by Forthright
Wardenclave’s citizens mingled with the crowd, greeting returnees and guiding newcomers. Mikoto’s sisters barely acknowledged him, their fleeting glances holding little more than exasperation. Reprimanding him for arriving late. Reminding him that his pain was theirs, and then some. Hadn’t they known Father better, loved him longer?
Shame seeped into the set of his shoulders.
A firm grip at Mikoto’s elbow halted his progress, and he raised his gaze. Resplendence Starmark searched his face, firmed her grip slightly, and murmured, “Well met.”
As she moved off, Mikoto was jostled on his other side by Reena Duntuffet, who cuffed his shoulder and winked before hurrying forward to heft a young girl’s travel cases.
His people. His friends.
Hannick Alpenglow patted his cheek in passing. “Someone’s trying to get your attention.”
Like the sudden pivot that can throw an opponent off balance, Mikoto’s perspective shifted off himself. Familiar faces dominated the crowd. Many turned his way with grins, waves, and greetings. Chin bobs and hand signs from other battlers. Friendly remarks upon his increasing height. Teasing remarks about his tiny companion.
Mikoto found he was glad to see them back.
He began offering the same kinds of assurances he’d received. Touching an elbow. Clapping a shoulder. He spoke the names of those he knew and offered his name to new kids. As he patiently worked his way along, he felt fresh stirrings of certainty.
She was here.
Even though he couldn’t explain it—not that he’d ever try—Mikoto always knew when Lupe was near. The pull that made his heart leap. The scent of summer that left him giddy. The way she always knew when to turn, where to look. Like she was as aware of him as he was of her.
But it was really quite hard to impress a girl who sees you as a little brother.
Mikoto worked hard, trained hard, tried hard. Wanting her to notice the man he was becoming. Catching up with something other than years.
Four years was an epoch for young reavers.
On her last year at camp, instead of flying home at summer’s end, Lupe had journeyed to a port city with Priska, boarded a ship, and sailed to some far-off island where a new husband waited. She’d been eighteen, going on nineteen. He’d been fourteen and tongue-tied and inconsolable.
His only tiny sliver of hope was that they weren’t a good match. Maybe Lupe would do her duty to the In-between and leave her island husband behind, making a second marriage possible.
Mikoto had done the math a thousand times over. Enough to understand the mathematical impossibility of grasping at that particular straw. To give Lupe time to fulfill her progeny quota, he’d have to figure out a way to stay single until he was twenty-seven. At least.
Glint might accept the plan. Well, maybe. If Mikoto could get Radiance to back him.
But deep down, Mikoto knew his plan was doomed. Lupe was so warm and accepting. She’d give her contract husband every chance to win her heart. And love him back with all of hers. That’s just the kind of person she’d always been.
Mikoto still wanted to find a way of telling her how he felt, even though it would probably come to nothing. If she was safe and happy without him, he’d let Glint choose a bride with a good bloodline and secure Wardenclave’s future.
It dawned on him then that in all his years of clinging to an impossible wish, he’d never once considered leaving Wardenclave. Not even for Lupe. Did that mean he didn’t love her enough? Maybe. And maybe that didn’t matter anymore. The decision was out of his hands. It always had been.
But if Lupe was even the littlest bit unhappy, he’d give her an alternative.
A whisper of wind flirted around his ankles and tugged at his hair, carrying a sense of summer’s sweetness, drawing his attention to the second-to-last bus in the long line-up. It was always like this. The knowing part. He could always find her. As if they’d forged a connection eight years ago, and they shared it still.
He lengthened his strides.
She stood a little away from those mingling beside the bus, smiling skyward. A breeze caught her long, black hair and flipped the airy fabric of her skirt. Vastly different from standard reaver attire, but maybe they did things differently on whatever island Priska had chosen for her. It was pretty.
As he neared, she laughed lightly and turned his way, smiling as she tucked flyaway hair behind her ear. Lupe Navarro wasn’t very tall; he’d surpassed her height when he was only eleven. She was all confident sweetness and crooked smiles. Bold with colors. Deft with crystals. Crazy about dancing.
