Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal

by Forthright

  Tenma trusted Quen, who was watching closely, so he relinquished the slip of paper that had given him so much peace of mind. Nothing much happened. At first.

  Since he was expecting it this time, he wasn’t surprised when a nagging uncertainty asserted itself. A little at a time, as if someone were turning up the volume on his anxiety. He was extremely conscious of both Quen and Lord Mossberne, and those impressions were clamoring for his attention. It was the strangest thing. Like an instinct. Or the sudden insight. A eureka moment of clarity. Only this time, there wasn’t any push toward panic.

  “Tenma?” prompted Quen. “Everything okay?”

  He searched for a helpful answer. “I’m not exactly afraid, but … I feel strange.”

  Quen offered his hands, and Tenma grabbed hold.

  “I have always envied the easy trust that dogs inspire. Such friendly relations. Quite cuddly.” Lapis studied the slip of paper held between two upraised fingers. “El-o-quence. This is as inspired as it is impetuous. What possessed you to contain him?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just a simple barrier.”

  Lapis responded with a whiffling vocalization that Tenma felt certain was patronizing. He had no idea why he’d gained that impression. Unless it was attached to this creeping awareness.

  “The intent of most barriers is focused outward. Repelling notice, ingress, attack.” The dragon’s deep voice turned teasing. “This does not growl and snap at intruders. You have used a portion of your strength to hide him away. Even from himself. A unique—albeit effective—approach to the problem at hand.”

  “If it works, then no harm’s done,” grumbled Quen.

  Tenma quickly said, “It has worked. I mean, I can barely tell you’re here.”

  Lapis’ jewel-like eyes swung back to Tenma—glittering in the firelight, smoldering with interest. “Me? Are you saying you have some sense of my soul? Impossible.”

  “S-sorry, sir. I don’t understand these things very well yet.” Tenma must have insulted him somehow. “Maybe it’s only because you’re holding Quen’s sigil.”

  “Possible,” murmured the dragon. “Remotely possible. What is it you think you can ‘barely tell’ about me, sealed boy?”

  Tenma didn’t like to say. Because if he put it into words, it would sound foolish.

  Quen frowned. “Don’t put it to him that way. You know it’s not impossible for him to carry a bit of talent. Not every reaver bloodline is under my grandsire’s watchful eye.”

  “Granted.” Lapis made a gesture Tenma understood from class—no offense intended. Then he lifted both wrists. “The source of my skepticism lies in these, not with you.”

  The dragon wore two heavy bracelets that must have been carved from black stone. Each bangle had deep grooves carved into them, creating patterns similar to those Quen had drawn for him. Sigils. For a barrier? Curiosity prompted Tenma’s touch. As his fingertips trailed along cool stone, his impressions grew even clearer. “I don’t think I’m imagining things.”

  “Dragons like compliments.” Quen nudged him and nodded. “Even if you find him frightening, it would probably please him.”

  He would rather have described Quen, whose presence curled around him with languid confidence, a sort of luminous warmth—settled, strong, reliable. Beside him, Lapis was all brittle edges, like shattered glass. “It’s like you’re broken.” Tenma struggled for a more sensible description. “You’re all blues and echoes and longing.”

  Quen sounded surprised. “You can see color in his darkness.”

  “How very impish of you,” said Lapis. “If I am a lonely blue, what is your dear classmate? Copper I suppose?”

  Tenma shook his head, not sure what to call the honeyed glow that flowed against him like syrup. But one thing was clear, and it took him by surprise. “Quen is lonely, too.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Laud and Ever

  “Not at all,” Eloquence said firmly. “And Lord Mossberne cannot be lonesome either, for we have come together, and our pack has found a good den for the night.”

  “Cozy and soon to be over-crowded, in the fashion of cuddling curs.” Lapis rolled his eyes toward the door.

  “Pack,” murmured Tenma, his cheeks pink in the gaining light of the fire.

  From the porch outside came the noise of a one-boy stampede and Rise’s low wuff of welcome. For Tenma’s benefit, Quen said, “My brother is home. Uncle Laud is bringing him.”

  A moment later, Ever tumbled into the room with a glad cry. “Bruvver!”

