by Forthright
Swiping at wet lashes, Sinder adopted a meek posture. “Thank you.”
Timur’s anger fled, and he sank to his knees beside the bed. First checking Lilya’s work with the bandages, he relented completely. “Lilya’s right. It’s not your fault that Kyrie’s father is a monster.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You will apologize to Kyrie, yes?” Timur ordered.
“I will.”
“Go on, then. Get back to it.”
Sinder stilled, and Lilya blushed.
Timur blandly said, “You think I can’t tell when a beacon is bestowing a blessing? It’s fine. She needs the practice, and you need the heartening. But first … tea.”
Choking down his dose, Sinder allowed them to chivvy him into a more comfortable position, sitting against the headboard, propped on pillows. Lilya sat with him, tucked against his side, going through the motions, even though Papka’s and Uncle Argent’s sigils regulated everything.
After a scant half hour, Sinder removed her finger and kissed the knuckle. “Better stop there. Staying close is enough.”
She knew from Papka that some Amaranthine withheld themselves from direct tending. A pleasant atmosphere was enough to lift their spirits. Cossets were especially good at that sort of thing. So was Aunt Tsumiko, according to Kyrie. Except that Uncle Argent was forever shuttering his beacon, keeping her all to himself.
“Don’t go falling in love with me.”
“Same to you.” She was relaxed. Eyes closed. Calm.
A few beats later, Sinder tentatively said, “I’m much better at getting people to hate me.”
That was probably an exaggeration. “Like who?”
“The battlers, since I make their training a misery. Your brother, since I hurt someone precious to him. And don’t even get me started about Fend. Was that cat always a menace?”
Lilya giggled. “You’re rivals.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been sleeping with him, yes?”
“Who can sleep? Timur snores worse than a seal with a stuffy nose.”
Sinder was sounding more like himself, which was a relief. She pointed out, “But that’s his usual spot.”
“He’s jealous?”
“And territorial. And temperamental.”
“Lilya?” called Timur, an odd note in his voice.
She opened her eyes, arched her brows. “What?”
Timur’s brow furrowed.
“Maybe he’s jealous?” suggested Sinder.
“Of what?”
“Good point. But he definitely thinks I’m up to mischief.”
“You can’t do mischief. You talk too much to get away with anything.”
“I could give you a list of all the people who agree with your assessment. But here’s the thing, Lilya. While I’m probably always talking, it’s not always out loud.”
She turned enough to study his face.
Sinder’s lips quirked. “Took you long enough.”
He hadn’t opened his mouth, yet his voice carried just fine. “Why can I hear you?”
“I think we’ve accidentally narrowed down your classification. Congratulations, Miss Lilya. You’re a fellow.”
FIFTY-SIX
Gain the Sky
Sinder spent the next few days effectively confined to quarters. It was no use trying to argue that there was a mission at stake. Not with Hisoka Twineshaft backing Timur. So Sinder was forced to endure a full course of remedial teas and handholding.
Sure, they said they needed time to revamp their strategies, but the suspension still felt like punishment. Sure, the rookies would’ve taken a break anyhow, what with the long holiday for Dichotomy Day, but did they have to ban Sinder from the woods?
He was restless.
He wanted to run.
Lilya came as often as her courses allowed. Kyrie came even more, since he slept less. Moon was scarce. Family stuff, no doubt. Hisoka’s visits came at odd intervals—brief, intense, and all business. Everyone had other places to be, other things to be doing. They were moving forward, getting on, busy elsewhere. Only Timur ever lingered. Usually to reinforce the whole bed rest thing by snoring in Sinder’s ear.
He needed air.
He wanted a look at the sky.
Easing out of his healer’s clutches, Sinder stole barefoot across an extravagance in tapestries Timur had strewn across the floor. The man had transformed Zisa’s home into a sanctuary fit for any dragon, and Sinder appreciated the pampering. But not tonight.
