by Forthright
Lilya leaned into Waaseyaa, whose arms must be strong to have been cradling Gregor for so long. He was a nice man. She liked him and Zisa both. But marrying Waaseyaa would mean staying here. It might be different if she happened to fall in love, but there wasn’t time for that.
“What’s the most important thing?” she asked.
Waaseyaa hummed.
Maybe there was no answer. Kyrie would have known a better way to ask.
But Waaseyaa said, “Listening, I think.”
That sounded very wise. Almost like something Aunt Tsumiko would say.
“Here they come,” announced Zisa.
Waaseyaa murmured, “He always knows.”
“Because he’s a good listener?”
His twin nodded. “Zisa pays better attention than people realize.”
That made her want to pay closer attention. As Zisa hurried to greet his guests, it occurred to Lilya that she usually only paid close attention to Kyrie. Could watching someone else be considered part of growing up?
And then Ginkgo was crouched in front of her. “New scarf?” he asked lightly.
“His name’s Rifflet.”
Lilya held up her arms for a hug, and Ginkgo immediately gathered her close. “What’s wrong, little girl?”
“My turn,” she whispered.
They were magic words. Like a pact, they were so important. She saved them up for emergencies, for those times when she needed to have Ginkgo all to herself.
Without letting go, Ginkgo turned his body. “Kyrie, watch over Gregor until we get back.”
“Gladly.”
Lilya looked up into Kyrie’s face. He spared Rifflet a quizzical glance, but simply asked, “Later?”
“Yes, please.”
Ginkgo scooped her up and sprang away—strong and sure and straight into mischief. “I know where the camp’s kitchen hides their ice cream. How about a midnight snack?”
“It’s not midnight.”
“Might be if we hang around long enough.” Ginkgo sprang playfully from one rock to the next along the edge of the song circle.
Lilya tightened her hold around Ginkgo’s neck. Her family was everything she cared about and the only thing she’d ever wanted. Even if she grew up, she couldn’t imagine that part ever changing. But maybe that just meant that she wasn’t grown up yet. Being eleven was a bigger problem than she’d ever suspected.
Ginkgo carried her to the kitchen behind the dining hall and worked a little foxish magic. He never used a door if there was a window available. Scooping two bowls of butter brickle, he sprinkled their dishes liberally with pecans. They found seats at one of the long tables in the empty dining hall.
“Ready when you are,” Ginkgo said.
“Remember when Darya needed to get married?”
“Sure. Won’t soon forget it, either.” He eyed her. “I’m surprised you remember. You were pretty little. Six, going on seven.”
“It was bad.”
“No question it was a hassle. Everyone got so worked up, myself included. But I wouldn’t say it was bad.”
“Darya cried for a week before she left.”
“So did I.” Ginkgo offered a sheepish smile. “It was hard letting her go like that. But your sister wasn’t crying because she didn’t want to go. She couldn’t help it. She knew how much she was going to miss us.”
“Not just that. All the heralds. All the applicants.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, that was no fun.” He poked at his ice cream. “Between you and me, Darya’s always been too smart for her own good. So she saw through all those hopeful offers. None of those young men did anything wrong, but they weren’t doing right by Darya. She needed more than they knew how to give.”
“How did she find somebody?”
“Didn’t you hear that part?” Ginkgo chuckled. “It was Hisoka, of course. He came one day with a packet. Only it wasn’t the usual kind. Just a letter and a snapshot. But it was enough.”
“She didn’t know him?” That surprised Lilya. She didn’t remember that detail.
“No. Which was why your Uncle Argent escorted her personally. If the guy was any kind of unworthy, my dad would have brought Darya straight back.”
Lilya asked, “Why can’t we talk to her?”
“Sometimes, enclaves have strict rules. They need to stay a secret.” With a wave in the direction of Waaseyaa’s house, he blandly added, “Darya’s husband has a twin. Y’know?”
Tricky foxes had their way of saying just enough without saying anything.
She whispered, “I saw a list.”
“Yeah? What kind of list?”
