Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga Book 4)

by Forthright

Sinder opened one eye. “You’re sure that’s where she is? How do you know?”

  “I just … always have.”

  “Try to define the feeling for me. What senses are involved? Where is your certainty coming from?”

  He’d never tried to explain it before.

  “Can you hear her? Can you taste her?” Sinder asked patiently. “Oh, don’t give me that look. The wind can carry more than scents.”

  Mikoto’s grip tightened. “Wind.”

  “Hmm?” Sinder invited more without actually saying anything.

  “There are always little swirls of wind, just puffs and breezes, that only happen when Lupe is close.”

  Sinder hummed again. “So you weren’t setting off windchimes last summer, while she was elsewhere?”

  It had been a lonely summer. Mikoto shook his head. “It was quiet.”

  “And these things—the noticing, the knowing, the scent and sense of elation. They feel like love to you?”

  Mikoto’s face heated. “Yes.”

  Sinder sighed and said, “Could I tell you a story? I think it’d help.”

  “All right.”

  Ginkgo returned right then. “Ready, Damsel?”

  The dragon frowned. “Will Kyrie mind if Mikoto joined us?”

  “Today is for you more than him.”

  Sinder looked to Mikoto. “Timur insisted we spend the rest of the day at one of your more secluded lakes. It’s partly to keep a promise I made Kyrie, but I also need water and sunlight and Timur.”

  “His cosseting wouldn’t hurt,” said Ginkgo. “Sure. Let’s kidnap the headman. And his little dog, too. Where’d that bit of fluff get to?”

  Mikoto hesitated. “I do not want to intrude.”

  “Trade with me, in the way of friends.” Sinder smiled wearily. “Share your strength, and I will share what I know. And if there’s any truth to the tales, I should be able to help.”

  “Friends,” Mikoto agreed, then scooped up Sinder to carry him out the door.

  “I can walk!”

  “Can you?” he challenged. He knew better. Knew how tired and lonely and scared this dragon was.

  Sinder swore. And went limp. And whispered, “I promise, Mikoto. It’s a good story.”

  “I believe you.” He wryly asked, “Is that because you are a dragon?”

  “That reminds me!” Sinder’s eyes glinted, and he slyly urged, “Touch my nose.”

  THIRTY

  The First Rule of Dragons

  Kyrie had been looking forward to the trip to the lake, but not quite like this.

  He was used to sharing. His home. His room. His mother. His father. But when he’d spoken with Sinder about this trek and its purpose—rite of passage stuff—he’d sort of thought it would be less crowded.

  Yet as he followed Ginkgo, who braced a crate on one shoulder, Kyrie couldn’t honestly imagine asking anyone to leave.

  Timur, who had taken charge.

  Ginkgo, who was taking orders.

  Mikoto, who was finally taking notice of the way the wind danced for him. In Kyrie’s opinion, it was sort of like the way Fend made all sorts of little bids for Timur’s attention. Such a friendly wind, but more focused than the ones Kyrie usually met in passing.

  He’d never seen a wind stay before.

  Kyrie was a part of this party, too. Kyrie, who had been taken along, even though the day would be less about the dragon half of his heritage and more about helping Sinder recover.

  Making four. At least, four in speaking form. Kyrie cuddled Noble under his chin, since minding the puppy was his current contribution, freeing Mikoto’s hands. The headman had a backpack and two big duffles, their straps crisscrossing his broad chest.

  Four.

  Kyrie knew as many stories of dragons as Mother could find, and in every story, fours were important. Did Sinder need things in fours? Was he more at ease now that he’d asked Mikoto along? Kyrie would need to watch for other examples.

  Could numbers be inherent? Surely, they were only tradition. Kyrie didn’t think he had an instinctual need for fours. Except … he’d been raised by four parents. With enough siblings to make a dragon lord proud. Was some part of Kyrie more at ease because he longed for a harem?

  Maybe he should ask Lapis the next time he visited. Or maybe Sinder would know.

  “Hey, little bro.” Ginkgo was looking back, his free hand extended.

  Quickening his pace, Kyrie laced his fingers with his brother’s.

  “Something on your mind?”

  Kyrie sifted through the many ideas niggling at him and selected something safe. “Can crossers tend?”