He wanted something else.
He needed something more.
Dawn was still an hour or two off, and the humans were all abed. He tiptoed through the hush, half expecting Zisa to swoop in for a surprise snuggle. But the hush held.
Dew beneath his feet. Breezes tugging at his unbound hair. Stars adding luster to a moonless sky. He wished he could touch them. He thought he could hear them.
Snatches of a song caught and held him, winding him up inside.
“Hey, Damsel.” Ginkgo tossed him a wave from where he was lounging among Zisa’s roots. “Nice, huh?”
Sinder drifted over, hugging himself against the chill, even though he was too warm.
“Strangest music I ever heard. Or almost heard. Reminds me of a meteor shower.” He drew a line in the air with one finger. “There and gone in a wink, but a nice surprise. It was clearer the other night. Probably because there were so many of them. All the fragments became a line, and the melody was sorta … otherworldly.”
He hadn’t heard their chorus. Not this time. Which only meant it hadn’t been for him. But Novi was close, and he was in a tuneful mood. Definitely a portent.
“Something wrong?” asked Ginkgo.
“Not sure.” Sinder pivoted and strode away.
“Where are you headed?”
“Into the open. Out from under these branches.” He kept right on walking. “I want to see that star. I want to run.”
Footfalls. Ginkgo caught up and matched his pace. “I usually run with wolves, but I like a change of pace. Mind the company?”
He was rattled.
He was desperate.
Sinder was barely holding it together, which made it easier to admit the truth. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Ginkgo’s ears dipped and flicked, but his manner was as casual as usual. “Not a problem.”
So Sinder ran, could only run.
Headlong, as if there were a pack at his heels.
But he couldn’t outrun the haunting melody that seemed to howl and shriek against his bones. Ignoring the slap and sting of needle and thorn, Sinder plowed on. He needed to silence this wailing need, but where was relief?
He wanted Juuyu.
He needed help.
“Damsel? You blundering idiot! Sinder!” Ginkgo swung into his path, lifted him off his feet, and bullied him into a broad tree trunk, caging him there. “What’s come over you?”
Sinder could only swallow thickly and shake his head.
“What’s going on. Talk to me,” he ordered sternly.
“Feels strange.” Sounded strange, too. He could barely hear his own voice, what with the ringing in his ears. He rolled his shoulders and winced at the bite of bark against his back.
And Ginkgo’s whole expression cleared. “Hey, okay,” he said gently. “I get it.”
He did? Sinder tugged at his shirt, desperate for answers. “What is it?”
“Hang on a sec.” Ginkgo half-turned and raised his voice. “Who goes there?”
Kyrie slipped out of the shadows. “Here I am.”
“What’s up, little bro?”
“The winds woke me.” He frowned slightly. “And the stars. What are you doing to Sinder?”
“Helping him. I hope.”
Sinder warbled miserably, and Kyrie answered with a gentle trill.
Ginkgo asked, “Which form is best for wings? Because there’s not much room here.” And when Sinder didn’t answer, he pressed, “That’s what th
is is, isn’t it?”
Was it?
“You’ve been tended by a beacon for how many days? And Timur and Tenma before that. And Waaseyaa’s influence is probably in the mix.” Ginkgo gave him a little shake. “This is the change every dragon awaits … works toward … right? This is good.”
It didn’t feel good.
But Sinder couldn’t deny that yes, that’s what must be happening. And he had no idea if he was supposed to do this in truest form or speaking form. Stories spoke of both. Did either have an advantage.
“I … I want Michaelson.”
Ginkgo nodded, turned to Kyrie, and lifted his chin toward the village. “Fetch Timur quick.”
“I will hurry.”
Sinder barely registered his absence. Drawing himself up, he tried to remember his lore. Information was his thing. He should know this stuff, probably did. But being in the middle of his attainment left him incoherent.