  Quen scooped him up and nuzzled the three-year-old’s hair, enjoying the mingled scents of baby shampoo and happiness. Cradling him close, he nodded to Uncle Laud, who urged Rise inside before shutting the inner door. A barely perceptible thrum assured Quen that the customary barriers were now in place. And for the first time, he realized that his uncle’s shelter was the containing sort—more possessive than protective.

  As was his right.

  Laud was Dad’s younger brother, born before the Waning. Harmonious was Glint Starmark’s firstborn, a distinction that had led to his appointment as Spokesman for the dog clans. Laud was born twentieth.

  There were enough resemblances to mark Laud as Harmonious’ brother—the set of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the pitch of his voice. But where the eldest son was charismatic and affable, the younger was serious and silent. And Laud had inherited his mother’s coloring. Glint’s bondmate was a famous beauty with pure white fur and copper eyes.

  Quen had been in Laud’s care from the time he was weaned, in the same way Dad had entrusted Quen with Ever. A fostered pup. Because the Starmark pack looked to their own. Even those who would never take a bondmate could treasure a child.

  Lapis warbled a low welcome, which Laud answered by producing a drinking gourd, its wax seal still in place.

  Tenma hung back, eyes darting. But then Lapis tucked the sigil into his front pocket, murmuring, “Adorable, is he not?”

  Eloquence nearly laughed, for Tenma seemed confused over which person Lapis found adorable: Laud, Ever, or Rise. And in finding equal appeal in all of Quen’s denmates—Kith, Kin, and crosser—Tenma earned a greater measure of trust on all sides.

  “Ever,” said Eloquence, tapping his brother’s wriggling nose. “I brought my friend from school to meet you. Will you greet him properly?”

  Lisping an affirmative, Ever squirmed to be let down and ran trustingly to Tenma.

  The little boy’s chubby feet were bare, showing their clawed tips. And he was dressed in the same fashion Dad favored, with short-coat and sash over loose pants. By necessity, Ever’s hakama had been notched at the back to make room for his tail, which wriggled with unguarded excitement. The boy was as fond of people as their father was. And he was equally good at winning them to his side.

  “Hi, you!” Ever clambered right onto Tenma’s lap. “You’s new.”

  Uncle Laud growled softly, delivering the reprimand Quen hadn’t wanted to voice. Ever’s puppy ears drooped, and he settled back on his heels to present his hands. The form was good, but greetings were usually exchanged at a more polite distance. But Tenma wasn’t bothered by the irregularity. Like everyone else who met Ever, he was charmed.

  After a solemn exchange of names, the little boy asked, “Can I sniffen you?”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Yeth.”

  “Will it hurt?” Tenma asked seriously.

  “Nooo.” Ever giggled. “I be gentle.”

  “Then you have my permission to … sniffen.”

  Quen covered his smile as his baby brother wrapped his arms around Tenma’s neck and rubbed his nose back and forth, snuffling noisily.

  “He’s learning your scent,” Eloquence explained apologetically.

  Tenma only smiled crookedly and asked, “May I sniffen you, too, Ever?”

  “Course!”

  Humans couldn’t detect subtle nuances in scent, but Tenma took the boy’s answer a
s permission to pull him close. He was awkward about it, as if he’d never held a child before, which was sad. But he did sniff Ever’s hair and rest his cheek atop his head.

  “I like your ears,” Tenma announced.

  “Pet ’em!”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “You ’lowed. But not tails.” Ever shook one small finger under Tenma’s nose. “Tails is purse-null.”

  “Yes, I know. My teacher told me on the very first day of school.” He added, “There are wolves in our class.”

  “Wolfs has tails!” exclaimed Ever, his own a blur. “But dogs is best.”

  Tenma asked, “Are you a dog?”

  It was exactly the right thing to ask. “Yeth! Like Da. Him’s mine.”

  Lapis interjected, “What of poor Eloquence?”

  “Yeth.” Ever belatedly acknowledged the dragon a wiggle-fingered wave and patiently explained, “Him’s mine, too. My bruvver.”

  “And the silent lout over there?” inquired Lapis.

  “Rise. Him’s mine, too.” In a loud whisper, Ever explained to Tenma, “Him’s Kiff.”

