by Forthright
A beacon wouldn’t be sent out to prop up a flagging bloodline. No, Glint would want the dynasty to continue. A beacon could bear a beacon, given the right sire. And Mikoto had his suspicions about who topped Glint’s list.
“Michaelson?” Mikoto murmured.
Timur, who’d returned to his side once it was obvious that Sinder didn’t need help, angled his head to indicate he was listening.
“How old is your sister?”
The battler looked at him closely, as if Mikoto’s fears were plain upon his face. “Eleven.”
Young. But not too young.
Timur jostled him. “Planning to join the family?”
Mikoto couldn’t think what to say, so he simply shook his head.
“She doesn’t know. My parents never told her.” Timur still watched him, amusement gaining strength in his expression. “You don’t know either, do you?”
At an utter loss, Mikoto shook his head again.
Timur chuckled. “My father told me that Mum’s been shredding your offers for years. By hand. With a ceremonial dagger. It’s become one of her little Dichotomy Day traditions.”
Mikoto paled.
“Not to worry. It’s nothing too personal. My parents receive scads of offers. For all of us.” He smiled easily. “Once she’s done, we use the tatters to light a bonfire on the beach.”
“I did not know.” Mikoto wanted to defend himself somehow. “Glint must have sent them.”
“Yeah. Same herald every time. Papka gets to chatting.” Timur slung an arm around Mikoto’s shoulders. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.” Older, but not too old. Not if putting off marriage meant securing a beacon for the Reaver bloodline.
“I’ve already told you more than I should, but Fend likes you. So do I. Here’s the deal.” He casually hooked him closer and lowered his voice. “Every Dichotomy Day, while the contracts burn, my parents remind us that our duty to the In-between need not cost us our happiness. We can choose any path, both for life and in love.”
Mikoto wished he had that same luxury.
“Papka asked me to tell you that he’s aware of the honor your offer represents, but Lilya’s choices are her own.” Timur hesitated. “Probably best I leave out Mum’s message. She’s mostly upset with Glint, anyhow.”
Miserably, Mikoto repeated, “I did not know.”
“Clearly.” Timur’s arm stayed where it was. “So … are you interested in my sister?”
He slowly shook his head. “There is someone else.”
“You’re contracted?”
“No.” Mikoto put it into the simplest of terms. “I am not. But she is.”
Sinder was in familiar territory. Most of his work involved listening in and extracting information. Observer. Eavesdropper. Informant. He loved to be in the middle of a muddle, taking in the drama as it unfolded, usually all unseen. Or at the very least, unnoticed. But not this week.
Captured by Spomenka.
Bandaged by a tribute.
Greeted by a headman.
Quizzed by a crosser.
Accosted by a tree.
Either he was a terrible spy or a brilliant one. In either case, Sinder knew he was a terrible patient. Juuyu liked to point it out every time sickness or injury sent him creeping into his partner’s personal space. Sinder got clingy. Juuyu got fussy. To be fair, the phoenix never turned him away. He was too restrained and too rigid, but he was totally reliable. And surprisingly missable.
Damn, he hated solo missions.
And roughing it in leaky tents.
He wasn’t looking forward to his impending eviction from the guest room. Was it inevitable? If he remembered right, foxes knew how to nestle. But Ginkgo undoubtedly had his own agenda and might not be open to collaboration. Or cohabitation.
More out of habit than anything, Sinder took the room’s measure. Not the picky little details that were Juuyu’s specialty. He’d have cataloged everything from shoe sizes to shampoo brands, as well as the origins of every sigil in the room. Sinder was better with people. And especially with how much they let on without admitting to anything.
That balance of insight was the real reason Boon had paired him off with Juuyu. Although it didn’t hurt that phoenixes were immune to dragon wiles.
Sinder assessed the room’s occupants. In an homage to his absent partner, he even guessed at their shoe sizes. He’d include it in his next report. Let Twineshaft make what he would of that.
By far, the most interesting person in the room was Lilya. She didn’t make sense.