  “Not sure. Never really tried. Not on purpose, anyhow.”

  His brother’s face had gone suspiciously pink. Kyrie pressed, “Accidentally?”

  “Me and Kel, I guess. We got a little tangled up once. His brothers kept a closer eye on us after that.” Ginkgo admitted, “I was probably his first taste. Though the Elderboughs decided it didn’t count.”

  “Because crossers do not count?”

  “Nah. They counted me as a packmate, so I mattered as much as anyone. But we were too young to be messing around with stuff we didn’t understand. Kind of like underage drinking.”

  “You did not try again?”

  “Not … exactly. Well, maybe. With Dad.”

  Kyrie wasn’t sure why his brother wasn’t sure.

  “Mostly, I like to be on the receiving end of tending. Michael usually sets me up, but Mom’s the absolute best.” Ginkgo gave his hand a squeeze. “You getting curious about this stuff?”

  He was curious about most stuff. But Kyrie understood the underlying question. “Not enough to get tangled.”

  “When you are, go to Michael.”

  “I will.” And because Ginkgo would be honest, he asked, “Will I be in the way today?”

  “Hardly. Or did you forget you’re the whole reason for today.”

  Kyrie ventured, “Sinder is hurt. This is for his healing?”

  “The outing will do him good. Being in truest form will do him good,” Ginkgo allowed. “But Timur didn’t redecorate Zisa’s house just so we could get out of there. He probably would have kept his patient there if he could’ve. But Damsel insisted.”

  “For me?”

  “For sure. And maybe for himself. You might be the only other dragon on the continent.” Ginkgo’s gaze tracked to Timur, who’d insisted that Sinder ride Fend. And further insisted on riding with him, to prevent him from sliding off the sleek cat. “Dragons are really social. Loners are rare, and Sinder isn’t a loner. He’s had it rough.”

  “We are here. He has us.”

  “We’ll remind him of that.” Ginkgo’s smirk promised mischief. “Juuyu insisted.”

  On the mossy bank of a pretty little lake, Sinder sank to his knees before Kyrie and said, “Little cousin. I’m like you, and you’re like me. Not the same, but alike. And I like that.”

  “Me, too,” admitted Kyrie.

  “Let’s start simple. I’ll revert, and you may make a full inspection.” Sinder hesitated. “Will you be able to hear my voice in truest form?”

  “I do not know.” Kyrie looked to Ginkgo.

  The half-fox shrugged. “I can sometimes hear Dad, but only if we’re touching and he’s trying. Not sure if blood ties are part of that or if clan ties are enough.”

  Kyrie really wished Ginkgo was more interested in the duality of his existence, but introspection had never been his strong point. Kyrie’s most probing questions had never occurred to his big brother, who didn’t even have a philosophy of life. Just a motto. You’re alive, so live.

  Some of their crossers really needed to hear that.

  Like Ginkgo was giving them permission to exist.

  “Guess we’re here to find out.” Sinder shrugged. “If not, no big deal. Save up your questions for after.”

  “I will,” promised Kyrie.

  “Two steps back,” urged Sinder.

  He sprang away and
waited breathlessly.

  With a solemn wink, Sinder transformed.

  Even though he knew what to expect, Kyrie’s heart squeezed as Sinder seemed to shatter like light through a prism, scattering before gathering into a new shape. Scales rippled outward, and curving claws flexed against soft soil.

  Sinder’s scales were like opal—translucent, even luminous, and sparked by colors that shifted in the gaining sun. Two white horns spiraled above a pale mane threaded with green. Familiar eyes glinted, clear and calculating, as sharp as any fox’s.

  Kyrie suddenly understood something about himself. He was drawn to Sinder’s intelligence even more than his beauty. Here was another person—like Dad—who would speak the truth, even if it wasn’t easy.

  Needing to touch, knowing it was all right, Kyrie let his fingertips glide over silken scales. While the overall impression was certainly green, the vivid colors that marked Sinder’s speaking form were only apparent on close inspection. Hidden facets. Ribbons under ice. Flowers in the snow.

  Beautiful.

  Achingly, flawlessly beautiful.

