Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal

by Forthright

  To distract their patient, Akira kept talking. “Are dragons one of the trickster clans?”

  “No. The tricksters excel at visual deception.”

  “And dragons use words?”

  “It’s part of our charm,” Sinder acknowledged.

  “How does it work?”

  He smiled. “Touch your nose.”

  Akira did.

  “Touch your friend’s nose.”

  Akira did that, too. Why wouldn’t he? It was a simple request.

  “Kiss your friend’s nose.”

  Easy enough. Akira had a vague notion that he was behaving foolishly. But the deed was already done, so why worry over it? Except Suuzu was looking rather harassed.

  “You want me to keep going?” asked Sinder.

  Akira was suddenly thinking clearly again, and he laughed. Sinder was teasing them. Really, he reminded Akira a little of Gingko, an incorrigible big brother who’s actually pretty cool. Only sleeker. And greener. And part of an elite taskforce.

  “Good thing you’re a good guy.” Akira shook his head. “I didn’t even notice until the kiss.”

  “Not bad. Some people never realize they’re being guided.” Sinder shrugged. “Prolonged exposure weakens our hold. Play my game a little longer, and you’ll be wise to serpents of any stripe.”

  He turned to Suuzu. “Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  While the phoenix seemed ruffled, he wasn’t angry anymore. Permission enough to get on with it. “Okay. Keep going.”

  Sinder solemnly said, “Touch your nose.”

  Akira did.

  The commands came again in sequence, as if the last round had been a rehearsal. Akira couldn’t have been more relaxed, and could tell that Suuzu accepted the peck to his nose with more grace. But then Sinder said, “Kiss my nose.”

  Akira balked. Kissing Suuzu’s nose had been enough out of character, but Sinder’s nose was on Sinder’s face. Did he really want to kiss Juuyu’s partner?

  “Good. You’re trusting, but you have a highly developed sense of right and wrong. Living among foxes probably also works in your favor.”

  “This is so weird.”

  Suuzu was slowly applying ointment to Sinder’s injuries with a knuckle. Akira thought the row of shallow gashes looked suspiciously like claw marks. “How’d you get those?”

  Sinder said, “Touch your nose.”

  Akira did.

  By the time Sinder released him from a lengthy round of harmless tasks, the dragon was neatly bandaged and Suuzu had all but finished the clean-up. Akira was a little fuzzy on how much time had passed. His roommate could move pretty fast, especially when something needed tidying.

  “Are you even trying to resist?” Sinder asked.

  He shook his head. “Everything you say just sorta makes sense.”

  Suuzu murmured, “Akira already trusts you.”

  “Normally, I’d be pleased.” Sinder’s faraway gaze suddenly snapped into focus. “Open the door.”

  Akira was halfway there when he collided with Suuzu. The phoenix took a firm tone. “I promised we would stay behind safe boundaries.”

  A light rap came, and Sinder offered a weary smile. “Open the door for Juuyu.”

  Suuzu got there first. Both boys were soon clasped against Juuyu’s sides while he exclaimed over the mess and reassured himself that his chicks were unharmed. Sinder eased onto his knees and bowed until his forehead touched the floor, which brought Juuyu up short. “You are injured.”

  “Hardly worth mentioning.”

  And suddenly, Akira and Suuzu were standing alone by the door.

  Juuyu grumbled as he fussed, thoroughly inspecting his partner’s injuries as he quizzed him in undertones. Finally, he took a seat at Sinder’s side, shoulders sinking to a disconsolate angle. “She will live,” he quietly announced to the room.

  “And …?”

  Juuyu shook his head. “He eluded us. Again.”

  Sinder whistled a series of notes that descended sorrowfully. “Poor Boon.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Poor Boon

  The scent of blood had Eloquence on edge long before Lapis burst through his door, calling over his shoulder, “In here!”

  “I do know my way around,” grumbled his father’s voice. Then Dad shouldered through the door with Uncle Laud, carrying the bloodied figure of Boonmar-fen between them.

  Merit was at their side in an instant. “Boon, you idiot, stop struggling!”

  “My quarry,” snarled the wolf. “My team.”

