freckles. But he still gave an overall impression of someone who cared little for his appearance. Gauntlets covered the backs of his hands and forearms, but they left his palms bare and his claws on full display.

  Tenma went with the simplest—if not the most accurate—explanation. “My mentor is a potter.”

  “That explains much.” The Amaranthine stepped nearer, unmolested by the clay. “One man’s lure is another man’s mud puddle.”

  Offering his palms more in plea than in courtesy, Tenma asked, “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

  “Pardon me!” He closed the distance between them, grasped him under both arms, and pulled.

  Tenma had expected the sucking hold to steal his shoes along with his dignity, but instead of extracting him from the clay, the pit simply vanished. As if it had never been there. Held aloft by his rescuer, he could see the slight depression he’d been standing in. A stone etched with sigils lay at its center.

  “A trap?” he asked.

  “You walked right into it,” said the Amaranthine. “Distracted, were you?”

  He looked up into a pair of steely eyes. Now that they were touching, power tingled across Tenma’s skin, and colors bloomed. None of this alarmed him in the least. He might be an oddity, but the novelty had worn away under the onslaught of training.

  “Am I out of bounds?” Tenma asked. “I do apologize.”

  He hung limp in the Amaranthine’s grasp, his feet dangling several centimeters from the ground. Proof of this person’s capabilities. Though Tenma was pretty sure he’d be taller in stature, the Amaranthine was much stronger … and capable of flight.

  Not a dragon, then.

  The Amaranthine set him down, and Tenma sank further, ending on his knees.

  “Did you injure yourself?” Pushing him to sit, the stranger ran his hands over joints and bones.

  “I’m okay. Just a little disoriented.” He waved aside any concern. “Was that your illusion?”

  “The sigil is mine. The scene it painted was all yours.” The Amaranthine tugged thoughtfully at the brim of his hat. “You’re Goh’s cosset.”

  Tenma sighed. As much as he disliked the label, it fit better than apprentice. Anyone who’d ever seen his attempts at pottery knew that Goh didn’t keep him around for his artistic abilities. Hardly a night went by that Tenma wasn’t cradled in the monkey clansman’s arms, for Goh had picked up where Hanoo, Yoota, and Ploom left off. Nurturing and protecting the glimmer they’d discovered in his soul.

  “He was my teacher at school.” Tenma felt bad for stealing Goh away from New Saga. But he was immensely grateful for the monkey clansman’s steady presence. He was a patient teacher, a capable protector, and a father figure for both him and Inti. Changing their friendship into brotherhood. Making them a tribe.

  “And now you are his pet?”

  “More or less.”

  While the term first struck him as insulting, Tenma had learned that it was neither demeaning nor derogatory. In Amaranthine culture, a close-kept human was referred to by a word that didn’t translate exactly. Pet was close, since it implied choice and care and companionship. But also elevation and acknowledgement, in the sense that some people treated their pets like people. Which really did sound insulting unless you looked at it from the Amaranthine point of view.

  Tenma only understood because Isla and Lapis had taken the time to explain.

  Goh had no formal claim over him, yet he’d sworn a weighty oath to the Five. To help Tenma get to the places he’d need to visit. Quietly. So he could do his thing without raising interest or attention. Except he always did.

  The Amaranthine seemed to be waiting for more, so Tenma added, “We get along.”

  “Your classification?”

  An inquisitive one. This never went well. Tenma shook his head. “No specialization.”

  “Aptitudes?”

  “Not sigilcraft.” It was a weak joke and a weaker deflection.

  “An artisan like your mentor? No?” He edged closer and lowered his voice. “You must be sweet and nestle well.”

  Tenma doubted this was the appropriate time to point out that Amaranthine of the monkey clans tangled. “I really couldn’t say.”

  “You don’t have to say. I already know.” Fingertips lifted his chin. “The mysterious Mister Subaru, honorary Starmark, apprentice to Lord Mossberne, and emissary to the clans. Word has it, your tending is more than sweet. It’s salvific.”

  He couldn’t deny any of it. Any more than he was allowed to confirm it. “Are you teasing me?”

  “A little.” The Amaranthine sat beside him, hands folded, gaze intent. “Ask me why.”

  “Why are you teasing me?”

  He chuckled huskily. “Are you always this obedient?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sure about that?”

  Tenma shook his head.

  “I know you would have gotten around to asking eventually, but let’s skip along, shall we? Salali Fullstash. We’re lending a hand with security while the chief is out of commission.” Beckoning to the blue avian, who flew to a perch atop Salali’s hat, he added, “This one’s Gent. He’s Kith. A blue jay.”

  “And you …?”

  “A bit of a stray, though I’ll own to being a squirrel. Currently unencumbered by house or clan, mate or progeny. Much like yourself. Ask me how I know.”

  Tenma hunched his shoulders. “How did you know I’m still single?”

  “Would you believe me if I said it’s written in your scent?”

  Although Amaranthine senses were unusually keen, Tenma knew their limits. He shook his head. “Did you talk to Goh-sensei?”

  “No, but Glint did, and I happened to be nearby. So I heard about your upcoming nuptial tour.”

