Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga Book 4)

by Forthright

  Lilya smiled. “Are the winds here friendly?”

  He blushed and said, “Same as always.”

  “Where do they want you to go?”

  It was almost a game, like pretend. Only Kyrie wasn’t pretending. He really did catch impressions out of thin air. Lapis was the one who’d understood first. He’d begun singing ballads—some sad, some silly, some sweet—about dragons and their entanglement with wind imps. Kyrie hoped some of those stories were true. He’d love to meet a gentle breeze or a towering storm. Maybe even a monsoon.

  Pointing in the general direction of Zisa, Kyrie said, “Back, but by a roundabout trail.”

  Lilya never questioned him, always trusted him. And it was nice to be believed, even when the truest of true things sounded impossible.

  “What will we find?”

  Kyrie cocked an ear and quietly said, “Someone is singing again.”

  Away from the cabins and halls of Wardenclave, it was possible for Lilya to pretend that these were the woods surrounding Stately House. She and Kyrie often wandered them, usually leading a small army of crossers. Or chasing after stragglers.

  She could almost see Gilen’s banded tail disappearing high above, with Tawny in close pursuit. And hear Mori’s stern voice reminding everyone to stay with their buddy. Right now, she even missed Nonny, who was a terror and a tease with everyone except Uncle Jackie.

  Kyrie stopped inspecting a cluster of mushrooms growing up the side of a tree like stairsteps to say, “Jarrah would call for a climbing contest.”

  So true. She said, “Finnick would have lost his shoes by now.”

  “Disa would beg to be carried.”

  “And Raife would give in first.” Lilya tightened her grip. “I wish we could have brought everyone.”

  With a wistful smile, Kyrie said, “We miss them because we love them. They are a part of us. Our family.”

  “Maybe we can borrow Ginkgo’s phone? Send messages.”

  “Yes. Good.” With a finger before his lips, he quietly added, “Almost there, I think.”

  Although she listened hard, Lilya couldn’t hear anything beyond the calls of birds and the rustle of leaves high above. “I miss the sea.”

  “I want to climb a mountain.”

  That was a good plan. “Can we?”

  “Why not?”

  Kyrie’s winding way brought them around the hilltop, through a pasture, and over a fence with crystal-topped posts. They were well under Zisa’s vast canopy. When Kyrie pulled Lilya through another barrier, they were there. But things looked different on this side of the tree. Waaseyaa had the bigger house, and Zisa had the tiny cottage. But there was a third building, partly buried in climbing vines. It didn’t have many windows, and the door was big, so maybe it was a barn?

  That’s where Kyrie wanted to go, so that’s where they went.

  Now, it was possible for Lilya to hear the sound of singing—rich and mellow and belonging to a lady. Kyrie tried the door, a panel that slid easily to the side. The singing didn’t stop. Closing the door behind them, they stole toward the voice.

  Lilya could guess where they were now. They had buildings like this at the Starmark compound. A Kith shelter filled with cozy smells—dry straw and warm fur.

  The song trailed off, and a voice cheerfully exclaimed, “Well, this is a surprise! If I’m not mistaken, we have guests.”

  Lilya only hesitated a moment longer than Kyrie before peeking around the final corner.

  A beautiful lady reclined between the forepaws of an equally beautiful wolf. White hair. Copper eyes. They just had to be more of Ever’s relatives.

  With a laugh to add width to her smile, she beckoned to them. “Come and help me pamper this beast, for I love her like a sister.”

  “Hello.” Kyrie immediately presented his palms. “Do you know who we are?”

  “I could guess.” She caught his hands and asked, “May I? I know it’s not quite proper, but it’s so much more fun!”

  Lilya saw the way Kyrie relaxed. He liked this lady, and no wonder. She reminded Lilya so much of Ever, she half expected the lady to demand to sniffen them.

  “You are two of the precious children belonging to Stately House.” She gestured for them to join her. “You, young sir, are Zisa’s merciful dragon. And you, dear heart, are the one Resplendence sang of during last night’s moonrise.”

  “She remembered me?”