Lupe was a reach. Reavers of their order acted almost like a tuned crystal, able to hone in on a location, so long as they had something or someone to reach for. They were prized as navigators, but it was said that reaches of the highest order could find their way into the thoughts of an Amaranthine with whom they shared close ties. Like telepathy. Or something.
“You’re here,” Lupe said.
Mikoto thought she sounded glad of it. “You are back.”
She dimpled and accused, “You’ve changed.”
Not fast enough. Wishing he could think of something clever to say, he mumbled, “You have not.”
Lupe’s brows arched over laughing eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“He is blind,” cut in a sharper voice. Priska Runefarer casually balanced a trunk on one shoulder. Her pale blue hair was its usual mess of choppy waves, and her lip curled to reveal a dainty fang.
Mikoto gestured politely. “Wardenclave welcomes you.”
Priska frowned, but her tone moderated. “You do your father proud.”
“We’re sorry for your loss.” Lupe’s eyes shimmered with sympathy. “Is there anything we can do?”
He didn’t want this. Not even from her. Pasting on a smile, he slid into his role as headman. It was easier this way. “Hana will be so glad for your company. You should come by the house later. Once you are settled.”
Empty words.
Expected courtesies.
“Do you remember the way?” he asked.
Priska snorted. “I’ve been trawling these waters for more centuries than you have years.” With a scowl, she took Lupe’s arm and guided her away toward the cabins set aside for instructors and recruiters.
Mikoto let them go with nothing more than an awkward wave.
He knew how to fall and how to fight, but there had been no fending off the blow Lupe delivered. Turning on his heel, he stumbled off the path and into the woods, desperate to be alone before coming to terms with three things he hadn’t expected.
Despite Priska’s snide remark, Mikoto wasn’t blind.
He could see that Lupe was abundantly happy. He knew the significance of the ornamental sigil decorating her brow. And he understood the meaning of the curves Lupe’s dress didn’t quite hide. She was going to be a mother.
EIGHTEEN
Eastern Bride
Sinder limped along the path to his new quarters. Zisa’s guest house was small by any standard, but it wasn’t a comfortless, woods-damp tent. And it was safe. Right now, Sinder desperately needed that sense of security.
Even with Michaelson absent from their ranks, the recruits were getting on nicely, and Sinder was hiding fresh bruises. He’d barely managed to convince Torloo he could make it back on his own. It wasn’t that far. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t going to get any easier.
All Sinder wanted was a soft bed. And he wouldn’t refuse a dosing once Timur finished up his First Day duties with the campers. Sinder stumbled and swore, quickly straightening when he realized that Fend was sprawled across Zisa’s doorstep. Very much alert.
“I’m fine,” Sinder muttered.
Fend’s lids lowered a fraction. So skeptical.
With a hushing motion, he eased around the big feline. “Between you and me, this is nothing compared to what’s ahead. So leave it.”
A foolish demand. Fend couldn’t exactly spread Sinder’s paltry secrets.
H
e laid back his ears and glared.
“You know, you’re probably right.” Indulging in a tired sigh, Sinder whispered, “I like that about cats.”
Darned if the big feline didn’t roll his eyes. Fend rose, stretched, and walked away, tail lashing.
Pushing through the door, Sinder drew up short. As grateful as he’d been for the company that Timur and Mikoto provided, he’d expected an empty house at this hour. Instead, he walked in on what could only be described as a drinking party.
Ginkgo lifted a beer bottle in greeting. “Grab a seat, Sinder. I’ll pour you a glass.”
Zisa frisked forward to kiss Sinder. “Welcome home.”
“I didn’t realize you were entertaining.” Absentmindedly returning the greeting, he tallied up the tree’s guest list.
Waaseyaa sat in the corner, cradling Timur’s sleeping son.
Ginkgo’s mood was as high as his color.
The man in their midst pushed up his glasses and offered a small nod.