  He sighed and nodded. Really, there was nothing to say.

  Theories abounded, but a consensus had yet to be reached as to why Tenma was able to mend the Broken. But everyone agreed that a gift like his should be preserved. Which was reaver-speak for producing a bunch of heirs. Although he’d overheard Hisoka lobbying hard for another means to their ends. Something about a golden seed.

  “You are eager to secure a bride?”

  Tenma said, “That’s the plan. I’ll travel to several enclaves. Participate in marriage meetings. They may place me in one of the outlying settlements.”

  “Are you always this obedient?” Salali repeated, a gentle taunt.

  “Yes.” He’d set the condition that had led to these arrangements, so he couldn’t very well complain. “There are … reasons.”

  “So you’ll go where you’re told, do as you’re told? Accept their plans for you?”

  He looked away. “It’s not as if I had any plans of my own.”

  “Very nice. So will you go along with mine?”

  “Eh?”

  “My plans for you.” Salali had developed a mad twinkle. “Come with me. I’ll show you a good place. We can do nice things there.”

  Tenma asked, “Are you teasing me again?”

  “Even more than last
time.” The clansman smiled. “Have you worked out yet if you’ll trust me? By all means, by any means, investigate the matter to your heart’s content.”

  Permission.

  This person really did know more than he should.

  Forming a hand sign that begged for secrecy, he lowered his voice to ask, “Did you know there are all different kinds of blue? It’s the moodiest color.”

  Salali rolled his eyes to indicate Gent. “Tell me about it.”

  With a sharp call, the blue jay beat his wings and might have stolen Salali’s hat if the squirrel hadn’t grabbed its brim with both hands.

  “Is that what you see, Tenma Subaru?” he asked. “Am I a moody blue?”

  Tenma was getting better at putting the things he saw into words. At helping people to understand the difference between what he saw and what it meant about them. So he dared to ask, “How long have you been friends?”

  Salali sobered. “Long while. And then some.”

  “That’s why.” Tenma studied the bird for a few moments and smiled. “Gent’s blue is a part of you now, and he’s taken on your hue. May I ask a personal question?”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Is your blaze a reddish-purple?” The squirrel’s expression was answer enough, and Tenma nodded. “When it’s bondmates, the colors usually blend, creating a whole new one. But with longtime friends, they trade. As if they’re each most on the other’s mind.”

  “You are not the first to notice,” Salali said softly. As if he’d already known.

  Tenma pushed at his glasses, trying to think. All this time, had the answers been here in Wardenclave? None of the clans had a record of someone like him. Oh, but … oh. Salali had said he had no clan. “You know about my secret?”

  “First rule of keeping secrets is not letting anyone know you have one.”

  It was a little like a taunt, but a little like confirmation.

  Salali casually asked, “Who sees the unseen world in colors?”

  “Only me.”

  “Wrong.”

  Tenma couldn’t believe it. Finally! “You know what I am? Are there others like me here?”

  “Not here.” He lifted a finger. “Not yet. But she’s on her way.”

  TEN

  Share and Share Alike

  People seemed to think Lilya didn’t understand that she and her brother were different. Which was both silly and true.

  She and Kyrie had always been together. They’d shared their first day and her mother’s milk. They’d shared a crib, then a bedroom. Pets. Plans. Books. Biscuits. Siblings. Secrets. They even shared each other’s parents.

  And then there was Ginkgo. He belonged to both of them. Not in a parent way, because Ginkgo was terrible at rules and manners and bedtimes and boundaries. But in his own way, because Ginkgo was wonderful about holding hands and making faces and midnight raids and leading adventures. This being the biggest of all.

  Ginkgo tapped the top of her head. “Something on your mind?”

  Lilya said, “You.”

  “That explains the smile on your face.”

  Which put one there.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I was worried you two would be homesick.”

  Kyrie tore his gaze from the passing scenery in order to check on Lilya. His eyes were more awake away from home. And not stuck to the pages of a book.

  Slipping a hand into hers, Kyrie softly asked, “Mom wanted to know?”

  “Nah. She’s got too much faith to fret.” Ginkgo’s fox ears dipped, and he pocketed his phone. “But you know Dad.”

  “Send a picture,” suggested Kyrie.

  Ginkgo wrinkled his nose. “And end his suspense?”

  “If he is not sure we are safe, he will come and make sure.” Kyrie leaned into Lilya, composed and already posing. “You know Dad.”

  Out came the phone, and they took enough goofy pictures to reassure Uncle Argent.

  Lilya tugged Ginkgo’s sleeve. “Send them to Papka and Mum, too.”

  “You got it, little girl.”

  Not that her parents would be worrying, either. Maybe it was because they were used to the comings and goings of their children. There were six of them now—Darya, Timur, Isla, Annika, Lilya, and Vanya. And Ginkgo had told them a secret. That Papka and Mum would be adding another baby brother or sister to the family. By the time they returned home at the end of summer, they’d be able to tell that Mum was carrying.

  Because of Lilya. That’s what everyone said.

  They were trying again because of her.

  Ginkgo tapped again and tweaked her ear for good measure. “Where’d that smile run off to?”