  Until Kyrie’s questing fingers snagged upon a rough patch. Something had rubbed Sinder raw, marring his opalescent perfection. Kyrie hastened to Sinder’s other side, standing ankle-deep in the lake in order to inspect his opposite flank.

  Long scratches. Deep punctures. Trembling muscles.

  “Please,” Kyrie quavered, reached urgently for Timur. “Please, hurry. Please, help.”

  “I will,” Timur answered absently. He was rummaging through the contents of the crate. “I will, and you’ll help me. We’ll help him together, yes?”

  Ginkgo flicked Kyrie’s ear then. A sharp reprimand. “Mind your words, little bro.”

  Kyrie clamped both hands over his mouth. Mortification set in. He hadn’t meant to try to sway Timur.

  “Hey, now,” Ginkgo gruffly chided. “I’m glad you care so much about Damsel. Enough to forget yourself. It’s not like you, but in a good way. You know?”

  No, no. There was no excuse. Kyrie knew better.

  “Are you even listening?” Ginkgo gently eased Kyrie’s hands away from his mouth. “Be more careful with your words, but don’t take them back. All I’ll ask is that you take responsibility.”

  Kyrie followed his brother’s gaze to Mikoto Reaver, who hovered uncertainly at the water’s edge.

  “What can I do to help?” asked Wardenclave’s headman.

  He’d influenced someone. Shame burned in Kyrie’s eyes as he offered his hands. “I apologize,” he whispered. “Please, forgive me?”

  “For what?”

  Mikoto’s confusion only made it worse.

  Ginkgo jumped in. “Seems you’re susceptible to half-dragons, as well.”

  Sloshing back onto shore, Kyrie confessed, “I was careless with my words.”

  “You did no harm,” Mikoto quickly assured. “I am here to help.”

  Kyrie adjusted his posture into something the headman was sure to understand, living as he did among dogs. “There is no excuse. I will own my mistake and learn from it.”

  Mikoto dropped to one knee and searched Kyrie’s face from a closer quarter. “I believe I understand.” Meeting his palms, the headman gravely said, “All is forgiven.”

  He offered a grateful smile.

  “Truly, Kyrie.” Mikoto slipped his hands into a supportive position. “Tell me how I can help. Sinder is my friend.”

  “And me?”

  Mikoto pressed his thumbs gently into Kyrie’s palms and asked, “Are you asking if we can be friends?”

  “Let there be peace between us,” he replied formally.

  The headman bowed his head, firmed his grip, and smiled shyly. “You have made me glad our paths crossed.”

  Kyrie felt somehow … richer.

  Mikoto looked at him with something akin to awe. Which seemed silly when there was a flawlessly beautiful dragon beside them. Mikoto said, “You are very colorful. Is that rude of me to say?”

  “Crossers are born with clear indicators of their clan. My colors surely echo those of my Amaranthine parent.” Kyrie quietly added, “Since my foster father is a fox, Sinder offered to teach me about my heritage.”

  “Then we are both curious about dragons.”

  Suddenly, Sinder’s claws slipped between them, closing around Kyrie, lifting him away from Mikoto. Kyrie already knew that a dragon’s digits were as dexterous as human fingers. Lapis had proven he could write while in truest form. And pull delicate sigils out of thin air.

  Sinder gave Kyrie a light toss over his shoulder, then reached for Mikoto, ferrying him onto his back. He gave the young man more time to find his feet before letting go.

  Mikoto’s eyes were wide, and he seemed at a loss where to put his hands.

  “The first rule of dragons,” intoned Timur. “Once you spy the beast, do not look away. They deserve one’s full attention. And they know themselves to be deserving. However, they like to be reminded. Compliments are encouraged.”

  Ginkgo propped his hands on his hips. “In other words, keep the center of attention where it belongs. Am I right, Damsel?”

  Sinder arched his neck and warbled a series of notes that Kyrie could feel through his feet.

  Timur directed, “You two check for any lingering splinters. They can get lost in the shift between forms. Meanwhile, I’ll warm the ointments and balms. Dragons are fussy about temperatures.”

  A gusty huff.

  Timur grinned. “I’m not criticizing. You should thank the four winds I’m not the kind of well-meaning fool who’d slather you in chilly glop.”