“People that Glint Starmark thinks I might marry.”
Rather than being shocked, Ginkgo said, “Best not tell Dad. He’s edgy enough about Isla. For that matter, don’t tell your mum. She might turn it into a hit list.”
Lilya knew he was mostly joking, but she couldn’t quite smile. “Ginkgo?”
“Hmm?”
“Your name was on the list.”
“No kidding?” He eyed her thoughtfully. “That gonna make things awkward for us?”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
Ginkgo chuckled. “Thank you for letting me down gently.”
“But I love you almost more than anybody.”
“I know, little girl.” His smile was the same as always. “Family’s nice that way.”
She sighed.
“Don’t worry too much about that stuff. If nobody’s good enough, Hisoka will probably come through again.”
“He was on the list, too.”
Ginkgo snorted. “Just goes to show how much Glint doesn’t know. Sensei isn’t looking for a bride.”
“Why aren’t you married?”
“Mmm … lots of little reasons. Most of them are just excuses, though.” He nodded to himself, then shrugged. “I guess nowadays, I’m a little like how Darya was. Too smart to believe anyone might want me for more than my connections.”
“Do you get contracts?”
“Yep. All kinds of offers from all over the place. Strangers who like the idea of me, even though they’ve never met me and haven’t a clue about what’s important to me.”
“If you chose somebody, the offers would stop.”
Ginkgo grinned. “Interesting strategy. Maybe I’ll propose to Damsel.”
“Do you think he gets offers, too?”
“Doubt it. I don’t think many people know he exists. Hard to build a fanbase when you’re intentionally obscure.”
Another voice interjected, “That’s worked for me for years.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Wonders Never Cease
Ginkgo had been fighting hard to ignore the little dragon casting shy looks at him from his clinch around Lilya’s neck. Even though all things draconic would be considered notable. Didn’t matter. His girl needed him to be focused on her right now. To the exclusion of all else.
A decent excuse, but it was still mortifying that he’d missed the presence of a potential threat. Not that Wardenclave’s trickiest protector had any designs on Lilya. But if word got back to Stately House, Dad wouldn’t see it that way.
Rubbing wearily at his face, Ginkgo asked, “How much trouble are we in?”
“None, my young reynard. I simply wanted to alert you to my presence before your discussion grew any more personal.”
Ginkgo knew his ears were pinned, but the wily squirrel didn’t rub it in any further. To Lilya, he said, “It’s okay. Salali’s head of security around here.”
“Acting head.”
“He’s also the whiz who disappeared an entire mountain range.”
With a faint smirk, Salali murmured, “You’re too kind.”
Lilya scooted off her chair and went to offer her hands. “I’m Lilya. He’s Ginkgo. And this is Rifflet.”
He stood and bowed with a sweep of his floppy hat. “Salali Fullstash.”
“One of the founders?”
Tossing aside his hat, he rested
his hands atop hers and quirked a brow. “That’s what the history books say.”
“Are we in trouble?” asked Lilya.
Salali waved toward the front door and explained, “I arranged to meet a friend here. We have similar designs on the contents of the freezer, so I can hardly fault your choices.”
Ginkgo was proud of his girl’s manners. And the unflappable streak that was part nature, part nurture. Rather than being off-put by Salali’s sudden appearance, she embraced the opportunity. Edging closer to the squirrel clansman, she asked, “Could you please tell me if you’ve seen someone like Rifflet before?”
“A someone, are they?” Bending close, Salali murmured, “Wonders never cease.”
Rifflet tootle-peeped.
“Yes,” Lilya said firmly. “He’s someone.”
Even though she sounded a little like a child defending her favorite stuffed animal, Salali didn’t brush that aside. Ginkgo nearly slapped his forehead. He was way too slow on the uptake tonight.
“What did Yulin say?” checked Salali.
“To ask a dragon,” said Lilya.
Okay, that was some more name-dropping. Salali clearly had more of the facts, and Ginkgo needed to get up to speed. Giving up on his ice cream, Ginkgo asked, “Can I have a look?”