  “Not far. Right here.” She leaned into him and shut her eyes against the future.

  Kyrie whispered her name, and that gave her the courage to open them again.

  “Right here,” she repeated, because if she had a choice, she always would be.

  He smiled for her, a small smile that mostly lurked in his eyes. Careful and quiet, as if he were always surrounded by timid creatures who would startle and flee the moment they noticed him. Kyrie was good at going unnoticed. A surprising quality in someone who didn’t look subtle. All because of his heritage.

  Kyrie’s dad was slim and sly and sloppy and snooty, sometimes all at the same time. Uncle Argent was a fox with important friends. Sometimes he traveled, but he said he liked Stately House best. When home, he was never far from Kyrie’s mom, who was small and dainty and wise and kind. And a beacon, too. Just like Lilya.

  But Kyrie was a fosterling.

  Aunt Tsumiko would only ever talk about the story behind his name. But Naroo-soh had once mentioned her being there for the birth. So she knew more than she was telling. And Lilya’s sister Isla, who came back every time Hisoka-sensei visited Papka, had been arguing with Lord Mossberne about coloration and dragon clans when one of them let slip that Kyrie had a sire.

  That meant Kyrie’s mother had been the human, and his father had been the dragon.

  Kyrie was a crosser. Like Ginkgo.

  Only Kyrie didn’t have fox ears and a tail like Ginkgo, who was a younger, scruffier version of Uncle Argent. Instead, Kyrie’s heritage showed up in scales and spots and horns. And in full daylight—like right now—you could tell that his hair was the rich, dark purple of the aubergines from Mare Withershanks’s garden, only glossier and swishier. Kyrie kept his hair long and left it loose. A curtain to hide behind.

  Lilya’s brother was stronger than Papka.

  He was faster than Minx.

  He was clever with sigils and stones.

  He was levels above Lilya in school.

  And still people found it necessary to remind her that they weren’t true siblings. As if being the family’s greatest disappointment had robbed her of sense. As if she didn’t understand what was coming.

  The knowing looks had begun this past winter.

  All at once, almost overnight, the family noticed that Lilya was fifteen centimeters taller than Kyrie. Aunt Tsumiko had calmly reminded everyone that girls had their growth spurt earlier than boys. But she’d bit her lip and looked a little sad. Uncle Akira had pointed out that the Hajime family had always been shorter than average. And Mum proved the point by stealing up behind and looming over him.

  Everyone had laughed and let the subject drop. Lilya wasn’t taller because something had changed. Lilya was taller because she always would have been. Heritage came into play for humans, too.

  For the most part, Lilya was like Mum—tall and sturdy, with dark eyes and straight hair. But Lilya had inherited the shape of her face and its features from Papka. She’d borrowed a little from each of them, like any crosser.

  But crossers with Amaranthine blood always grew up in the Amaranthine way. Slowly. So even though Kyrie had been growing up alongside Lilya until now, that would change. Really, it already had.

  Her eleven-year-old self would only be the same as his eleven-year-old self for a little while longer. Which meant this
was their last summer together. She’d move on, getting older, and in another year or two, she wouldn’t be half a head taller than him. She’d be head and shoulders taller. Then she’d gain Mum’s height, and he would still be a skinny little boy.

  Lilya’s children and even her grandchildren would get to meet her brother and be eleven with him. Or maybe twelve. Or fifteen. Because she couldn’t slow down time any more than he could hurry up growing.

  They’d be like Aunt Tsumiko and Uncle Akira.

  Because of the special bond Kyrie’s mom shared with Uncle Argent, she was borrowing his years. Or something. Basically, she didn’t get older. So even though she’d been born before Uncle Akira, he’d caught up to her. And passed her.

  When Lilya asked, Papka had explained that sharing an Amaranthine’s years was a mixed blessing. The very same thing that made Argent and Ginkgo and Kyrie so happy … was making Aunt Tsumiko and Uncle Suuzu sad.

  “Feel that?” whispered Kyrie.

  “Flawless,” marveled Ginkgo. “Talk about a blind approach.”

  They must be there. Lilya nodded, even though she had no idea which direction to look. “Where?”

  Kyrie pointed out his window, at what looked to her like an endless sea of grass. Although her older siblings talked about their travels, she’d never left Stately House. This place seemed foreign and formless and void. But Lilya had spent much of her life in the care of foxes, so she knew that seeming meant little. Or nothing at all.

  She couldn’t manage sigils, commune with stones, or any of the other things that made Papka the best in the world. So the barrier that hid Wardenclave didn’t interest her all that much. “Is Timur here?”

  Ginkgo leaned down to look past them, utterly intent. “Wait for it,” he murmured. “Any second now.”

  Something tingled against Lilya’s skin, and she shivered. Ginkgo automatically slipped his hand around her wrist. Kyrie did the same on the other side. Making sure her walls were up. Making sure Papka’s and Uncle Argent’s seal held true.

  The bus rolled to a stop before a high wall that looked positively medieval and entirely out of place. And doubly exciting because of it. There was no moat or drawbridge, but the gates were shut.