  Kyrie could feel Sinder’s shudder.

  “You’re a fortunate dragon, indeed, to have gathered a fellowship of four.” Timur promised, “We’ll take our time. We’ll do this properly. We’ll stir up your embers. We’ll bank your fires.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Ulterior Motives

  “How do you know so much about dragons?” asked Mikoto.

  Timur fussed with the contents of the crate—mesh bags, labeled pouches, glass vials, and clay pots. “I worked with them and lived with them throughout my teen years. You could say dragons are my specialty.”

  “I have never heard of battlers who partner with dragons.”

  “You wouldn’t have.” Timur spared him a glance. “We’re quite the secretive bunch. My own siblings don’t know where I’ve been or what I did there.”

  An expert. “We are fortunate you happened to be here.”

  “Not really.” Timur’s next glance was amused. “I’m here by design. Or designs. Every time I turn around, I trip over an ulterior motive.”

  Mikoto plucked up a bundle of fringed fettle. “Should I be worried? As headman, I mean?”

  Timur glanced at Fend, whose lip curled. “Not as headman. But you struck your own bargain with Sinder, yes?”

  “I did. You heard?”

  “Not much, no details. But a dragon’s pledge has a certain ring to it. Hard to miss.”

  Mikoto sighed. “You have confided in me. I would gladly offer a return of trust, but my secret is more of a mystery. In truth, I already confided in your sister.”

  “Lilya?”

  He backed up. “The first time we met, Tenma somehow mistook me for an Amaranthine, Zisa began dropping little hints about Impressions. After that, Tenma placed a call to your sister Isla. She is very knowledgeable.”

  “Oh, she is at that. And did she sort your problem?”

  Mikoto studied his hands, then glanced toward Sinder. “She said I needed a dragon.”

  “And did Sinder sort your problem?”

  “Not yet.” With a sigh, he admitted, “Nobody has said so outright, but I am beginning to think I fell in love with the wrong girl.”

  Timur went still, his gaze sad. “Tell me about it.”

  “May I help with these?” Indicating the warming pots and crushed herbs, Mikoto asked, “Do the standard proportions change for dragons?”

  Wit
h a bemused look, Timur said, “For dragons, I double the mallow pulp, and I’ve added some lemongrass for Sinder, since he favors bright scents. You know the healing arts?”

  Mikoto supposed it was his turn. “I have been working alongside a healer since I was old enough to sneak off. Merl Alpenglow is my best friend, my brother.”

  “Fandriel’s foresight, you’re a welcome surprise.” Timur shoved several implements into Mikoto’s hands. “Prep four full measures. Once he’s had a wallow in the lake, daub it on thick and hot.”

  “Four measures,” he confirmed, calmly lining up ingredients in the order he’d need them.

  “Steady hands and a sweet soul. Looks like I’m the fortunate one, having you here.” Timur scratched at the stubble on his chin. “If you can also handle Sinder’s tending, I can focus on closing the smaller wounds with sigils. It’s the dragon way.”

  Mikoto was eager to see that sort of treatment but only asked, “Is there an ideal temperature?”

  Timur rattled off an acceptable range while poking through a small pouch on a cord around his neck. Withdrawing a pale green marble—undoubtedly a remnant—he addressed Sinder. “Ever had a wound warded? Medical barriers? Sigil-soothing?”

  Sinder’s claws gracefully formed a no. It hadn’t even occurred to Mikoto that hand signs were an option. In hindsight, he felt silly.

  “Advanced sigilcraft wrought upon the body.” Timur held up the green marble. “This will anchor my sigils. You can keep it under your tongue, or you could swallow it. Either way, I’ll need it back. Eventually.”

  There was a teasing light in Timur’s eyes.

  Sinder extended a clawed hand to accept the crystal. He held it up to catch the light, studying it for several long moments, then took it into his mouth.

  “Did you swallow it?” asked Kyrie, sloshing around to peer curiously into Sinder’s face.

  The dragon’s brow ridges arched, but he kept his own counsel on the matter.

  “Oh.” Kyrie’s giggle had a fluting quality.

  “Did he say something?” asked Mikoto. He’d lived among the clans long enough to know that not all communication was verbal.