  The lady laughed. “She loved you. Loves you still. And would love you ever onward, given the chance.”

  Lilya shyly took a seat at her side. “Are you one of Ever’s aunts?”

  “Alas, that is a privilege that belongs to my daughters.”

  Kyrie, who was quicker and cleverer by far, understood first. “You are his grandmother?”

  She laughed again. “You may call me Radiance. And this sad beauty is … well, let’s call her Snow. I always do.”

  Up on tiptoe, Kyrie lifted a hand to the Kith. “Why are you sitting in the dark, Snow? The day is fine, and the breezes are willing.”

  “Right you are! But will she listen to me?” complained Radiance. “Prop the shutters, will you? This time of year, the evenings are long and soft and sweet.”

  Lilya wanted to pet the Kith, but not until she’d nestled against Radiance’s side a little longer. Because she felt as strong as Mum and as lively as Papka, and because Lilya knew how much Ever would have loved to be right here, hugging his grandmother. Probably for the very first time.

  Kyrie fiddled with a set of wooden shutters, and more light flooded the shelter. Enough that Lilya could now see the small, silvery star that marked the center of Radiance Starmark’s forehead. “Is that your blaze?”

  “No.” Her eyebrows arched. “It’s a miracle.”

  “Truly?” asked Kyrie, coming closer and bending down to see.

  Radiance hooked his elbow and pulled him onto her lap.

  For a moment, Kyrie froze. Lilya understood his surprise. Most people were wary of a red-eyed boy with horns. Not her. When Lady Starmark proceeded to snuffle his neck, he collapsed into gasps and giggles.

  “She’s sniffening you!” Lilya exclaimed.

  “Don’t mind me,” said Radiance. “Standard procedure for special guests. Especially wily, barrier-dropping dragons who may need tracking.”

  “Procedure?” Lilya remembered what Resplendence had said. “Is this for security?”

  “Yes and no. I’ve always been nosy.” With a knowing expression, she asked, “Who taught you about sniffening?”

  “Ever.” Kyrie relaxed with his head against Radiance’s shoulder, all hazy and half-lidded while she petted his hair and traced his scales. “Ever is our best friend.”

  The lady’s chuckle was soft and low. “When they were little, I used to sniffen Merit and Prospect and Valor. Although I think my brother started it. Moon always insisted on sniffening Harmonious whenever he’d visit.”

  “And Eloquence?” prompted Lilya.

  “Not so much. He was still tiny when Harmonious decided to go away.” More wistful now, she said, “But it sounds like his Da and big brothers kept up the tradition.”

  Lilya said, “We should take a picture.”

  “May we?” begged Kyrie. “We can send it to Ever. Oh, but we would need Brother’s phone.”

  At this point, the wolf at their backs grumbled and wuffed.

  “Worry wort.” Radiance peered up at Snow. “There’s such a thing as too much privacy.”

  The wolf laid back her ears and bared her teeth.

  Radiance bowed her head. “Snow is camera shy. When it’s picture time, she doesn’t want to be included.”

  Kyrie’s mother avoided cameras, as well. It was one of Uncle Argent’s strictest rules. But why would a Kith have the same rule? Was Snow someone important or hiding … or maybe both? Lilya was curious but asking felt like the wrong place to begin. Papka would start with trust.

  Getting to her feet, Lilya showed her hands to Snow. “May I pet you?”r />
  Vividly copper eyes narrowed.

  “May she?” asked Radiance.

  Everyone held still for several moments, waiting for some sign. Even the tiniest wag of Snow’s tail would be good. But she was utterly still.

  Radiance laughed. “Really? Well, then. Snow might allow it if you’ll let her have her way with the young sir.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Kyrie.

  “She wants to sniffen you, merciful dragon.”

  “I do not mind.” He stood and spread his arms wide. “Please, do.”

  Radiance rose and urged Lilya to get out of the way. Snow soon had Kyrie sprawled in the straw while she snuffled and growled to herself. Kyrie’s expression remained peaceful, and he began petting Snow’s muzzle whenever it was in reach.

  “You’re very patient,” remarked Radiance.

