by Forthright
She tried one, letting it roll of her tongue, and wished her soul wasn’t quite so locked away. Calming little ones was so much easier when they found her lovely.
“How many languages do you know?”
“Fluently?” she countered, not really wanting to admit to more than she already had. “Four, I guess. Bits and pieces of more.”
Glint gave her a sidelong look. “You remind me of my best friend.”
She knew he must mean Waaseyaa, but she doubted a newcomer to Denholm was meant to know about him. So she simply asked, “I do?”
“The first thing we ever did was learn each other’s languages. He knows dozens.” Finally disentangling their mystery creature, he murmured, “You were right. He does look a bit like a dragon.”
Lilya’s confusion must have shown.
“That is what you called him in my language.” Glint repeated the endearment, then translated. “Little dragon.”
The creature wasn’t anything Lilya had seen before, which was amazing, considering how extensive Uncle Argent’s collection was supposed to be. It wasn’t very big—probably as long as Lilya’s forearm, with most of its length only as thick as her thumb. Fine scales shimmered slightly, the soft gold of sunlight, but with a faint bloom of pink low on its chest, right above his first set of legs.
“Showy little thing.” The critter twined around Glint’s fingers, not exactly trying to escape, but not exactly happy to have been dislodged.
Lilya amended her original impression. The creature’s first set of legs was its only set of legs. The rest of its body was more serpentine, with a mane of creamy yellow fur tapering towards the tip of its tail, which ended in a thorny spike.
“Poisonous?” she asked.
Glint shook his head. “Nothing toxic in his scent.”
The little one lifted a narrow muzzle to sniff at the air. There was a prominent tuft of fur on top of his head, which flexed and fanned, almost like the crest on a cockatoo. Then he butted Glint’s big knuckle and reached for Lilya with dainty claws.
Chuckling, Glint said, “You are the one he wants, and I see no harm in letting him have you.”
Lilya reached back, and the little dragon grabbed her thumb, coiled around her wrist. His eyes were dark gold, without whites, and exhibiting the narrow pupils that were characteristic of both the Kith and the clans. But not Ephemera. “You really don’t know what he is?”
“He is not native. Probably a stowaway.” Jerking a thumb at the wall behind them, Glint said, “We receive guests and shipments from all over.”
Tiny claws, soft as a kitten’s, caught in Lilya’s clothes and hair as the little one clambered swiftly up her arm. Once again, he settled around her neck. She couldn’t see him, but she stroked his silken sides and tickled his fur. “He’s heavier than he looks.”
Glint smiled crookedly. “He is holding his own tail to stay in place.”
“Would it be okay if I named him?”
“Are you asking to claim him?”
Lilya supposed she was. “Is that allowed?”
The little one rubbed his wedge-shaped head under her chin and offered a musical trill. Glint chuckled and pointed out, “He has his own opinion on the matter.”
With another burble of high notes, the little dragon coiled just a bit tighter. And into the middle of Lilya’s warm thoughts, she heard a single word. High and sweet, like a child’s.
Mine.
Clearly unaware of this development, Glint said, “We are supposed to have a dragon somewhere hereabouts. I think we should try asking him.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Window Dressing
Shortly after sunrise, Yulin sent Mikoto a message, letting him know that Glint was finally up and about. He could return home. But Mikoto couldn’t bring himself to leave his post, seated on the floor at the foot of the bed where Timur had tucked Sinder in with Kyrie.
Maybe it was stubborn. Maybe he was selfish. But Mikoto wasn’t leaving without something he could hang onto. “If you want to woo the wind to your side, all you really need is a dragon,” he murmured. That’s what Isla Ward had said. And that meant Sinder. They’d never hosted a single dragon in Wardenclave before this season, and it felt as if they were about to lose him. Mikoto had overheard enough to know that powerful people were upset.
There might be repercussions.
His to deal with as headman.
But right now, Mikoto couldn’t have cared less about the wider world. He wasn’t here in any official capacity. This was personal.
He picked a bit of meat from his handroll and fed it to Noble.
Tending to the pup’s needs. Teaching Noble to look to him.