  The dragon lord chuckled. “I was referring to the one with no ready excuse for his reticence.” At Ever’s obvious confusion, Lapis offered a broad hint. “The one with white hair.”

  “Uncle!” With that, Ever slid from Tenma’s lap and trotted across to Laud, who sat on the floor beside the door.

  Eloquence explained, “Laud Starmark raised me and remains my mentor. My den is his den.” He tried to think of a way to explain their relationship so a human could understand. “I have two fathers.”

  Tenma offered a shy wave, which Uncle Laud answered with a casual flick of fingers. He’d never been one to stand on ceremony. Laud blandly countered, “Best to say three fathers, or Karoo-ren would feel slighted.”

  “An uncle from my first mother’s pack,” said Quen. “Though an ocean divides us, he returns when he can.”

  Quen noticed his uncle’s deflection, but let it pass. That was simply his way. Watchful and quiet, attending to his duties without making a scene. Harmonious may have been Quen’s sire, but Laud had raised him, and such loyalties ran deeper than blood, right into the bones. While Quen longed for Dad’s attention and approval, he had Laud’s.

  This was the constancy Ever deserved.

  Precious is the pup to his pack.

  Lapis reclaimed the limelight, full of plans to provide Tenma with something more durable for sealing his soul. While he grew increasingly loquacious about the resonance of various crystals and the proper balance between a solid defense and tasteful design, Eloquence watched over Ever.

  Up on tiptoe, the boy lifted both arms. Expression soft, Laud gave him the boost he needed to reach broad shoulders. Ever settled himself, then reached again, this time to touch their uncle’s forehead.

  Laud kept his unruly hair out of his eyes with an embroidered band tied across his forehead. It was his sole ornamentation, and it served another purpose. To hide his blaze. Laud had been born with a mark in the center of his forehead.

  Pudgy fingers tapped, initiating a routine Quen had seen often. This was Ever’s silent request, a plea for trust. In answer, their uncle wrapped one large hand around the boy’s ankle. It covered most of his calf as well, but the ankle was the important part. Because a delicate scroll of pale green encircled it like a thread—Ever’s blaze.

  The boy gently slid the band from Uncle’s forehead, wrapping both arms around and pressing his palms in its place. To cover one another’s blazes was a solemn pledge, an unspoken promise to keep each other’s secrets.

  Laud’s faint smile held pride and contentment. But Quen watched as the fingers of his free hand restlessly tapped hip, thigh, calf, and shoulder in repeated sequence. All the places he hid daggers.

  Tenma stirred at the unfamiliar sound of birds. Were there birds in wintertime? His brain jumped through possibilities, trying to make sense of the cheery twitter. Bird feeder? Canary cage? Ring tone?

  A moody growl vibrated against his back, and the noise cut short, along with the whispery retreat of wings. But now Tenma was more focused on the fact that he was not alone in bed. An arm under his ear. Fur against his feet. A small body curled into his chest. And an arm draped over them both—him and Ever.

  And then he lined up more facts. Not his bed, because he was at Quen’s place. Not alone, because dogs, especially young and unmatched males, preferred communal sleeping. Tenma couldn’t believe how well he’d slept, given the warm press around him.

  Tenma opened his eyes and squinted. Where had he set his glasses? He mostly needed them for reading, so he could make out enough of his surroundings to anchor himself, even with the pre-dawn gray and fuzzed edges.

  Quen’s uncle sprawled on his side along the far edge of the mounded furs and blankets. Judging by the nearby spill of indigo hair—and despite profuse criticisms regarding doggish practice—Lapis was cuddled against Laud. Probably borrowing body heat.

  The encircling arm shifted, and a hand gripped Tenma’s shoulder. Low and soft, someone spoke close to his ear. “Good morning, Tenma Subaru.”

  Not Quen.

  Tenma’s mind raced. He was sure he’d fallen asleep between Ever and Quen.

  “I hope my sons acquitted themselves well in my absence, which was regrettable. I do prefer to greet our guests personally.”

  Tenma rolled enough to peer over his shoulder, straight into a face known the whole world over. Harmonious Starmark. He was between Harmonious Starmark and … and his baby. Was that bad? Or was that only bears?

