by Forthright
“Is something the matter?”
Waaseyaa nodded. “Although I am more concerned about Sinder.”
Timur was already backing toward Zisa’s house. “What happened?”
“I think he needs a healer. Ginkgo thinks he needs a harem.” Waaseyaa waved him onward. “Either way, he asked for you.”
Timur spun on his heel and whispered to Gregor, “We shall catch us a dragon, yes? I can teach you how. It’s a family tradition.”
One that all his other sons and daughters were probably already learning.
One that might bring them back together someday. In a place like this.
TWENTY-ONE
Persons of Interest
Sinder was in familiar territory—fading into the background, overhearing more than people realized. Without really meaning to, he was filing away details about Tenma and Mikoto. They certainly counted as persons of interest.
The Savior.
The Successor.
But to Sinder’s wearily jaded eye, they seemed like a couple of close-kept and cosseted kids. Maybe he envied them their safety. Maybe he should be proud that he was one of the guys who kept them safe.
“Prismatic?” Mikoto looked too confused to be hiding something. “Are you talking about colors?”
Ginkgo’s attention fixed on the young headman. “Sure you’re seeing straight, Tenma? He’s definitely human.”
“Do me!” exclaimed Zisa, who eased between the two men. “Look at me.”
Sinder couldn’t shake the idea that the tree knew exactly what was going on. Easing away so he could watch everyone’s reactions, he focused his senses, trying to catch the import of Tenma’s mistake.
“Oooh,” breathed Tenma. He looked between Waaseyaa and Zisa, then beamed at Mikoto. “You’re tree-kin?”
Zisa tittered.
“No?” Mikoto scooped up his puppy like he wanted to hide behind it. “Just a reaver.”
Ginkgo held up a hand. “Maybe we should start over.”
As they began a rehearsal of bland and useless facts, Sinder slipped into the only other room in Zisa’s house. While some snide part of his personality was amused because trees shouldn’t need toilets, Sinder appreciated the spacious shower stall, which had surely been built on a scale to accommodate the First of Dogs.
Sinder let the drumming of hot water on tiles drown out most of the inanity in the other room and eased carefully out of his clothes. Stepping under the steady flow, he wondered if he had enough range of motion to get properly clean.
He belatedly began unraveling his braid, but he could only lift one arm high enough.
Swearing under his breath, he turned and nearly leapt to the ceiling. Zisa was perched on the sink, watching him.
“You have no concept of privacy!” he grumbled.
“I do. Brother has explained it to me many times.”
“So, what? You don’t believe in privacy?”
“I do not see the necessity.” Zisa smiled sweetly. “You did not ward this room against me.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Sinder.
“May I help with your hair? Brother lets me. His is even longer than yours.”
Relief washed over Sinder, and he mumbled, “That’s very generous of you.”
Zisa hopped down and stood just beyond the streaming water. Sinder turned and tilted his head so the tree could untangle his increasingly sodden hair. “Your clothes are getting wet.”
“Should I disrobe?” Zisa asked hopefully.
“Maybe not.”
Like a well-trained bath attendant in a dragon lord’s harem, the tree handled him courteously. Blunt nails scraped circles against his scalp. Then a hand took Sinder’s chin, guiding the angle of his head, the other lifting sections of hair to rinse away the suds.
Sinder basked in the heat and in the attention. So much, he was sorry when Zisa turned off the tap.
Still in silence, which was its own kind of privacy, Zisa brought out an enormous stack of towels and proved he was adept at toweling without tangling. Sinder bowed his head and let the tree do as he pleased.
Zisa had begun braiding before he spoke again. “You have more injuries today.”
“You keep track?”
“Are you being bullied? Children are sometimes bullied.”
What a thing to ask. “I’m hardly a child.”
“No?” Zisa sounded amused.
Sinder lifted his head. “Do I look like a child to you?”
“How many centuries do you have?”
Fudging a little, Sinder held up three fingers.
Zisa shook his head and pushed down one of the fingers. “You are barely old enough to tempt a tree.”