Looking to. Looking after. Mikoto could see how they were linked.
Had Glint meant to comfort him or to teach him how to lead?
With a muffled bump, Timur bustled through the door, barely able to see past the ungainly bundle in his arms. Ginkgo jumped up to help, so Mikoto stayed put. In such a small room, he’d only be in the way. Worse, Noble would get underfoot.
“What’s all this for?” asked Ginkgo, who pulled free a couple of embroidered cushions.
“Just some things,” Timur said shortly.
More textiles came to light—blankets, bed linens, towels, and a loomed rug. Even a few bolts of cloth that had the distinctive shimmer of Dimityblest workmanship. Expensive stuff. And all of it in shades of yellow.
“I’m sensing a theme here,” remarked Ginkgo.
Timur’s jaw worked. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I don’t.” Frowning slightly, the half-fox added, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Boss me around, cuddle bud. I care about Damsel, too.”
Right then, Fend sauntered through the open door, tail high enough for the tip to biff Timur across the face. The man’s whole posture changed—chastened, apologetic. After a husky affirmative and a few lines in what sounded like Russian, Timur switched to Japanese and began to issue orders.
When Timur finally registered his presence, Mikoto silently offered his hands. Well, his hand. Noble was occupying the other.
Timur’s expression softened, and he sighed. “Right. Sorry.” He adjusted his posture to include them, and in a slower, deeper voice, he started over. “Ginkgo, help me with the windows. Mikoto, do you know how to tune your soul to another’s? The way you would for tending?”
Mikoto’s lips quirked. Then again, how would he know? “My mother is a cosset.”
With visible relief, Timur urged, “Be inviting. He needs more than he’s taken.” He glanced at the door. “Also, I asked Colt Alpenglow to replenish my supplies. He’ll be here soon. If I’m not back, will you explain things?”
“Where are you going?” Ginkgo asked.
“Lady Starmark is getting more of the things I need. I have to meet her. And make a call.” In a weary voice, Timur added, “Sinder’s partner wants regular updates.”
“And by regular, he means hourly?”
Timur messed up his hair. “Can you blame him?”
“Sure, I can. I can also call him. Let me handle the updates.” Ginkgo nodded at Mikoto. “We’ve got this. Fetch what you need from Radiance, then get your butt back here before he wakes up.”
After some hasty instructions, Timur rushed out, Fend close on his heels.
Mikoto asked, “Can I help?”
“With this?” Ginkgo shook his head. “I’ll work on the trimmings and trappings, you coax him into a better tending than my little brother can offer.”
Mikoto turned Noble loose and stood to survey the larger of the room’s two beds. Sinder lay on his back, clad in little more than bandages, with a sheet modestly folded at his waist. Kyrie had been tucked in with him. The boy had warbled himself to sleep, nestled against Sinder. Easing to a seat on the opposite side, Mikoto slipped his hand under Sinder’s limp one. This was something Merl had worked on with him, providing an atmosphere that would promote healing. It wasn’t exactly tending, and it worked
better if there were crystals adding their resonance.
Sinder sighed, and he turned his face toward Mikoto.
A good start. On some level, the dragon was aware of him.
Mikoto’s focus turned inward as he loosened the restraints enough to affect the ambiance inside the little house. Almost at once, there was a rustle of leaves as arms came around him from behind.
“Me, too?” coaxed Zisa. “You are usually so stingy.”
“You are hardly wanting, brother of beacons.” But Mikoto bussed the tree’s cheek. “You can stay if you help keep Noble out of trouble.”
“I will stay.” Zisa retreated to the corner to coo and sing nonsense over Noble.
“He’s right. You’re good.” Ginkgo flashed a smile over his shoulder. “I’d be more surprised if I didn’t live with a battler who’s also a healer. Timur’s mother. Timur, too, for that matter. But I’ve never been this close to a cosset before. It’s … nice.”
Mikoto mumbled something grateful and kept his gaze fixed on the fine-boned hand in his. Sinder was cool to the touch. Was he cold?