  Quen had been closeted with his eldest brother all evening, listening, relaying information, and coordinating the movements of their Kith from the relative quiet of his pavilion. They had been the support for Boon’s team, who had uncovered one of the kidnapper’s hideaways.

  “Your team sent for us,” Dad soothed. “Come now, you’re bleeding!”

  “S’nothing.” Boon’s feet shuffled and dragged. Struggling free, he staggered, and both dogs were needed to keep the big tracker on his feet.

  “Nothing,” echoed Lapis, lavish with sarcasm. “I would prefer your recklessness not rob Adoona-soh of a well-loved son. Cooperate, whelp.”

  “I have more years,” muttered Boon, his eyes rolling as they struggled to focus.

  Lapis got into the wolf’s face. “If you wish to keep your advantage, submit. You need a healer’s touch.”

  “Do as you’re told, for once!” begged Merit.

  Eloquence had never seen his eldest brother lose his composure. Boon had been his best friend since weanling days.

  “Shut it, Penny.” But Boon’s muscles went limp.

  Merit helped haul his friend onto the sprawl of furs on the inner room’s floor. Eloquence followed, and Dad signaled urgently. “Son, summon Courageous.”

  “No,” Boon snapped. “Won’t have her.”

  “I’m not matchmaking. Please, Boon. She’s our healer, and you’re in need.”

  Dad had a way of introducing unattached males to every potential female in the compound. Courageous was one of Quen’s nieces, daughter to his sister Rampant and Sentinel Skybellow. How many other granddaughters and nieces had Boon happened to meet during his stay?

  Eloquence had never really understood Boon’s reluctance to establish a den. Or to run with his pack. Lone wolves were rare. Boon wasn’t a tribute, but he lived like one. Maybe because the Elderbough tribute was still a child.

  “Not her.” Boon’s growl could not be refused.

  Merit said, “Rilka Withershanks is without rival, and she is close enough to collect.”

  “No females.”

  Quen’s thoughts jumped through options. The only male healers close to hand were reavers. He was about to suggest names when Lapis knelt in the furs. He’d divested himself of several filmy layers and most of the jewels that usually sparkled at his fingers and throat.

  “You will make do with me, you cagy beast.” Lapis rattled off a list of herbs and oils, which Laud vanished to collect. Flashing Harmonious a look, he added, “He would have needed me anyhow. Or another dragon.”

  “Poison?” asked Dad.

  Eloquence had been wondering at the strange scent hanging in the air—faint and almost floral. He hadn’t been aware that dragons counted among the clans capable of releasing toxins. “You’re poisonous?”

  “Not personally.” Lapis offered a brittle smile. “But the misfortune of my childhood is the fortune of your friend. I am the antidote he needs.”

  Dad begged for silence with a sad shake of his head, and Quen stowed his curiosity.

  “You …?” Boon’s sluggish question never made it any further.

  “I was not always a lord.” Lapis inspected the three ragged grooves cutting across the left side of Boon’s face.

  “You, a healer?” Boon managed to convey skepticism.

  Lapis haughtily replied, “Nothing so prosaic. I am a scholar turned lord.”

  “Honorary lord.”

  The drago
n graciously inclined his head. “And your attendant for the time being.”

  “Don’t need it,” muttered Boon.

  “Oh, you do. It would seem your prey is as nasty as his proclivities.” Lapis gestured an apology and bent low. “If you will pardon the necessity, friend wolf.”

  Quen didn’t linger for long. It was unsettling to watch the dragon lapping up blood and gently probing Boon’s wounds with his tongue. It was enough knowing Boon was safe, his hand tangled with Merit’s, Dad standing guard.

  Leaving the inner room, Quen let Laud pass through, his hands laden with items from their herbarium. His uncle quietly warned, “At the door.”

  Ever must be returning, since bathtime would have proceeded as usual. In Laud’s absence, Prospect might bring him. Or Lyric or Lavish.

  But no.

  Gingko Mettlebright stood at the threshold, a rosy-cheeked, shampoo-scented youngster in each arm. Kyrie gazed about with wide red eyes, his hand fisted in his foster brother’s tunic. Ever’s tail thumped madly against the half-fox, whose silver tail had settled in a cautious curl around his bare feet.