  “S-spokesperson, sir!” he gasped, floundering for something to say. Gratitude? Apology? Introduction?

  “Hush, boy, hush. No sense tucking your tail.” He reclined on his side, propped up on half a dozen pillows. Copper eyes were really quite mesmerizing at close quarters. “We’re the ones imposing. Too many reports, too much wine, and too late an hour. It was suggested that we retire here, since Lapis’ habits are long established, and Laud was good enough to let us in.”

  “I’m … Tenma.”

  “Yes, you are. Hush, boy, hush,” he repeated. The hand moved to gently tousle his hair. “I am only here to reinforce my sons’ welcome. And to indulge my curiosity. I’ll be up front. I saw your school application, read the essay and all that. You acquitted yourself well, but I am the sort of person who likes to get a good whiff of someone.”

  Harmonious Starmark had checked up on him. Like he was some kind of security threat. “I won’t tell.”

  Shaggy brows lifted.

  Tenma tried again. “If you’re worried about gossip or anything, I’d never say things about your private life.”

  “Thank you for your loyalty to me and mine.” Harmonious gave his head a final pat before returning his arm to its former place. “It’s good you fell in among dogs. You hoped for a pack, didn’t you?”

  How …? Oh, yes. He’d read the essay. Tenma squeezed his eyes shut, lapsing into mortified silence.

  Harmonious jostled his youngest son. “Ever, help me with your new friend.”

  The toddler in Tenma’s arms blinked once, twice, then exclaimed “Da!”

  He flung himself at his father, who rolled onto his back, holding his young son at arm’s length and grinning indulgently while Ever wriggled and giggled.

  Tenma sat up and found his glasses. He smoothed his hand over the unfamiliar cloth of his borrowed sleepwear, watching them tussle, feeling like an intruder. His gaze slid to Lapis, who slept on despite the ruckus. Laud offered Tenma a small nod, which he returned.

  That’s when he realized there was another person bundled up in the furs. He could see a bare shoulder, grayish hair, one pointed ear. Tenma leaned to one side, a little afraid of what he’d discover, only to start back when this Rivven gave a languorous stretch. It was just a peek before he turned away and tugged the blankets higher, but it was enough.

  Nobody would believe it.

  He didn’t believe it.

  S
omehow, Tenma had rated a spot in a high-ranking sleepover. Because he’d woken up between Harmonious Starmark and Hisoka Twineshaft, with the world’s first crosser snuggled under his chin.

  And this counted for normal for Quen.

  Tenma’s gaze drifted to the Kith who’d been warming his feet all night and whispered, “Can you believe this?”

  The big dog’s mouth dropped open as if he was laughing.

  “What’s that?” Harmonious whispered something to Ever and set him down, then extended a hand to Tenma. “Don’t be shy.”

  It was a big hand, and every claw curved to a neat tip. Just like Quen’s hands. And the copper eyes with smiling crinkles at the edges are just like Quen’s eyes. Because this is his father. And Ever’s father. The kind of father who crashes sleepovers and wrestles on the floor and introduces himself to your friends. And a tiny part of Tenma—no, a big part—wished that he’d been born into Quen’s and Ever’s family.

  So he crawled closer and met this fatherly person’s palm.

  A casual tug sent Tenma sprawling across a broad chest, and with a roll, he was trapped. Jaws snapped beside his ear, and he froze. Not until fingers tested the ticklishness of his ribs did he struggle. The ensuing battle could only be described as surreal—growling and dares, advice and laughter. When the tussle ended, Tenma was breathless and his glasses askew, and all he felt was … elation.

  Harmonious obeyed Ever’s command to sniffen Tenma, and after an unnecessarily noisy perusal of his scent, the head of the Starmark clan declared, “He’s warming to us. Shall we keep him?”

  “Yeth!” Ever peered at Tenma over his dad’s shoulder. “For Quen.”

  Tenma remained limp on the furs, by choice as much as necessity. Harmonious had him pinned and made no move to let him up. Something had changed, but Tenma wasn’t exactly sure what. Only that his pulse was thready with anticipation, and that he wasn’t even a little bit afraid.

  “Quen brought you here, and that’s trust,” said his dad. “What do you say, Tenma Subaru? Would you be opposed to my treating you as pack?”