by Forthright
Mikoto looked lost. “Are you trying to say that I was never in love with Lupe?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t exactly relate.” Sinder frowned. “I’m suggesting that your love—while earnest and true and good—may have been a teensy bit off target.”
“Because I am actually in love with the wind.”
“Not the wind, in the broadest, general sense. A wind. Singular. A south wind, I think.”
Kyrie helpfully added, “She is a summer breeze.”
Mikoto brushed absently at his hair.
“I’d need to chat with Miss Lupe to be certain, but it sounds as if she and that breeze became entangled somewhere along the way.” Sinder fanned his fingers wide. “And by your tale, I’m willing to bet that on the day you nearly drowned, that wind is the one who saved you.”
“Breath is life,” murmured Kyrie. “She cleared your lungs.”
“Leaving a bit of shine behind.” Ginkgo slyly asked, “Does that count as a claim?”
“There’s a word for it in our stories.” Sinder waited until Mikoto met his gaze. “Mikoto, I think you’re wind-kissed.”
THIRTY-THREE
Strategic Alliances
Glint held Lilya’s hand all the way back to his home, chatting about ordinary things the whole time. The strawberry harvest. A new bakery in Denholm. The morrow’s gathering of clover blossoms by the Alpenglow healers. A visiting delegation from the turtle clans. But their conversation always cycled back to the fuzzy creature that rode upon Lilya’s shoulders, head tucked up under her chin.
“Have you given thought to a name?”
Lilya hummed. “Are you sure he’s a boy?”
“Quite sure.”
She asked, “Is it all right for me to name him? Names are important.”
“Very important,” Glint agreed. “He will carry it all his days, and its story will be yours to tell.”
“I’ve never named anyone before.”
Glint gave her hand a small squeeze. “There is no hurry.”
But Lilya thought maybe there was. Once people started making suggestions, it would only become harder to decide. And if Kyrie proposed something, she knew she’d give in. So she asked, “How do you say friend in Old Amaranthine?”
With a faint smile, Glint pronounced something with too many syllables and sharp edges.
“That doesn’t sound very friendly.”
He chuckled. “The old words aren’t in a hurry to make their point.”
“Is there a word that means … yellow flower?”
Glint hummed and offered a few, but none of the words he suggested sounded right.
“How about sigil?”
Patiently, he translated all of her suggestions.
Lilya reached out to tug at the hem of his tunic. “Is there a word for this?”
“Embroidery?” Glint almost laughed and offered another complicated phrase.
“This embroidery is prettier than anything I’ve seen, but it doesn’t make a very pretty name.”
“Thank you.” He searched her face and gently asked, “May I give you a word that is close to your suggestion?”
Lilya supposed they were in this together. “Yes, please.”
“Ribbon is rifflet.”
“Oooh,” she breathed. “I like that.”
“I do, too.” Chuffing Lilya’s passenger under his chin, Glint asked, “Do you approve, little dragon?”
He answered with a light trill.
Lilya couldn’t help wondering how much he understood. “May I call you Rifflet?” she asked.
Once again, the sweet voice touched her mind. To her amazement, he spoke her name. Or her borrowed one. Angel.
She almost corrected him, but she remembered just in time that Radiance wanted her to hide her identity for as long as possible.
At the Starmark residence, Glint urged her to follow the three pups inside. Lyre, Lute, and Lore tumbled through the door, vanishing toward the back of the house. Radiance didn’t appear to be home, and Glint peered thoughtfully out the window.
Eventually, he asked, “Will you stay? Radiance will want to meet Rifflet, and I have had a message sent. You see, I have been out of pocket for several days, so I cannot say for certain where our dragon might be. But I know who to ask.”
“I’ll stay,” she agreed.
Glint poured two glasses of chilled tea and even offered a bit in a saucer to Rifflet. Then he led Lilya to a sort of side room. It was a little like an alcove in that it was curtained off instead of walled off. But alcove sounded small, and Glint’s office—for that’s what it must be—was spacious.