“I know I’m young. Prodigies usually are.”
“Finished.” Zisa dropped a kiss on the blaze decorating Sinder’s shoulder. “Thank you for your trust, beautiful dragon.”
Sinder turned, only to find himself in a careful embrace. It was so easy to give in, sagging against Zisa, who held him up, stalwart as beams.
“Timur is coming,” Zisa murmured. “He will know what to do.”
Sinder sighed. “Oh, sure. I suppose he could just put me out of my misery.”
“You will show him your injuries and drink his tea and trust him as you have trusted me.” Zisa sternly added, “Or I will tell on you.”
“I suppose.”
“Promise it.”
Sinder smiled, for Zisa wasn’t very convincing as a commander. He missed Juuyu’s crisp orders and Boon’s growling. But since either of them would have backed up Zisa at this moment, Sinder lifted his face and whispered, “I promise.”
Zisa kissed his nose, stepped back, and vanished.
While he pulled himself together, Sinder tried to decide if he should make a note in his report about Zisa. While it was plain as pebbles that Amaranthine trees could manifest, it had never occurred to Sinder that they could de-manifest. Or would it be un-manifest? And presumably re-manifest at a different location. How quickly? And what was the limit of their range?
Surely there was some strategic significance here. Offensive and defensive potential? A possible means of protection, both for them and for their sibling? Hallow would figure it out if anyone could. Sinder would simply leave out the circumstances surrounding his little discovery.
Exiting the bathroom, he fielded a nod from Ginkgo, who was in the middle of trying to explain what it was like, having characteristics of both Amaranthine and reaver bloodlines.
Zisa stood poised by the door, hand on the knob. If his expression was anything to go by, Ginkgo, Tenma, and Mikoto were off the mark, but getting warmer. If no one else thought to ask the tree what was going on, he’d do it himself.
But then Zisa was ushering in Timur, whose gaze locked on Sinder with unnerving intensity.
He knew. But how …?
Then it registered that Michaelson had carried Gregor in, which meant Waaseyaa must have brought the boy to his father. Between a likely tip-off and the threat of tattling, Sinder wasn’t getting out of this. Damn. He hated explaining things that weren’t the business of anyone outside the heights.
Timur’s arrival set off a chain reaction. Ginkgo jumped up, all pretense of drunkenness gone, to introduce Tenma. Mikoto rallied considerably. He was clearly taken by Timur in a very “notice me, sempai” way.
Waaseyaa came to the door long enough to ask if Mikoto and Tenma would help him prepare the evening meal. And invited them all to share it. Ginkgo stole Gregor and announced they needed to track down Kyrie and Lilya.
Zisa smilingly closed the door on the entire lot, offered Sinder a wink, and vanished. Leaving him alone with Timur and Fend.
The former crossed the room in two long strides and loomed over him. “Tell me what you need.”
“Who says I need anything?” Sinder rolled his eyes at Fend and grumbled, “You told, didn’t you?”
Timur looked between them, then slowly asked, “Sinder, are you afraid of me?”
Th
e idea. “No. I wanted you more than anyone.”
“Good.” His expression softened, and he repeated, “Good. Who prettied you up?”
Sinder drew a blank.
“Your hair.”
Slowly reaching out, Timur pulled the heavy weight of Sinder’s braid forward. In addition to helping and holding him, Zisa had woven his own flowers through the entire length of his braid.
“Sneaky, flirty imp of a tree.” Sinder closed his eyes. “I couldn’t manage alone.”
“Show me.”
Sinder eased up the hem of his tunic. Timur quickly knelt and took over, hands tracing welts and abraded skin.
“No bones broken,” Sinder assured. Always a bright side.
“Who kicked you?” Timur’s voice was low, dangerous.
“Doesn’t matter.” Anger radiated from the battler, and Sinder sighed. “Trust me when I say I was asking for it. And dragons usually get what they ask for.”
Timur’s expression abruptly closed off. “Sinder, are you afraid of me?” he repeated.
“Not … specifically.”