Lilya turned to him with a smile.
He mumbled reassurances as he worked his fingers under Rifflet’s lithe body, but he needn’t have worried. The little one came easily, winding around Ginkgo’s fingers, then forearm. With more soft vocalizations, Rifflet rubbed his jaw against Ginkgo’s knuckle. It was tough to say who was taming whom.
“Darn cute. Dad’ll want a dozen.” With extreme care, he pressed the smooth side of a claw into Rifflet’s mouth. “Give us a look, little mister. What are you packing?”
“He’s not poisonous,” offered Lilya. “Glint said so.”
“Ephemera aren’t aggressive. No stingers, no fangs, no poison. They don’t bite, they don’t hunt.” Pulling free, Ginkgo tickled Rifflet under the chin. “Which is why I seriously doubt your new friend qualifies. He has a proper set of teeth, and that usually spells carnivore.”
“Interesting,” remarked Salali. “May I?”
“What do you say?” Ginkgo asked the little dragon. “Do you have room in your affections for this scruffy squirrel?”
Lilya giggled.
Rifflet’s answering twitter sounded like laughter.
“I do apologize, Miss Ward. I know nearly everything that can be known about Wardenclave and its environs, but he isn’t from these parts.” Salali stroked Rifflet’s crest with one finger. “By all means, ask Sinder. Though if you tarry a little longer, my friend may offer some insight.”
Ginkgo glanced at the door. “Who is this friend of yours?”
Salali angled his head toward the front door, which swung open.
Tenma dragged through, looking—and smelling—like he’d lost a long siege against a mud puddle. “I’m late. I’m sorry. Goh-sensei needed me to prep tomorrow’s clay since he’s filling in for Sinder tonight. Good evening, Ginkgo. Hello, Lilya-chan.”
“Already friends?” Salali’s eyes were bright with interest.
Without hesitation, Tenma provided some oblique context. “I’ve been a guest at Stately House.”
Ginkgo wondered how often. Dad definitely depended on him to help Tsumiko with the running of the household. But when it came to grand schemes, Lord Mettlebright kept his own counsel. Or confided in Jacques. And despite appearances, Tenma was a top tier, grand scheme kind of guy.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to follow the strategies that kept his dad busy, but Ginkgo was okay with his need-to-know basis. His focus was on the den, not the world outside.
Which made this summer exceptional.
At first blush, Dad had sent him to watch out for the kids—Kyrie, Lilya, Timur, and Gregor. With understated instructions to keep his ears and eyes open. Information about trees. Information about foxes. Information about dragons. All the sorts of things you’d expect.
Except Ginkgo couldn’t shake the idea that Dad was doing Dad things. Which meant he might be in the middle of a very foxish endeavor.
No place was safer than Stately House. But people knew about it. So Dad had stashed them someplace that wasn’t on any maps. Borrowing Salali’s longstanding barriers and Denholm’s pack of over-protective dogs, he’d limited—if not outright eliminated—the chances of discovery.
Argent Mettlebright’s eggs were no longer in one basket.
Was he acting on Hisoka Twineshaft’s advice? Or had he arranged things because he was acting on his own … and unable to personally ensure his sons’ safety while away from Stately House? Where was Dad now? Ginkgo had no way of knowing.
“Your ice cream is melting,” Salali called as he escorted Tenma to the freezer.
While he was out of earshot, Ginkgo nudged Lilya. “We okay?”
“Better than,” she assured. “But … do you think we can talk to Sinder tonight?”
“Not sure. We can try, though. But let’s see what Tenma has to say about Rifflet.”
Lilya shook her head. “He didn’t even notice.”
“I dunno, little girl.” Ginkgo had heard plenty of gossip about Tenma’s capabilities. “I don’t think he misses much.”
Lilya fished a pecan out of her ice cream and offered it to Rifflet, who was now tangled between Tenma’s long fingers. The little dragon clasped the morsel with dainty forepaws and nibbled contentedly.