  “Hey, Quen.” Ears pricked, nose twitching, Gingko asked, “This a bad time?”

  “It’s all right. Please, come in.”

  He’d played host to Gingko and Kyrie before, whenever Lord Mettlebright was in Keishi on business with the Five. Argent and Harmonious were encouraging friendship between their sons, who’d been born mere weeks apart.

  “Boon?” asked Gingko, whose nose was sharp enough to mark a friend.

  “In good hands.” He waved toward the closed door to the inner room. “Lapis knows what he’s doing.”

  Kyrie fluted softly, and Gingko bussed the dragon crosser’s forehead. “Yeah, yeah. He’ll be glad to see you, too, little bro.” Dropping to one knee, he turned the boys loose. “Thanks for having us.”

  Quen’s courteous response died on his lips.

  Some part of his subconscious had been taking notice, ramping up his heartrate, adding a tremor to his soul. Even so, when Michael Ward stepped inside, Quen teetered inwardly.

  Decades had passed and the adolescent he remembered was a grown man—settled, confident, and in his prime. Yet Michael was still Michael. Relief washed over Quen at finding the essence of his friend unchanged, quickly followed by a sudden bout of shyness.

  It took him several moments to realize that Ever was tugging furiously at his pant leg. Bending to gather up his baby brother, Quen hid his burning face against Ever’s hair.

  “Who dis?” Ever asked.

  Quen’s voice broke on his answer. “Michael.”

  “Stars, so bright,” his baby brother whispered.

  He needed to rein in his rampaging emotions, or Ever would get the wrong impression entirely. With a smile that may have wobbled a little, Quen said, “Michael Ward is my friend. He is First of Wards, a very starry soul.”

  At least his voice was steady. If a bit high. Oh, this was mortifying.

  “Hello, Eloquence.” Michael’s voice had deepened, but his smile was the same. “Would you introduce me to your newest brother?”

  Quen managed a nod and gestured him closer. Palms were presented, courtesies exchanged, peace assured. Genial. Gentle. And not at all what Eloquence wanted.

  Ever asked, “Should I sniffen him?”

  He began to nod, then shook his head. “Me, first.”

  Michael expression brightened, and he enfolded them both in an embrace that granted the closeness and connection every dog craved.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Papka

  Kimiko woke to a soft tap coming from the wrong end of the room. Predawn gray showed at the edges of closed curtains, but her alarm hadn’t gone off. “Too early,” she mumbled.

  The tap came again, and this time, she oriented on the sound. Someone was at the second-floor window. Well, that certainly narrowed the possibilities.

  A soft chime sent Isla fumbling for her phone, and she squinted at the display. Her scowl vanished, and she bolted from her covers.

  “What is it?” Kimiko asked.

  “They need me!”

  “Who …?” But the girl was already out the door with a bundle of clothing. A second later, Kimiko heard the bathroom door shut.

  Another patient tap, and this time, Kimiko answered. Pulling aside the drape, she couldn’t help laughing. Opening the slider, she signaled her delight. “Good morning, Sensei.”

  A formidable feline took up most of the lawn below, easily as tall as the house, despite his lazy slouch. Even in the dimness, she could detect the subtle sheen of pewter fur. Long whiskers swept outward, and intelligence gleamed in orange eyes.

  Cold!

  Hisoka’s breath was steaming in chill air, and Kimiko stole a blanket from her bed to wrap around her shoulders. “I’ve never been this close to anyone in true form before,” she eagerly confessed.

  He blinked placidly.

  It would have been easy to feel like prey trapped in a mouse hole, but fear was the farthest thing from Kimiko’s mind. She had to wonder how often someone so respected was told the simple truth. “You’re beautiful.”

  Hisoka loomed nearer, and his nose bumped her forehead.

  Every feline seemed to understand that compliments were their due. Strange to think that Hisoka Twineshaft was no different. Tucking her hands behind her back to resist temptation, Kimiko risked rudeness. “May I touch?”