Ginkgo bumped him over with a hip and sat beside him on the bed. “That’s a speculative look if I ever saw one. Tell me, Damsel, why do you have your eye on Lilya?”
Sinder said, “She’s warded.”
“Thoroughly,” agreed the half-fox.
Lowering his voice, he asked, “Why?”
“It would be funny if she weren’t.”
There wasn’t any polite way to put it. “They’re not working.”
Ginkgo’s eyes narrowed. “Those stones are of the highest quality.”
“Befitting a daughter of the First of Wards.” Sinder rolled his eyes. “But they’re bored. They’re not working because there’s nothing for them to do. Is she an imposter?”
“She’s the real deal.”
Sinder slowly shook his head and voiced his first impression. “She doesn’t make sense.”
Ginkgo gruffly said, “She’s just a kid. Let her be a kid.”
“Uh-huh. Tell that to Glint.”
“Don’t think I won’t.” His lips quirked. “But you’re the one staking out her room and sizing her up.”
“Am I to be cast out?”
“Not my garden, not my tree, not my decision.” Ginkgo adjusted his hold on the child currently using his shoulder for a pillow. One pudgy hand reached for Sinder, and he leaned warily out of reach.
Noting the string of beads at each wrist, Sinder asked, “Who’s this?”
“Gregor is Timur’s.” Ginkgo corralled the kid’s grabby hands and tucked him under his chin. “I’m his nanny for the summer. Officially.”
Recognizing his cue, Sinder said, “There’s an allotment of recruits training in the woods. I’m their prey for the summer. Officially.”
“And … unofficially?”
Knowing what they held in common, Sinder affected Boon’s rumble. “The less said the better.”
Ginkgo made a wolvish hand sign. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
They hadn’t officially met—which left both with a tidy loophole of deniability—yet even without the exchange of names, Sinder liked the tenor of this relationship. Especially with how much Ginkgo let on without admitting to anything.
Pushing his luck, Sinder asked, “How likely are you to let me hang about?”
“Can’t happen.” Ginkgo’s ears drooped. “Some of it’s propriety. Some of it’s proprietary. None of it’s personal.”
Sinder was offended. “I’m not here to woo your baby beacon.”
Ginkgo snorted. “And that’s gonna stop her from taking a liking? Face up to facts, Damsel. There’s a reason they call hers an impressionable age.”
That sobered him right up.
Beacons might be people, but they were also a commodity. Many Amaranthine equated potent souls with power, with acclaim, or with safety. Any … no, every dragon lord would wish to add such a soul to their harem, in hopes of regaining the sky. Every enclave wanted one for its anchor. By the same token, every bloodline wanted a beacon as their boast.
Once Lilya reached her attainment, she would have her pick of husbands. But in the current climate and with public sentiment heartily in favor of inter-species mingling, this young lady might have her pick of the clans, as well.
Argent would definitely be protecting her interests. And limiting them.
“Get me out of here.” Tossing up his hands, Sinder muttered, “On second thought, get her out of here. Or did you not notice that this tre
e has an amorous streak?”
With a wary glance at the room, Ginkgo leaned so close, his breath fanned Sinder’s face. “It’s not the end of the world if she likes it here. Waaseyaa’s between wives.”
Sinder swore. Twice. Then begged, “Get me gone.”
He scanned the room, but Timur was absent. So was the headman. And Zisa seemed to be luring the kids away with the promise of food. Very tree-like. Leaving them with the only other person he hadn’t met.
Waaseyaa smiled at Gregor, then Ginkgo, before studying Sinder’s face. “I could not help but overhear.”
Sinder glanced guiltily at Ginkgo and asked, “Which part?”
“You would like to stay.” The man settled on the edge of the mattress. “Hardly surprising. You slept safely here. That is a kind of bond.”
Entirely true.
“My brother was eager to meet you.”
Sinder cracked a smile. “He’s something else.”
Waaseyaa nodded. “So are you. As it happens, you are our first dragon.”