  “I have many, many younger brothers and sisters, and they are always curious.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Once they are not afraid anymore.”

  Snow jerked back and looked to Radiance, who asked, “Why would they be afraid?”

  Kyrie pressed his lips together.

  Lilya tried to distract them. “Once they get to know him, Kyrie’s their favorite.”

  Radiance touched Lilya’s cheek and promised, “And you shall be mine, my angel. But Snow and I would still like to know why.”

  To Lilya’s surprise, Kyrie told the truth. “The little ones do not know, and the bigger ones will not say.”

  TWENTY

  Bonds of Blood

  Timur needn’t have worried about whether or not he could cut it as an instructor. Managing a bunch of reaver kids was hardly any different than playing with a houseful of crossers back home. They’d test his endurance more than his patience.

  Every one of them was eager to improve, to distinguish themselves, to impress him. It was almost too easy. Suggest a game. Explain the rules. Play to win. Timur honestly felt like he’d spent the day goofing off.

  Very different from the tension-inducing challenge presented by working with Naroo-soh’s recruits. He was glad he’d have both. They’d give his summer some balance. But right now, all Timur wanted was a shower, some soft clothes, and his son.

  Well, maybe not all he wanted. But these were things he could have.

  Running his hand through the tangled mess of his hair, Timur stumbled into memories that weren’t quite regrets, even though they made him sadder than anything.

  Fend butted his broad forehead against Timur’s hip.

  “I know.” He found one of his Kith’s ears and scratched. “I know, but I can’t help wondering. In a few years, they could be in classes just like these. Would I know them?”

  With a growl, Fend pushed him off the path. Backing him up to a tree, the big cat reared up, planting velveted paws on Timur’s shoulders and looming over him. Then he nosed his forehead and began to purr.

  Fend only ever did this sort of thing when they were alone. Timur grabbed hold with both hands, grateful for this reminder that Fend knew. And even if he didn’t fully understand, he cared.

  Timur guessed his family was as close-knit as any reaver family could be. His folks were unusual in that regard, and they’d set a high standard for their own children. To choose for love. To nurture the next generation. To cherish the bonds of blood.

  But Papka and Mum hadn’t seen the progeny projections and heard Uncle Sergei’s grudging admission that the Order of Spomenka was a dying breed. Timur had seen the villages, entered the enclaves, tended to dragon lords and their harems. Nobody had pressured him, but the facts were compelling.

  Maybe they’d guessed he would offer.

  He knew they’d been hoping.

  Timur fulfilled his first short contract when he was nineteen. Quietly, but not off the record. Because pedigree was everything.

  The following winter, he accompanied Uncle Sergei and a healer from the Canterbelle herd to a remote village belonging to members of the Order of Spomenka. Long days of training. Brief sessions as a one-man stable. By spring, he had more than fulfilled his contract, but he’d had enough. Because in the end, he wanted something more like what Papka and Mum had chosen.

  So he’d told Uncle Sergei to refuse any other offers.

  Instead, he watched for likeminded women. And he’d begun to dream about the children who were growing up without him.

  Finally, he’d written an inquiry to the registry at Wardenclave, wanting to know how many sons and daughters he could claim. And if possible, to learn their names.

  What he received in return was a mixed blessing. Ten sons. Fourteen daughters. And a plea from Glint Starmark himself. To meet a woman named Manya. To help her fulfill her obligation to the In-between.

  She was exceptional—single digit ranking and an intellectual, a crystal adept specializing in cutting and tuning. But she would be reporting under protest. And with conditions. Because like most of the elite, she was choosy.

  Manya required a top-class ward, but there were none of sufficient rank in Glint’s stable.

  However, Timur’s record had tempted her out of seclusion. Battler though he might be, he was the son of the First of Wards. She would have him and no other, in the fervent hope that Timur would pass along his father’s genes.

  Timur had done it before. He could do it again. And the bonus he’d receive would set him up nicely for the future. The only problem was, he wanted a better future than this. So he’d drafted a response with his own set of conditions.