Ginkgo worked quickly and confidently, removing panes and screens from every window. He carted them outside, muttering about dust and bugs. Returning with a bucket and rags, he wiped the frames and sills, then conferred briefly with Zisa. Ginkgo trotted off again, returning with a toolbox. Drawing a sigil in the air, he somehow managed to banish the sound of his hammer as he tacked layers of sheer fabric across the windows.
Soft yellow, it changed the quality of light in the room, drenching them in honeyed gold. Breezes slipped through the cloth, though, stirring his hair and tickling up his arms.
A shadow fell, and Mikoto wondered how he’d missed Merl’s usual call. Zisa twirled to his side, leaning into the horse clansman and babbling something as he showed off Noble. Which clued in Mikoto. Ginkgo must have warded the bed, not himself.
Only when Merl joined him at the bedside did Mikoto register his footfalls, the subtle ripple of sleeves, the low hum of concern. And not for Sinder.
“May I?”
Mikoto grunted an affirmative.
His best friend touched his face, running the pad of his thumb under one eye. “Sleepless night?”
“Stuff happened.”
“Nothing you cannot handle?”
“You know me,” Mikoto gruffly countered. “He is the one who needs a healer.”
Merl let his hand drop to Mikoto’s shoulder as he considered the dragon. “This time, I am merely a courier. Sinder will benefit more from Timur’s knowledge and your presence.”
“About … Lupe.” Mikoto risked a glance into his best friend’s face. “Did you know she is pregnant?”
“Priska brought her around for assessment after their long journey.”
“Nothing was strange?”
“No. Such things are part of the natural course.” Merl gently added, “She and her child are healthy, and Priska will make sure she takes care.”
“You would know if Lupe wasn’t human.”
Merl blinked several times, inadvertently fluttering long lashes. “She is human,” he cautiously confirmed. “Completely human. Ah. He is waking.”
Mikoto looked down just as Sinder opened eyes made strange by whatever Timur had dosed him with. A slim ring of eerie green encircled pupils blown wide.
“Oh, dear. He has been thoroughly pollinated.” Merl asked, “Do you need anything, Sinder?”
The dragon shook his head, then nodded. “You, with the soul. Come closer.”
Mikoto saw no reason not to oblige, even though Merl’s grip tightened. He shrugged out from under his hand and mumbled, “I am here.”
“Closer,” whined Sinder. “It’s cold.”
“I could bring a blanket.”
But Sinder wouldn’t let go. “Stay here. With me. In bed. That’s the way. Won’t bite. Don’t tell Juuyu. He’s so pissy about protocol. Please, stay.”
“I will stay.” Mikoto didn’t mind. Why would he? He’d wanted to help.
“More, more, more,” Sinder chanted, wriggling a hand under Mikoto’s tunic and sighing against his shoulder. “Warm.”
There were other voices around him, but Mikoto was having trouble focusing on them. He was too busy listening for Sinder’s next words.
Somebody swore, and Mikoto pulled the dragon closer, pretty sure he should be protecting Sinder. That’s what Timur had said to do. Wasn’t it?
Then a blanket settled over them, and a voice growled something about needing sleep anyhow. And Sinder crooned softly and whispered, “Sleep.”
So Mikoto did.
TWENTY-NINE
Trade with Me
A voice entered Mikoto’s oblivion.
“Seriously, wake up now. Otherwise, I’ll be in the deepest of deep sh– … oh, there you are. Stars and storms, you weren’t too deep to hear me. You might have gone on sleeping forever, you susceptible softie.” Sinder patted his cheek. “Don’t scare me like that.”
Mikoto’s only real thought was that he was more comfortable with Zisa’s eyes than with Sinder’s. Because Zisa’s green was dappled with gold and alight with smiles, but Sinder’s green was faceted like stones and flecked by fear.
“Nothing bad happened,” Mikoto soothed, pulling him closer. “Are you still cold?”
“Are you listening?”
He grunted. “Timur will know what to do. Wait for Timur.”
Sinder pointed.
Mikoto was startled to find Timur looming over them. “Which one of us is he angry with?” he whispered.