“Well, you don’t get out much. And there are no clans native to this region.” He gave a little roll of the wrist and flourish of fingers. “I am not the finest specimen, but I may be the most grateful. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Hospitality I willingly extend.” Waaseyaa lifted a hand to forestall Ginkgo’s protest. “This is my home, and my pledge to Argent Mettlebright stands. However, Zisa has a little house of his own. It is empty.”
“Why would a tree need a house?” Ginkgo asked.
Waaseyaa folded his hands together. “Some of my wives have been … territorial.”
He left it at that.
Sinder checked, “I’d be bunking with Zisa?”
“He would undoubtedly consider himself your host. The only other person who uses the cottage is Glint. I would inform him of your presence.” With a small shrug, he said, “My brother is affectionate, and my oldest friend comes and goes as he pleases.”
Sinder glanced at Ginkgo, trying to gauge the plan’s acceptability.
“Any chance there’s room for two in that cottage?” asked the half-fox.
Waaseyaa countered, “Who did you have in mind?”
Patting a sleeping Gregor’s back, Ginkgo said, “I’d be happier with Timur closer.”
Clearly, Sinder had a masochistic streak, because all he said was, “Fine by me.”
FIFTEEN
First Day
Buses would begin arriving by mid-high, carrying hundreds of campers. First Day had always been a big deal for the Reaver household. Their responsibilities as hosts would soon have them scattered and scurrying for weeks on end, so before things got crazy, the family marked summer’s arrival with a special breakfast.
Familiar smells wafted temptingly from the kitchen, but Mikoto didn’t have much of an appetite. Facing the annual influx without Dad? It was hard. Gabe Reaver had loved First Day better than any festival day. This is what he’d lived for, and now he was … well, he wasn’t.
Mikoto couldn’t hope to match his father’s enthusiasm.
Wardenclave wasn’t the same without him. Couldn’t be.
Yulin murmured, “Brace yourself, brave noble.”
He half-heartedly corrected his posture, though he was certain his soul was sagging.
A rap sounded at the door, and his eldest half-sister Wren went to see who it was. Yulin gestured for Mikoto to stand just as her voice carried from the front of the house. “Glint! And Uncle! Please, come in. Are you joining us? That’s so kind. Be welcome.”
Mikoto stood mute, unsure if this was good or bad. He hung back, leaving the greetings to Yulin. Not that Glint let the moth get very far.
Silencing Yulin with a fierce glance, Glint bore down on Mikoto, herded him into the corner, and folded him in strong arms. It took several startled moments for Mikoto to realize that Glint was crying.
Hot tears hit his shoulder, and Glint’s soft whine filled Mikoto with distress. He wanted to look to Uncle for help, but he couldn’t see past Glint’s bulk. The head of the Starmark clan curled around him as if seeking comfort. As if Mikoto had any to give.
“I miss him,” Glint muttered, arms tightening. “I miss my friend.”
The broken confession broke Mikoto, who choked on a sob.
Waaseyaa and Yulin took charge then, hustling them in a clumsy jumble along the hall to Mikoto’s own room. The moth swiftly warded walls and doors for privacy, barely in time to contain Glint’s howl. Mikoto could feel his pain. After that came an uncomfortably messy torrent of grief.
It scared him.
It gutted him.
When Mikoto finally caught his breath, he was more wrung out than if he’d run a cross-country marathon with the Guard. He strongly suspected that Glint was the only thing keeping him standing. Which ceased to be true the moment Mikoto’s feet left the floor.
“Brave boy. Good lad.” Glint snuffled at his neck and mumbled childhood endearments and hoarse apologies.
Just this once, Mikoto decided he’d take it. Because today would go from hard to heartrending. For reasons that had his eyes watering anew. Gently wrapping his arms around the First of Dogs, Mikoto pretended he could keep anything simply by wanting it hard enough.
“Oh, my boy.” Glint’s whole body trembled. “I do not like letting go.”
Mikoto just sort of grabbed, even though he might be pulling hair or spoiling embroidery. Because he understood what it was like, loving someone even though they would leave you. His summers were like lifetimes, and they always ended in grief. Over and over. Because he couldn’t help staying loyal.
Every year, Mikoto lost Lupe.