  A barely audible purr began deep in his chest. Permission? Any doubt was banished when one large paw settled lightly below the sill, wider than the window, velveted against violence. Had he tapped with a claw, or changed after knocking?

  She placed her hands over his paw, as if meeting palms, but her fingers pressed deep into dense fur, soft as his gaze. Her trust pleased him as much as his presence awed her. Hisoka Twineshaft was important to everyone, but he was here for her. All the things she’d ever wanted—even impossible, unspecified hopes—were coming to pass because of this Amaranthine’s vision for the future. Hisoka’s presence made the Emergence personal. Because her future was no longer bound by traditions, expectations, or years.

  “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

  Power swirled and condensed as Hisoka assumed his speaking form. Crouching on her sill, he touched her shoulder, then brushed her cheek. “About what, Miss Miyabe?”

  “How do you choose what to do when you have all the time in the world?”

  “Whatever seems best.” He seemed utterly at ease on his narrow perch. “Short or long, lives brim with potential. What you choose is as important as what you refuse.”

  “Are you a bachelor by choice?” Kimiko winced at her own audacity, already signaling apologies for crossing into intensely personal territory.

  Hisoka waved aside her embarrassment. “Your curiosity is natural, given your arrangement with Eloquence. And your considerable research …?”

  She followed his gaze to the stack of books on her desk—all borrowed from the archive, all containing annotated folk tales of a decidedly romantic nature. “Yes. Isla was up most of the night.”

  “If memory serves, many of the Songs of the Amaranthine involve the comingling of races.” His eyebrows arched. “And as far as the old songs of the trees go, Golden Lyric is often, shall we say, robust in its descriptions.”

  Kimiko’s face was burning. “Honestly, Sensei, it was research. For courting Eloquence.”

  He smiled serenely. “Did I not say your curiosity was natural? I’m sure I did.”

  “I wasn’t looking for erotic stories.”

  “Yet I’m sure you found several.”

  Taking an apologetic posture, she mumbled, “You have to admit, it’s a recurring theme whenever trees are concerned.”

  “For good reason.”

  Something about his inflection gave her pause. “Have you ever met a tree?”

  Flared eyebrows lifted. “Only yours.”

  “You know Kusunoki?”

  “As do you.”
/>   “Most everyone in Keishi knows about our tree.”

  “Naturally.”

  He was teasing her. Probably. Kimiko raked a hand through the morning mess of her hair and grumbled, “Isla’s never mentioned how difficult you can be.”

  “She’s as devoted as her father. Which brings us to my reason for interrupting your repose. Is my apprentice still lazing abed?”

  His voice was modulated to carry, and Isla bustled in. “I’m here! I’m ready!”

  “So you are.”

  To Kimiko’s surprise, Isla bounded to her mentor and leapt into his waiting arms. She looked back, happiness shining along with the stars in her eyes. “Come with us, Kimi! Papka is here!”

  Hisoka arranged the girl against his side and extended his hand. “Shall we?” he invited.

  As eager as she was to meet Isla’s famous father, it wouldn’t be in her pajamas. “I’ll be right there. Go on ahead.”

  It wasn’t until they were gone that Kimiko realized how deftly Hisoka had sidestepped her questions. No wonder none of the ladies of his clan had gotten their claws into him.

  Michael Ward set aside a large chunk of amber crystal in order to offer Kimiko his hands. “Good morning, Miss Miyabe. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  For someone whose ranking was so high, it was practically off the charts, the celebrated First of Wards was surprisingly unassuming. The father-daughter resemblance was very strong—blond curls, green eyes, and a genial brand of self-assurance.

  “Thank you for welcoming Isla into your home.” Abandoning the formal greeting, he gathered her hands between his, giving them a paternal pat. “She speaks highly of you.”

  He was easy to like, easy to trust. And maybe that was more important than titles and ranking. Leaning forward, she corrected him in conspiratorial tones. “She speaks highly of my archive.”

  Michael laughed. “Both. And having met the one, I hope to beg an introduction to the other.”

  “Does she get her love of books from you?”

  “A fair accusation.” He flung out an arm to pull his daughter to his side. “But she’s more brilliant by far.”