The battler rose to his full height. “The idea of me,” he quietly amended. “You called me a dragon slayer.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I am a member of the Order of Spomenka.” His voice deepened, and his accent thickened. “My heritage. My training. We are legendary, yes? Do little dragons grow up fearing the storms we can bring?”
Sinder muttered, “I’m not a child.”
“What are your comfort colors?”
“Wh-what?”
Timur gripped him by the back of his neck, but before the move could register as threatening, he was pinching one of Sinder’s vertebrae. Then the one below it. As he added more pressure, Sinder fluted an oath, his eyes crossing.
“Can you raise your ridges in speaking form?” Timur asked.
Sinder leaned into the man, head lowered. He trilled a weak protest. Humans weren’t supposed to know this stuff.
“Which of the winds do you favor?” Timur continued. “When was the last time you were properly oiled?”
“Why?”
“Why do I want to know? For your comfort.”
Sinder shook his head. “Why do you know at all?”
Timur’s other hand began working in tandem. “I am a member of the Order of Spomenka. We only know what’s been entrusted to us. Who do you think teaches us your ways?”
Swearing miserably, he filled in the blank. “Dragons.”
“I started living among dragons when I was fourteen. Most of my early training revolved around pampering and pleasing dragons. I was a harem attendant. I was a healer in the heights. I made friends and helped three of your brethren gain the sky.”
Sinder looked up then, stunned. “They let you into the heights?”
“Not many humans learn what I know.”
“Tracking and trapping and marking.”
Timur hummed an affirmative. “Don’t forget pedicures.”
Sinder snorted. “Only if Fend goes first.”
In silence, Timur convinced him. Even Juuyu didn’t know things like this. Sinder probably wouldn’t have told him if he’d asked. But this Spomenka had him in his proverbial coils. Long-ignored instincts stirred, and Sinder crumbled under the weight of his need.
“Please?” he whimpered.
“Glad to,” Timur promised.
And because this man knew what it meant and how much, Sinder whispered, “Yellow.”
“Right. And?”
“East.”
“Ah, a contrary wind. Not at all surprised.” Timur’s smile was easy to trust. “And which of the oils should I have shipped?”
Sinder had never been asked before. In his line of work, you made do or did without. How strange to be offered such consideration during the worst summer of his life. With a low trill and a long sigh, Sinder asked, “Ever heard of spikenard?”
“I know it.” Timur promised, “You’ll have it.”
TWENTY-TWO
Asking the Right Questions
Mikoto was grateful for the distractions, even the confusing one offered by Tenma. The man kept stealing glances all through dinner, which was a little unnerving. Mikoto couldn’t help but wonder what he was seeing.
Reavers weren’t supposed to touch one another’s souls. But Tenma had admitted that he wasn’t exactly a reaver, although he had to be something similar. Otherwise, how else could he tend at all? Which was apparently his method for healing the Broken.
A mystery and a miracle worker.
His prismatic remark made no sense. And colors? That wasn’t how Mikoto saw his connection to the Amaranthine.
But Tenma seemed harmless. He meant well, and he presented himself as a modest and unassuming man. Though hard to fathom. All through dinner, Tenma sat quietly, ate sparingly, and mostly listened to everyone else’s conversations.
With traces of chagrin, Mikoto realized he was probably being equally inscrutable. Though he ate with better appetite. Uncle was a good cook, and Zisa fluttered around the table, nudging extra onto everyone’s plates. Even Noble, who’d curled up between Fend’s front paws, received the odd morsel.
Had there ever been such a dinner party? Mikoto doubted the years had brought such a group to Uncle’s table.
They lingered over the meal, but Ginkgo finally announced it was time for the young ones to prepare for bed. Their cue to disband.
Making his way to Uncle’s side, Mikoto mumbled his thanks and surrendered his hand, which Waaseyaa held until Zisa wafted over and cozied up. Nothing was said, exactly. Not even goodbye, since Glint was still monopolizing Mikoto’s room and Yulin’s attention.
Tenma migrated over to offer parting courtesies.