“Salali captured him and brought him to me.” Zisa fluttered over to the man, draping himself around the newcomer’s shoulders. “He is mine now.”
Rather than deny the tree’s claim, the man smiled and touched Zisa’s arms.
Sinder’s synapses belatedly fired, and he put a name to the face. “You’ve kidnapped Lord Mossberne’s eastern bride?”
Tenma Subaru’s hands formed a greeting. “Hello, Sinder.”
Did everyone know his name?
Ginkgo grinned, “You’ve met Tenma?”
“No.” With an apologetic posture to soften a blunt truth, Sinder admitted, “I’ve seen his file.”
Tenma stood and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for imposing.”
“Not a problem,” he lied.
Something in the man’s expression shifted, and he firmly said, “Sit by me.”
“Yeah, join us.” Ginkgo was already pouring a fresh glass, and he picked up the thread of the story he’d been telling. Something involving Isla, who was clearly a mutual friend.
Sinder eased to a seat at the crowded little table. Zisa plied him with snacks, but he only picked at them. A hand found Sinder’s under the table. Tenma never looked away from Ginkgo as his fingers slid between Sinder’s, pressing a crystal between their palms.
An offer?
Pretending fascination with the foam on his drink, Sinder triggered the ward that promised privacy. Almost at once, Tenma was there. A willing soul.
Sinder liked both the offer of comfort and the challenge it represented. Could he indulge without tipping off the others at the table? Probably not if Waaseyaa had been the one offering, but Tenma’s reserves were modest. And unique.
If he were entirely honest, Sinder hadn’t only seen Tenma’s file, he’d helped compile it. He knew what this was. He even knew what to do—theoretically. Sinder tried a little squeeze that was supposed to mean, Sure about this?
Two heart thuds later, Tenma pulled Sinder’s hand into his lap and covered it with his other.
So he composed himself outwardly and worked on a little inner investment. Because according to reports, Tenma Subaru turned pebbles into gemstones and dewdrops into deepening pools. Give a little; gain the sky.
“Hey, there.” A hand lightly pressed Sinder’s forehead, and he twisted away from it. “Come on, Damsel. You’re getting heavy. Tenma’s only human, you know.”
Sinder’s eyes popped open, and he groaned.
Ginkgo chuckled. “Rough day?”
“Worst for me. Best for those recruits.” Reluctantly pulling away from Tenma’s warmth, he was grateful when the man didn’t let go of his hand. “Can’t really complain, since that’s the goal.”
“You should have said something,” grumbled the fox crosser, who was such a nanny. “Are you hurt?”
“Me? I’m in heaven.” Which wasn’t really a lie. Tenma had a rep for good reason.
Tenma quietly contradicted. “He’s in pain.”
Ginkgo growled. “Want me to find Colt Alpenglow?”
“No.” Easing more of his weight off Tenma, Sinder muttered, “Rather have Michaelson.”
“No kidding?” Ginkgo looked ready to tease, but the door swung open.
Daylight was softening toward twilight, and Mikoto stood uncertainly on the threshold, eyes rimmed in red and ankles imperiled by his little nipper of a pup. The young man’s confusion was no different than Sinder’s upon finding the house cram-packed.
“Good evening?”
Mikoto didn’t sound sure, and he looked emotionally mangled. Could be grieving, yet. Sinder didn’t know the kid well enough to say for certain.
Waaseyaa stood and passed the napping little one to Ginkgo. Hurrying to Mikoto, he drew the young man further into the room and closed the door behind him. Zisa was there with soft words and tiptoe kisses, which Mikoto bowed his head to accept. He outstripped these ancients, yet he seemed young and lost and entirely overwhelmed.
Ginkgo gave them several moments, then repeated his earlier question. “Rough day?”
Mikoto nodded.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. You can shore up our gap. Once Timur arrives, Sinder will have a full harem.”
Sinder couldn’t help but snort. “A harem full of males?”