Ducking past heavily embroidered drapes that sang with sigilcraft, Lilya peered around an area that was both orderly and cluttered at the same time.
“Yulin will be here shortly,” said Glint. He’d gone to a table that was easily as large as the one in Stately House’s dining room. Only instead of using it to feed crossers, Glint had turned it into his desk. Ledgers lay in rows along one side, and Lilya had never seen books so big. Their pages were taller than the communiques that Papka collected. Wider, too, since she could see that many of them folded out.
By their thickness and shimmer, she guessed the paper was Dimityblest-made. And well warded. Lilya might not be able to create sigils, but she could feel them just fine.
Glint gently unfolded one of the pages and traced his finger along a line.
These must be the thrice-dratted pedigrees. Mum might not like them, but Lilya suspected she might be impressed by them. It was like standing in a war room, surrounded by dozens of strategies. Oversized family trees were tacked to the walls, some with bits of colored thread linking them to the branches of other trees.
Was Glint matchmaking between dynasties? Did that mean Lilya’s name was here somewhere? She began searching the walls for familiar names.
While she explored, a light call came from the front of the house. A moment later, an Amaranthine whisked in, his arms filled with packets.
“These are the last of them, Glint.” The Amaranthine wearing the Dimityblest crest smiled at the sight of her. “Hello, dear child.”
“So many?” Glint grumbled, taking the stack. “Thanks, Yulin. And this is Angel.”
The moth clansmen offered his hands to Lilya. “Scribe Yulin Dimityblest. Radiance mentioned a new friend.”
His mild expression was hard to read, but his slow wink was reassuring. This person knew exactly who she was. And that Radiance was playing games.
Lilya placed her hands on his and skipped her half of the introduction. Instead, she admitted, “You’re my first moth.”
This was the sort of thing Amaranthine enjoyed learning. Indeed, Yulin’s whole countenance brightened. “I would be honored to indulge your curiosity in any detail.”
Just then, Rifflet uncurled enough to peep.
Yulin’s soft eyes widened. “Well, hello to you, as well.”
“Ever seen the like?” Glint’s eyebrows lifted. “Say, Yulin, do you have your progenitor’s knack?”
Cool, dry hands gently enfolded Lilya’s as Yulin explained, “I am the son of Linlu Dimityblest, one of Wardenclave’s founders. The knack Glint is referring to is his sensitivity. Linlu has always been attuned to Impressions. He hears voices where others do not.”
Lilya tried to fit that into a context she was familiar with. “Like a crystal adept?”
Yulin’s lips curved upward. “Those who work with crystals are often able to hear their remnant song. They hear the echoes of impressions long gone. My progenitor hears the voices of impressions who have remained near.”
Glint cleared his throat. “Even among Amaranthine, hearing voices is considered … odd.”
“Yes,” Yulin agreed easily. “Those without ears to hear remain skeptical.”
Lilya wondered if he meant that people thought his dad was crazy. Didn’t Amaranthine understand about faith? Aunt Tsumiko would have called it hope in unseen things. And it was silly not to believe in imps.
She’d chatted with Zisa every day since their arrival, and he was technically an Impression. But saying as much would give away who she was. Something else worried her, though. “You think Rifflet might be an imp?”
“Ah.” Yulin presented a fingertip for Rifflet’s inspection. “I cannot think of a more plausible explanation as to why I have never heard of this creature.”
Lilya said, “He may have come from somewhere far away.”
“I may not be well-traveled, but I am exceptionally well-read.” Yulin’s eyes danced with interest. “Which means your Rifflet is either an imp, a clan secret, or … both.”
“Could he be Kith?” she asked.
“Unlikely,” said Glint. “Our Kith always look the same as we do in truest form, but this little one only bears a passing resemblance to members of the dragon clans.”
“And Kith are sentient,” added Yulin. “They have a voice.”
Lilya decided to speak up. “Rifflet has a voice.”
“You heard something?” Glint came over, bending down to study their mystery critter. “I hear nothing.”