Slowly releasing his hold, Ginkgo took Sinder’s hand and tugged. Moving forward was better than staying still. Sinder locked his fingers with the half-fox’s and was glad he wasn’t alone.
The lake. He hadn’t realized they were close to it. Stars glittered on a surface that was glassy-smooth. Only then did Sinder realize how still the night had grown. Not a single breath of wind. Had they all followed Kyrie when he left?
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Ginkgo nodded. “When I came into my inheritance, I needed Dad’s help. But it’s probably different for crossers. I ended up needing both him and Tsumiko. They struck the right balance between my human part and my fox part. But Dad’s the one I wanted most. Say, should we have sent for Lapis?”
Sinder shook his head. He wanted Timur. Trusted him.
Rolling his shoulders, Sinder asked, “What was this inheritance?”
“My tail. I wasn’t born with one.” He gave it a lighthearted swish.
“What happened?”
“My bones were on fire, and I could hardly sit still. I was pretty damned scared, and I couldn’t figure out how to display for Dad. But he guided me.”
Sinder asked, “How?”
“You probably don’t want to know.” Ginkgo’s ears angled toward the tree line. “They’re coming.”
Timur charged out of the shadows, Kyrie riding on his back. Winded and worried, he rushed forward, stopped short, then bowed low. “Thank you for inviting me to attend your Ascension.”
Sinder was speechless.
“Where’s Fend?” Ginkgo asked.
“Unable to attend,” Timur said shortly. “Probably for the best. I apologize for any discomfort you’ve had to endure because of my delay. I’m here, Sinder. Right here.”
Admitting it to a Spomenka was hard. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Ah, Zolottse. Nothing to it, really.” Timur’s confidence had a calming effect. “This dawn will see you soaring.”
While Timur arranged things, Sinder balled and relaxed his fists over and over. The man’s shoulder bag clinked with an abundance of flasks. Had he brought medicine? Bandages? Would breaching wings leave him bloodied? Why wasn’t this in the lore? Then again, would anyone seek the sky if they knew the cost?
A smaller hand slipped into his. Kyrie. “Does it hurt?”
“Not exactly. It’s not comfortable.” Sinder was beginning to feel betrayed by his own body. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”
Kyrie pressed closer. “We are here.”
“We are four,” said Timur, who was working on starting a fire. “That’s auspicious.”
“Are there other favorable conditions?” asked Kyrie.
“Plenty.” Flashing a smile at the boy, Timur asked, “Don’t suppose you could summon an east wind for him?”
“I will ask.”
Sinder eyed him skeptically. But a breeze rose from the direction of the lightening horizon, cooling his flushed face. Carrying with it a whisper of Novi’s song.
“Does he need to shift forms?” asked Ginkgo.
“Wings will manifest in either form, but in recent centuries, it’s become popular to remain in speaking form.” Timur’s voice was pitched to soothe. “It makes it easier to maintain a partial transformation later.”
“Wings in speaking form?” checked Kyrie.
“Like a wolf and his tail,” said Ginkgo. “Or a stag and his antlers.”
“That’s the idea. Sinder, may I have access to your blaze?” Timur seemed to tower over him.
No sense holding back now. He shrugged out of his tunic, presenting his bared shoulder.
Pushing aside Sinder’s hair with one finger, Timur asked, “Can we tie this out of the way?”
“Let me,” said Ginkgo. “I’m a pro at braids. In high demand by all the kids.”
Sinder frowned. His injuries had healed enough, he could have managed on his own. But Ginkgo was already smoothing and sectioning. Was everything spinning out of his control?
“Calm down, Damsel,” ordered Ginkgo.
“How can I?” He peered over his shoulder into pale eyes. “I still don’t know what to do.”
Timur was fiddling fireside, and the scent of warming oil filled the air. But he returned to Sinder, hands framing his face. “Truly, there is nothing to fear. All you had to do has been done. Your strength is gathered, and your wings await.”