“Perfect for our Damsel.” Ginkgo lowered his voice. “You’re awfully ragged for someone who’s just come off a long sleep.”
Which was true. And sobering.
A chair scraped, and Sinder lost hold of Tenma, who moved around the table to offer his palms to Mikoto.
“Hello. My name is Tenma Subaru. May I know your name?”
With only a moment’s hesitation, the young headman returned the greeting. “Mikoto.”
“And your clan?”
Everyone in the room turned to stare at Tenma.
Pushing at his glasses, he asked, “I apologize. Are you … unaffiliated? Some are, I know.”
Mikoto finally found his voice. “I am Mikoto Reaver.”
“But you’re ….” Tenma glanced at Ginkgo before cautiously asking, “Are you a crosser, then?”
“No? I am a reaver.”
“Glint can vouch for his bloodlines,” said Waaseyaa. “Mikoto is a Reaver among reavers.”
Tenma was staring hard and shaking his head. “But all the colors. I’ve never seen the like. You’re positively … prismatic.”
NINETEEN
Snow
Although Kyrie’s father gave every impression of hating the idea of sending his sons to Wardenclave for the summer, he’d also been the first and fiercest to banish all of Kyrie’s qualms. “You are unique. They will be intrigued. Use that to your advantage.”
Father was often blunter than Mother liked. But Kyrie liked being trusted with plain truths.
“Only indulge the bare minimum of curiosity. In most cases innocuous facts will suffice.”
Kyrie had asked, “Am I forbidden to speak of home?”
“Not necessarily. However, choose what you say—and to whom—with care.” Father smiled thinly. “Questions do not constitute obligations. And we have much to protect.”
Since this was true, Kyrie agreed readily enough. But another point was harder to confess. “I doubt anyone will wish to befriend me.”
Father had wreathed him in all his many tails and repeated, “Not necessarily. Use your judgment, which is sound. And bestow your trust, which is precious, when the time seems right.”
“How will I know what is right?”
“If you were more like me, I would speak of scents.” Tapping his nose, Father murmured, “Because it is you, I would say … listen closely to the whispers of your conscience and also to those of the winds who seek your favor. Neither has ever led you astray.”
Kyrie liked the simplicity. It meant that no matter where he was, he would still be himself. And being sure of himself would make everything easier, even if that was the only thing he could be sure about.
First Day wasn’t so bad. Even when th
e leaders divided the girls from the boys, Kyrie was more interested in what he’d learn than in worrying that he’d be parted from Lilya.
Now, he was conscience-stricken, for he could see from across the green that Lilya was tense and pale.
The moment their instructors released them for an afternoon of free time, Kyrie worked his way toward the sister of his heart. He knew her so well, he could tell she was trying not to run in order to get back to him. And he could tell tears were threatening.
Catching her hand, he redirected her off the path and into the shelter of trees. Ducking under the trailing limbs of an ancient conifer, he hugged her close and offered one of the warbling trills he’d learned from Lapis.
Lilya held him so tightly, it almost hurt. But Kyrie only crooned and waited her out. What had overwhelmed her? A second possibility caused him to blurt, “Was someone mean to you?”
“Everyone is nice. Very nice.”
“Then … why?”
With a wan smile, she confessed, “You were gone.”
“Not far.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I am right here.”
“But you won’t always be.”
Kyrie sighed. “That may be true. And we need to get used to the idea.”
“A little at a time?” There was a smile in her voice. She always did bounce back quickly.
“Is that not why our parents let us come?” Because it was, at least in part.
Lilya took a deep breath and let go. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin, “That sounds like something Uncle Argent would say.”
Kyrie giggled. Because they both knew that what Father said and what Father meant were often two very different things.
“What should we do?” asked Lilya.
He tried to think what would please her most. “Explore the forest. Look for Resplendence. Take pictures for Ever.”
She nodded in an indecisive way, then suggested, “Check to see if Ginkgo and Gregor missed us?”
“Yes. Good.” Kyrie took her hand and asked, “May I choose the route?”