“Would we?” posed Yulin. “Rifflet is neither a dog nor a moth.”
“But why would Angel hear a voice.”
“She could belong to one of the attuned classifications—candor, fellow, reach. Rare, but not without precedence. The trait does crop up from time to time in most bloodlines.” Yulin shrugged. “Or it could be an impish or ephemeral quirk, making Rifflet himself the cause.”
“Which brings us back around to our original plan. Where is that young dragon who has been … err … here?”
Glint’s abrupt self-censoring made Lilya feel a little better about keeping her own secrets.
“Out of contact, for the moment. I can arrange for them to meet tomorrow.”
“Could we do that here?” Glint bargained. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Yulin clasped his hands together, giving a significant look to the piles of paperwork. “Are you certain you have the time? Dichotomy Day is near and nearer.”
“We do not often see new things,” protested Glint.
Inclining his head, Yulin conceded. “Perhaps if you made significant headway tonight …?”
Sensing an end to her visit, Lilya raised her hand. “May I have the flowers and leaves I collected for Mum?”
Glint straightened and patted his pocket, bringing out the small journal. “Nearly forgot,” he muttered. “What would make these safe to travel?”
Yulin jumped in. “Allow me.”
He located a box with delicate slips of paper, thin and veined with copper threads. He showed Lilya how to fold them into a protective sleeve. Each of her specimens was carefully preserved, then bundled into an envelope he created from a fold of heavy paper.
“If you plan to collect more over the summer, I can show you how to make a press,” Yulin offered. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
“You’ll be here tomorrow?” she asked.
His laugh rustled pleasantly. “How could I resist? We do not often see new things.”
Lilya riffled through Glint’s journal, making certain she hadn’t left any of her botanicals behind. Again, the names and charts caught her attention, and she slowed to read.
“Hoping to find a good match?” Yulin asked mildly.
“Not today.” She closed the book and offered it to him. “Are all these charts part of your job, too?”
“No, no.” With a wave to the walls and piles, Yulin said, “This is Glint’s labor of love. My own affections bind me to the headman.”
He must mean Mikoto.
Glint snorted. “You cannot deny an interest, Yulin. You have been hovering like the proverbial moth to a flame these past weeks, all because the current headman is at that age, and more than half of these piles are offers for him.”
“We are all interested in his future. And who will share it.”
Lilya was curious. “You’re going to arrange his marriage?”
“Not … precisely.” Glint rubbed at the back of his neck. “I do try to bring strong bloodlines together. Usually indirectly. Our summer courses have exceptionally high standards. For those wanting a match, there are no poor choices.”
She walked over to one of the trees on the wall. “Did you make this match?” she asked, tracing a green thread to another chart farther along. “Did you decide they should meet?”
“Yes.” Glint patiently explained, “This young man wished to leave home and see new things. His academic mentors agreed that his aptitudes and interests would make him an excellent addition to the isolated enclave that this young lady calls home. When I sent them a progeny projection, they agreed to meet, even though neither can speak the others’ language.”
“Brave souls,” murmured Yulin.
“What if they don’t get along?” asked Lilya.
Glint rubbed his chin. “What if they do?”
She couldn’t help smiling. He reminded her of Ever, who always believed the best of everyone and everything.
“Is everyone willing to do whatever you say if it means their children will be strong?”
“Hardly,” Glint retorted. But then he scanned his desk and gruffly corrected himself. “Usually.”
Yulin opened one of the huge ledgers on the table and began paging through. “Most young reavers these days are seeking an advantageous match.”
“In recent years, there has been a trend toward career over family, but in another generation or two, love matches may be in vogue again.” Glint tried to turn the tables. “Do you want me to look to your future, Angel?”
“Probably not.” Lilya knew from her older sisters’ experience that his offhand offer was beyond generous. “I’m only eleven.”
Glint waved that off. “Traditionally, the offers begin when a child turns twelve. And many parents and patrons begin discussing options earlier. Especially those hoping to improve their ranking, because those with exceptional pedigrees are usually swamped with offers.”