“Me. Very much me. You missed all the shouting. Bellows like a thunderclap, that one.” And with a tweak to his nose, Sinder muttered, “Seriously, wake up.”
Someone flicked Sinder’s ear. The half-dragon boy. Kyrie.
“I only did it to make sure he’s coming out of it,” grumped Sinder.
Kyrie tapped his own nose, then touched Mikoto’s. “He did not mean to use swaying words. Timur drugged him, which is only another kind of sway, but Sinder resisted. And he did not ask for anything bad. You did need sleep.”
“Yes.” Mikoto’s attention strayed back to Timur, who was so tense. “I am fine. Nothing bad happened.”
“It might have.”
“All is well,” insisted Kyrie, who seemed too young to be any kind of authority. To Mikoto, he said, “I will teach you when to listen and when to resist the words of dragons. And half-dragons.”
“I would appreciate that,” Mikoto murmured, more to be polite than anything. He was still a little hazy on what had happened.
“I owe you an apology,” Sinder said meekly.
“I am fine. Truly.” And because Mikoto thought the words were needed, “All is forgiven.”
Ginkgo bustled past, loudly declaring, “You’re making too big a fuss over a little mistake. Are we done here, Timur? I need to pack enough food for everyone.”
“May I help?” asked Kyrie, scrambling off the bed to follow his brother.
Sinder bowed his head, hiding his face against Mikoto’s chest. “You’re completely vulnerable to dragons. No surprise. Most are. Working with Kyrie will help. I’ll do what I can, too. Should be easy enough if you’re here.”
Unsure what else to say, Mikoto repeated, “I would appreciate that.”
“You’re very okay with this. The closeness, I mean.” Sinder cleared his throat. “Can’t say I’ve ever been cuddled by prey before.”
“Most of my friends are Amaranthine.” Easing away with a mumbled apology, he nearly fell off the bed.
Timur steadied him to his feet, still stern and serious. “I’m dosing you. Just to make sure there aren’t any lingering effects.”
Mikoto simply nodded.
Only after they strode out did Mikoto recall that he’d been waiting for Sinder. He turned back to the bed, then hurried to assist the dragon, who was gingerly making his way to his feet.
“May I ask you something?” checked Mikoto.
“Go for it.�
��
“Do you know anything about wind?”
Sinder rolled his eyes. “I’m a dragon.”
“So … yes?”
“Yes. Lots and lots of yes. It’s part of my heritage.” He smiled faintly. “Not every tale of dragons is a warning, you know.”
“I did not know.” Mikoto balled his fists. “But I think I need to know. Maybe about dragons, but mostly about winds.”
Sinder coaxed the story out of him. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much to tell.
Tenma’s mistake.
Zisa’s hints.
Isla’s speculations.
“You’re wind-touched?” Sinder eyed him speculatively. “Can I have a look?”
“Yes.” Mikoto ventured, “Wind-touched?”
“There are stories about people who win the wind’s favor. Honestly, there are just as many stories about people who earn the wind’s wrath. Those are pretty funny, but only because they’re so farfetched. Imagine being chased by ominous clouds or a dust devil. Things like that.” Sinder placed a hand on Mikoto’s chest and muttered, “You, uhh … you might have to hold me up.”
Mikoto quickly grasped him by the shoulders. “Do you want to lie back down?”
Sinder groaned. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather not let Timur see how hard it is for me to move.”
“He is your healer.”
With a poke to Mikoto’s chest, Sinder said, “We’ll see if you feel the same way after you taste his tea.”
Sliding his hands under the dragon’s elbows for additional support, Mikoto waited for Sinder’s assessment.
“While I’m getting personal, do you mind if I get more personal?” Sinder’s eyes were closed, his brows furrowed.
“Go ahead.”
“This woman. Lupe. Do you know where she is right now?”
“Yes. My house.” Mikoto explained, “She is staying with one of my sisters.”
“But do you know where she is right now,” pressed Sinder.
“My house,” Mikoto repeated.
“It’s a big village. She could be anywhere.”
Mikoto simply shook his head.