“No,” Tenma admitted, his gaze soft. “I haven’t seen anyone like him before.”
“You’re sure?” Lilya pressed.
He nodded. “I wouldn’t be able to forget. He’s all rainbows.”
Salali leaned forward. “As in … prismatic?”
“Hey, now,” grumbled Ginkgo. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I’m a squirrel,” he replied innocently. “I spend a lot of time in trees.”
“Eavesdropping.”
Salali smiled and changed the subject. “How do you like your courses, Miss Lilya? Have you learned anything useful?”
“I like it here,” she offered, since that was a safe answer. She didn’t really see the point to most of the courses available to her age group. She and Kyrie had matching schedules, but she’d let him do the picking. So it mostly felt like she was tagging along. Same as always.
“And it’s your first summer camp, as well?”
It took a moment for them to realize Salali was addressing Ginkgo.
“Never been to a camp,” he answered blandly.
“Are you making the most of the opportunity?”
Ginkgo’s ears dipped. “I’m here for the kids.”
Salali’s voice softened. “Are you implying that they’re unsafe behind my wards?”
“No.”
“Which must leave you with time on your hands,” continued the squirrel clansman.
Lilya passed another pecan to Rifflet. She knew about squirrels. One of their crossers was a gray like Salali. They were one of the trickster clans, just like foxes. Was Salali messing with Ginkgo in the same way Uncle Argent sometimes did?
“Gregor’s a toddler. He needs full-time attention.”
“Something Waaseyaa and Zisa can lavish in abundance.” Salali pushed aside his empty bowl. “Would you be interested in my guiding your summer courses?”
Ginkgo’s expression was something Lilya had never seen before.
Salali casually added, “I don’t usually bother, but I’m interested in exploring your potential. Part fox. Part reaver. That’s a heady mix.”
When Ginkgo’s gaze leapt to hers, she knew how much he wanted to say yes. And how guilty that made him feel.
“You should,” she said.
Ginkgo muttered, “That’s not why I came.”
“Are you sure?” Lilya asked. “It’s a good reason.”
His gaze jumped warily to Salali. “Did my father arrange for this?”
“No.�
��
Lilya pointed out, “You might learn a bunch of things Uncle Argent doesn’t know.”
Ginkgo chuckled and squirmed and finally said, “Yeah. That’d be great.”
“Come along, then.” Salali rose and moved toward the front door.
“Now?” Ginkgo scrambled to his feet, but hesitated.
Tenma cleared his throat. “I can escort Lilya-chan back.”
Ginkgo hurriedly kissed Lilya’s forehead, then Tenma’s. Seeing that Salali was already gone, Ginkgo swore, muttered hurried thanks, and sprinted away.
Lilya giggled.
Tenma smiled.
And for a little while, silence hung awkwardly between them. Lilya broke it by admitting, “I don’t remember you. Not really.”
“Did Isla never mention me?”
“Are you one of her friends?”
“Yes. We were classmates.”
Lilya saw Isla irregularly, and her older sister was usually doing important things for Hisoka-sensei or practicing her French with Uncle Jackie. “You’re Isla’s age?” she asked doubtfully.
He chuckled. “No. She skipped several grades. I’m six years older than her.”
Which might as well have been a riddle. “I’m not great with math.”
Tenma shrugged. “I’m twenty-six.”
Even older than Timur. It seemed only natural to ask, “How many children do you have?”
“Oh, I’m not married.” Tenma kept his gaze fixed on Rifflet. “With one thing and another, well … let’s just say I’m behind schedule. Shall we?”
Since his hands were full, Lilya gathered up their bowls and carried them to the kitchen. Then they left—by the door this time—and strolled up the path toward Waaseyaa’s. He spoke first this time.
“I can see the resemblance.”
“To Isla? She looks like Papka, and he’s the pretty one.” Lilya was used to being compared. Everyone did it. “Unless you meant to Timur?”
“Oh, no. Well, I suppose.” Timur searched her face. “I actually meant that you’re extremely warded.”