Lilya surveyed the table and felt a little sick. “Can I avoid this?”
“Easily,” said Glint, who was kind enough not to doubt her ability to bring in mountains of offers. “It happens all the time. Make lots of friends. Watch for someone with similar plans or interests. See if they want to contract with you.”
That did sound easy. Except Lilya knew it wasn’t. Darya had turned down hundreds of men. Hundreds. And Isla had it twice as bad because she was as fussy as she was famous.
Glint was still talking, and one phrase jumped out to Lilya. “An early contract is the answer.”
“Why?”
Yulin beckoned to her, saying, “Properly filed contracts with matrimonial exclusivity clauses make it clear to everyone that no further proposals will be entertained.” At her puzzled expression, he simplified. “The bidding stops.”
That sounded good to Lilya. Pick and be done.
Shuffling through one of his piles, Glint continued. “On Dichotomy Day, many of our oldest campers—those ranging from sixteen to eighteen—will formalize their intentions by filing contracts with Dimityblest scribes.”
Oh, she knew all about contracts and Dichotomy Day. Lilya wasn’t about to mention that they toasted marshmallows over them.
Yulin’s finger traced lightly along a neat diagram. She was used to reading genealogical charts, partly because Kyrie found them fascinating. Perhaps because his was sort of … lost. Nobody talked about his bloodline, but every person born had one. This particular pedigree was easier to read than most because it was hers.
Beside her name, someone had added a neat notation in copper ink—BEACON. And in pencil, someone else had scrawled a list of names. She was confused at first, until she realized that these people were probably meant as possible husbands for her. More than half of the names were Amaranthine.
Yulin quietly said, “Glint does not always choose. He arranges the groups and the housing to ensure that compatible people will have the chance to meet.”
Lilya read the list again. Mikoto was on it. So was Uncle Waaseyaa. Lord Mossberne. Suuzu Farroost. And even Hisoka Twineshaft. Worst of all was the last name. She really, really wanted to talk to Ginkgo.
A hand on her shoulder brought her attention up to Yulin’s gentle expression. “What kind of future will you choose for yourself?”
Now, that was interesting. Because the wife of a member of the Amaranthine Council would have a very different life than the wife of a tree-kin. And her choice could affect her lifespan. If she took an Amaranthine husband, could she stay with Kyrie?
Yulin quietly closed the book.
Lilya carefully shifted into a grateful posture. “I don’t know yet.”
“Plenty of time,” Glint murmured distractedly. “Might try a preservationist or an ephemerologist, should wee Rifflet refuse to be parted with you. Or there’s a bloodline with close ties to dragons. One of our instructors carries on the tradition. He’s the settling sort. Good father.”
Did he mean Timur? Lilya glanced at Yulin. The scribe’s lurking smile and slow wink confirmed it. Her own brother.
“You remind me of … him.” Glint’s head snapped up, and he goggled at her. “Of all things! It is you, and here I have been …! Lilya?”
The jig was up. “Yes.”
“Did you know, Yulin? And where is my Radiance?”
Glint grumbled and sniffed and apologized and asked to start over. But it was too late. She didn’t want to go back to being a name and rank in Glint’s files.
No, she’d made up her mind. On the matter of husbands, she would choose for herself. And the sooner the better. If she could secure an early contract—this summer—bids for the world’s newest beacon would end before they started.
THIRTY-FOUR
The Most Important Thing
Zisa took one look at Rifflet and dropped to his knees before Lilya. “I love you already!”
While he tried to discover what kinds of things the little creature would eat, Lilya watched the moonrise from Waaseyaa’s front step. And waited.
Glint and Radiance had escorted her back together, fussing at each other in fond ways the whole while. After extracting a promise that she’d keep tomorrow’s appointment, Glint gruffly vowed to not to meddle … much. But he might know of a boy in France who was an up-and-coming ward. And how did she feel about tree-kin in a hypothetical sense?