  He wanted to live with Manya for as long as it took to impregnate her. He wanted them to remain together for the duration of her pregnancy. He wanted to be in attendance at the birth of their child, along with Mare Rilka Withershanks. And he would take full responsibility for the child. Their baby would be his to keep.

  Naively, Timur thought that with all that time and closeness, he’d be able to win Manya’s affection. On paper, they seemed suited. She could become the one true love he’d share his life with.

  She accepted all his terms, provided she’d have a workshop on the premises.

  Quarters were arranged at an enclave famous for both its healers and its crystal mines, and from the start, she was cool toward him.

  Manya had little patience for closeness or conversation. He tried a range of thoughtful gestures and cautious flirtation, but she rebuffed everything. Most of her days were spent closed up in her workshop. She employed tests to determine when she was ovulating. What intimacy they shared was both scheduled and monitored for success. It had only taken three attempts before a pregnancy test showed positive.

  All that remained was the contracted waiting period.

  Little by little, Timur’s hopes grew stale and crumbled. He’d never been lonelier in his life. That’s when he finally confessed to Papka—where he was and what he’d done. That very night, he’d been visited by the silver fox who’d loomed large in his childhood. Argent Mettlebright whisked into his room, pulled him into an embrace, and let him cry.

  The next night, Deece had arrived with Fend, who’d been born to Minx’s first litter. Timur remembered when that set was born, had played with the cubs. Fend had been his favorite. Apparently Timur had been Fend’s favorite, as well, and was demanding a pact.

  From that day forward, Timur was never alone.

  Argent or Ginkgo would come. Sometimes Deece. Even Suuzu and Akira had shown up once, when the rest of the family were caught up with their many obligations. And Fend was a constant.

  His exile ended the day Manya went into labor.

  Mare Withershanks kept him close, talked him through the stages, plied him with the same teas she brewed for Manya. Before he was fully prepared, the healer placed a squirming baby in his hands. And there was a tiny person squalling angrily at him.

  “Your son,” Mare Withershanks said. And with a doting smile and a familiar inflection, she asked, “He is beautiful, yes?”

  Timur laughed and cried and babbled nonsense to his son in every language
he knew. He was awestruck and happy, and when he looked up to find Manya watching, he said, “Thank you.”

  She only nodded. But it had been a nice sort of nod. Like maybe she agreed with Rilka about their son.

  The very next day, she left. He stood awkwardly by the door, babe in arms, heart in his throat. “I’ll miss you,” he managed.

  Manya gave him the oddest look, one of those rare moments when she looked him in the eye. As if seeing him for the first time. Or perhaps startled that he would have formed any sort of attachment. Because she obviously hadn’t.

  “I’ll let you know how he’s doing,” Timur offered.

  She nodded again and murmured, “You do that.”

  Timur filed Gregor’s registration and received a letter from Glint in return. He’d been tempted to let Fend shred it unread, for he was determined never to take another paternity contract. Instead, he’d found the job offer. Filling in for Boon. And a small postscript. Your line is established. Look to your house.

  “Fend?” Timur leaned into his partner’s bulk. “Let’s go home.”

  Whiskers tickled. Paws kneaded. A tongue rasped across stubble.

  “I’m all right now. Let’s reclaim our boy.”

  Fend dropped to all fours, and they returned to the path. Waaseyaa was waiting on his front step, singing a song in what Timur suspected was Old Amaranthine. He admired the man, who’d probably raised more sons and daughters than any human alive. Maybe it was his confidence. Maybe it was the singularity of his attention. When Gregor was in Waaseyaa’s arms, the boy was all he saw.

  “We’re a little late.”

  Waaseyaa only smiled and said, “Welcome home, Timur.”

  Gregor bounced and reached, and Waaseyaa turned the toddler loose. Timur swooped him up and grinned. “There’s Papka’s little battler! Miss me much?”

  “Pah-kah!”

  Timur grinned and glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

  “Most of us were at Zisa’s. I brought Gregor out because things were becoming … noisy.” Waaseyaa’s smile tilted, and he chuckled. “I believe Ginkgo is intoxicated. Or pretending to be. He is trying to cheer up Mikoto.”