Every lifetime, Glint lost a friend.
Waaseyaa coaxed and Yulin prodded Glint toward Mikoto’s unmade bed.
“You need rest,” said Uncle. “A long one.”
“This room is best,” added Yulin. “I will take responsibility.”
Glint groaned and growled. Then gruffly muttered, “With your permission, boy?”
“Stay,” Mikoto urged, his head aching, his nose plugged. Yet an offer of hospitality should never be stinting, so he asked, “Do you want tending?”
“I do.” Glint set Mikoto on his own bed and sank to his knees beside it. “We do. Wardenclave does. It will strengthen our bond. Renew my pact.”
Touching the face of sorrow before him, Mikoto said, “Wardenclave does. We do. I do.”
“Good lad.”
He stood, making way.
Uncle straightened and folded aside the blankets. “Here is best, Glint. Take what you need.”
Glint dragged himself onto the too-narrow mattress, looking wretched and weary and wistful.
For several moments, Mikoto grappled with the history behind this moment. How many times had Glint repeated it? Someday, would the First of Dogs howl for Mikoto and wrap himself in the scent of a future son? How many sons had helped Glint move forward into an uncertain future? Mikoto thought Glint must be very brave to face so many heartbreaks.
Mikoto helped Uncle tuck him in, then perched on the edge, taking one of Glint’s large hands in both of his. Thanks to Merl, he knew what to do. But his experience with tending was limited to those lessons, during which they generally focused on refining Mikoto’s control. Merl refrained from personal remarks, but Mikoto was sort of curious.
He watched Glint’s face, wondering how his soul compared to generations of Reavers before him. What did an Amaranthine gain from this touching of souls?
Glint turned his head and one corner of his lips quirked. “There is nothing to fear from the likes of me. I may have been tasked with numbering the stars, but each has its own loveliness. You shine true, and I am grateful to know it.”
Mikoto sort of … slipped. Like the warmth he felt couldn’t be contained.
Somewhere behind him, Yulin gasped.
Glint’s eyes fluttered shut, and he dragged in a long breath. “Maker bless,” he whispered, though it sounded like an oath. Eye
s widening, hand tightening, Glint said, “You should have told me you were in love.”
Mikoto looked away. “Does it matter?”
“Always matters.” Glint struggled against sleep, lids drooping, words slurring. “Changes everything.”
Mikoto sat, dull and dazed, while Uncle pressed warm and cool clothes to his face. Yulin brought a tray, which contained a selection of his favorite First Day treats. Mother must have prepared it.
“Drink,” urged Yulin, pressing a glass of water into his hand. “And listen.”
Downing half the glass in one go, Mikoto took a moment to register its sweetness. It had been laced with something. A curative, no doubt. From the grove.
“Leave the formal attire for another time. After your induction,” ordered Yulin. “Go and meet the buses as you usually would.”
“Who will give the welcoming address?” Traditionally, that privilege belonged to the headman.
Uncle answered, “Radiance is both ready and willing.”
Glint’s bondmate was a force few knew they should be reckoning. Mikoto was more than a little in awe of her. And grateful. She was the reason he was allowed to mingle with the Guard, which was largely made up of her sisters and daughters, and their daughters in turn.
Mikoto drank the remainder of his dose before recalling something important. “How long will he sleep?”
“Days. Perhaps a week.” Yulin quietly added, “He has not been getting proper rest.”
Uncle murmured, “He still cries for Path.”
Of all the Kith in Wardenclave, Glint had been closest to Path. They went way back. Perhaps all the way back. Mikoto had heard the red hound passingly referred to as the oldest Kith in Wardenclave. But for all their years, Kith had their limits. They aged. They ended.
Mikoto hadn’t realized Glint was still grieving.
“Come by us,” offered Uncle. “Zisa will make room for you in his little house, though you will have to share with Sinder and Timur.”
His heart leapt, but he shook his head. “I should not impose on guests.”
“You will honor them by your presence.” Yulin clapped his hands, settling the matter with a soft smile. “And flatter them by the delight you take in theirs.”