“Mikoto will walk you home,” said Zisa. “Unless you would like to sleep here? I have a house.”
“That’s not necessary,” Tenma murmured. “You’ve been too generous.”
“I insist!”
Mikoto gently squeezed Zisa’s shoulders. “You are a good host. I am certain he will want to return.”
The tree pouted. “That is not why. And I still insist. I will even go along, to make sure.”
Waaseyaa quietly reminded, “You cannot pass our boundaries, Brother.”
“I know.” Zisa lay his head against Mikoto’s chest and murmured, “I only want to help them.”
To appease the tree, Mikoto said, “We can walk Tenma to the boundary. That way, he will know the way back to you.”
“Yes!” All brightness, Zisa gave his brother a soft-eyed look. “This is important.”
“I will be waiting,” Waaseyaa promised.
Tenma followed the conversation with an expression of polite confusion. Mikoto wasn’t sure what else to do, so he reinforced Zisa’s invitation. “Let us walk you to the boundary. It would be our pleasure.”
The man accepted with a nod. “I would appreciate knowing how to return.”
Zisa seized their hands and nearly skipped to the door.
Tenma didn’t seem to mind the handling at all. In fact, he laced his fingers with Zisa’s and held on tight. Mikoto found himself hoping the man would stay in Wardenclave. Not many were so accepting of Zisa’s little ways.
Barely halfway to the boundary, Zisa stopped short. “Now,” he said, as serious as Mikoto had ever seen him. “Tell Tenma what happened.”
“Something happened?” Mikoto’s brows furrowed. “When?”
“When you were smaller than you are now, but not as small as Gregor.” Zisa wasn’t very good with timeframes, but when he let go and stepped back, he put out a hand, describing the correct height. It was a good hint.
“Zisa, are you talking about when I was nine?”
“No. You talk.” The tree made little flutters with his hands. “Tell him about the day when everything changed.”
Which could only mean … Lupe. Lowering his voice, Mikoto asked, “Do you mean the day I almost drowned? Why do you want me to share that story?”
“It matters,” said Zisa. And again to Tenma. “It matters.”
“I believe you.” Tenma took a receptive posture. “If Mikoto-kun is willing.”
Mikoto didn’t mind telling, but he didn’t understand why. Touching Zisa’s shoulder, he asked, “Why does it matter?”
“Because that is the day everything changed,” he patiently replied.
“I do not understand.”
“Maybe I will,” Tenma suggested.
“It was an accident,” Mikoto awkwardly began. “We were down by the river. I slipped and fell in.”
Not much of a story, really. A dozen words covered the basics.
Zisa frowned. “You left out the important part.”
“L-lupe … she ….” Mikoto stopped and restarted. “A friend of the family dived in after me and pulled me out. She saved my life.”
Tenma was listening closely, watching closely. He asked, “Were drastic measures required?”
“I … I guess you could say that. The other kids teased me some, saying she kissed me.” Mikoto offered an awkward shrug. “I needed CPR.”
“Breath,” said Zisa, who bounced on his heels. “Wind.”
To Mikoto’s way of thinking, the kiss was the important part, even if he couldn’t really remember it. Only the elation and how the air had tasted. And the warmth of being hugged and how Lupe smelled like sunshine. And the whole falling in love thing.
“This friend of the family,” Tenma said, watching Zisa now. “She’s Amaranthine?”
“No. She is a reaver.” Mikoto lowered his gaze. “She is here. For the summer.”
Tenma shuffled closer, maybe to try to read his expression in the dark. “Are you sure?”
“That she is here? Yes.” He swallowed hard. “I met her bus.”
Reaching out to touch his arm, Tenma quietly asked, “No. I meant … are you sure she’s human?”
Zisa tittered.
Mikoto whispered, “Of course she is human. The same as me.”
“Yes,” Tenma said slowly. “But you and I aren’t the same kind of human. Maybe she’s another kind entirely.”
“Closer.” Zisa clapped his hands the same way Yulin often did. “Close, but not quite.”