Sinder’s agitation doubled. “How am I supposed to …?”
He didn’t even have words for the hurdle before him.
“Take from me.” Timur flashed that ridiculously winsome smile of his. “My turn to tend you, Zolottse.”
“That’s all?”
“Simple as that.” And without hesitation, the dragon slayer offered his soul as a refuge, so that one dragon could gain the sky.
A starry soul, more potent than pollen. Heady and homey and his for the taking.
Sinder lost track of everything but Timur, who stole the ache from his bones and flooded him with certainty. All would be well. Nothing to it, really.
Kyrie’s trill called him back. He fluted in harmony with Novi’s swelling song.
Ginkgo’s voice was there, too. Right beside him. “Rise from here, Damsel,” he urged, stroking firmly at his back.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Timur, who held him snug and steady, one large hand covering his blaze.
Then the sun crested, and Kyrie gasped. Sinder writhed.
“That’s the stuff,” praised Ginkgo. “Spread your wings for us, Sinder.”
“Please?” Kyrie added in an awed whisper.
He trembled with the effort, but he managed.
Timur spoke the traditional rites in Old Amaranthine first, then boomed a joyous, “Well done!”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Woo the Wind
Mikoto sought out Merl.
When had they last spent any time together? Too long. True, Merl was essentially running the camp this summer. And everyone was extra busy with the upcoming induction ceremony. But Mikoto was suddenly certain that he needed his brother. His best friend.
“Hear me out?” he begged.
Merl ushered him into the garden behind his house, unlocked the small shed that served as their shared armory, and readied himself to spar. Because this was how they did things. Mikoto always needed a while to figure out how to say what was on his mind.
They bashed around for a bit, changed weapons, and clashed some more.
After another exchange, Merl silently passed him a trowel, and they weeded most of the herb garden before Mikoto began to talk. There was so much. He knew he was forgetting details, but he managed the basics. And Merl listened closely, often pausing in his work to watch Mikoto’s face. The colt was amazed by it all. Every word.
So was Mikoto, come to think of it.
“Your connection to her must be strong if Tenma mistook you for one of us,” said Merl.
Mikoto grunted his agreement.
“So?”
He looked up.
“Have you made you
r choice?”
“I have.” He studied his hands. “Will it cause problems?”
Merl whole expression warmed. “Fewer than you seem to realize. But if problems arise, you can count on Wardenclave’s support.”
Mikoto nodded.
“Have you told Yulin?”
“No.”
“He will be the most help, so go to him next.” Merl rose smoothly. “But first … wait here, please.”
The colt disappeared inside, returning a minute later with a little bell, which he suspended from a branch of the plum tree in the corner of the yard. It chimed once, then settled into silence.
“But first,” Merl resumed. “Talk to her.”
“How?”
“Even if you cannot hear her, she can hear you. Tell her what you know, what you want. Give her as many reasons as you can to find her way to your side.”
Mikoto glanced around. “Can we be sure she is listening?”
Merl pointed to the bell.
It chimed.
“Maker bless,” murmured the colt, who went all soft-eyed. “Take your time. I will be inside.”
The cottage door closed.
Mikoto picked himself up out of the dirt, brushing absently at his breeches. “Is it you?” he asked uncertainly.
A breeze ruffled his hair, then nudged the bell.
“I did not know,” he began awkwardly. “And now I do.”
He waited, but of course she didn’t have anything to say. Or at the very least, no way to say it.
Clearing his throat, Mikoto got on with it. “You need to know that my feelings have not changed.”
The air went still, and it was hard to breathe. This was so embarrassing.
“All the things I loved about Lupe … were you.” He could feel the flush creeping, but she needed to hear it all. “More than anything, I wanted her to see me. Was it that way for you, too?”
The bell pealed several times.
He nodded.
“I do not know if this is enough, but ….” Mikoto took a steadying breath. “Tzefira?”
Wind brushed his face. She was listening.
