Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga Book 4)

by Forthright

  It had been years since Torloo left Japan, but he hadn’t changed. In fact, he looked younger than Kyrie remembered, but that was probably because he was getting taller while Torloo was not. The gap in their ages was closing. Kyrie was quickly catching up, and that was incredibly comforting. He and his friend would go through their adolescence together.

  “Kyrie?” Torloo’s nose was working almost as hard as his tail. “I know you are here.”

  Wolves weren’t much for subtlety. Reluctantly, Kyrie stepped into plain sight. “Here.”

  Even though Kyrie had seen Torloo the night Sinder was injured, Torloo hadn’t seen him. Because Kyrie hadn’t wanted to be seen or stopped. When he was littler, it had confused him that, despite the Elderbough trackers’ impressive reputation, they were so easy to elude. He didn’t like to mention it. Back then, he hadn’t wanted to hurt their feelings. Now, it was just another trick he knew better than to mention.

  Torloo darted forward so fast, Kyrie barely had time to open his arms before he was scooped into a spinning hug.

  Reveille stood watching them with arms folded. “I take it you’re acquainted?”

  “We are friends,” corrected Torloo.

  All around the camp, reavers looked on with openly curious stares.

  “When did he …?”

  “Isn’t that …?”

  “Notice his eyes?”

  “Didn’t the briefing say …?”

  And over and over, two words cycled—dragon and rogue. Before Kyrie could ask what the battlers meant, Torloo held up a hand, signaling for silence, just as Timur and Mikoto arrived on Fend. Sinder stalked into the clearing, commanding attention.

  Timur dismounted and immediately herded Kyrie and Torloo toward the canopy. “Sinder will talk to you, explain his plan for the morning,” he told Torloo. “I’ll fill in the rookies while they finish their breakfasts. Yes?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” said Torloo, who looped an arm around Kyrie and ushered him the rest of the way out of the limelight.

  A ward shimmered faintly as they ducked past netting. Kyrie resisted the urge to inspect it closely, but he could tell it was Timur’s handiwork. And that its primary function was dampening sound.

  Although there were padded benches off to the sides, the canopy’s main furnishing was a central table. Maps and lists covered its surface, their corners weighed down by an interesting jumble of stones—some rough, some smooth, some crystal.

  Kyrie scanned the maps idly until he recognized the lake where they’d bathed and swapped stories. Orienting himself on that landmark, he quickly made sense of the rest and frowned. There was more to the Denholm range than he’d realized.

  “Brother told me you would be at camp.” Torloo placed a finger on the map, indicating Wardenclave’s song circle. “My responsibilities kept me from seeking you out.”

  “Nobody told me.” Kyrie shyly admitted, “I would have come sooner.”

  Torloo glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “And I would have asked Timur to speak on my behalf.”

  Kyrie couldn’t contain a pleased trill. It was good to have friends.

  Touching another map, Kyrie skimmed a neighboring list. “You are training battlers?”

  “Yes. Brother chose these battlers for their potential as trackers.”

  “And you are their teacher?”

  “They are learning basic skills.” Torloo began to gather up loose pages. “I will send them to my brothers before long.”

  Kyrie took a step back and courteously averted his eyes. Torloo hadn’t said anything, but his body language made it obvious—at least to Kyrie—that there were secrets strewn across the table. He only felt a little guilty at mentally reviewing the information he’d already acquired.

  Poison.

  Sway.

  Camouflage.

  Ambush.

  Torloo appeared to be teaching these battlers about tracking dragons. And Sinder was obviously helping them, which is why he’d been injured. But … was it only tracking? The equipment lists included a terrifying spectrum of offensive sigilcraft, hypodermic darts, and crystal tagging.

  If these were battler games, they were extremely dangerous ones.

  Why would the Elderboughs be hunting dragons?

  Timur batted his way past the netting and offered a gruff greeting. Fend shadowed his steps and disappeared under the table.

  Torloo took a receptive posture and asked, “Is there more to this than the reunion of friends?”

  “Yes.” Kyrie summed up his desire to be assessed, then asked, “Where is Reveille?”

  “Waiting outside,” said Timur. “He doesn’t need to know everything in order to keep you safe. I can’t tell you everything, either, but no one can question my right to talk about myself.”

  Kyrie stood a little straighter and positioned his hands to promise secrecy.

  Timur dropped to one knee before him, putting them more on a level. “To be clear, your Dad knows about me, as do Mum and Papka. But I don’t think Ginkgo has all the particulars. Just what he’s gleaned from watching me with Sinder. And neither do any of my siblings except Annika.”

  Annika was the sister right above Lilya. Like Timur, she held a battler’s classification and had gone away to study with Aunt Sansa’s people. That had to be part of the secret.

  “My battler training upholds a longstanding family tradition. I specialize in dragons.”

  Kyrie didn’t even try to hide his astonishment. “Like me?”

  “Too right.” Timur caressed Kyrie’s hair. “Having you in my family helped me choose my courses.”

  It had never occurred to Kyrie that he could have brought his questions to someone besides Lapis. Like a dragon specialist. “You know things about me?”

  “Not as much as Sinder, but more than most.” Timur’s expression gentled. “Sorry to keep something so important from you.”

  “I was little.” Kyrie’s heart thumped in anticipation of future conversations. “I have grown.”

  “As has my trust.”

  Which may have been the highest compliment Timur could have paid.

  “Right. So. Torloo, Sinder, and I are working together. The battlers who just chased Sinder into the forest are learning tactics for tracking and restraining dragons.”

  Sinder strolled in as if that had been his cue. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. All I did was circle back. Everything settled?”

  Timur stood. “I was just getting around to your minigame.”

  With a nod to Torloo, Sinder said, “Thank you for your indulgence, leader. I’m confident that the challenge I’ve issued to Kyrie won’t interfere with the rookies’ efforts.”

  “A challenge?” prompted Torloo.

  “His affinities interest me. I want to find out if they have practical applications. Kyrie will give chase. I’ll evade. Torloo will bear witness. Reveille will keep watch.”

  Torloo’s tail puffed and settled a few times. “Is it wise for Kyrie’s test and the battlers’ mission to run concurrently?”

  “Why not?”

  “The battlers might mistake Kyrie for prey.”

  Sinder smirked. “They’ll never see him.”

  “And the traps?”

  “In the unlikely event of a misstep, the traps aren’t lethal, and you and Reveille will be right there. Assuming you can keep up.”

  Torloo looked honestly baffled. “You know my speed.”

  “Oh, you’re faster,” Sinder drawled. “But you’re definitely going to run into trouble.”

  Kyrie immediately understood. Games like this were fun. And necessary.

  “What kind of trouble?” Torloo patiently asked, though his tail was puffed double.

  Sinder’s smile widened. “Like now, for instance. Where is your friend?”

  From under the table, where he now sat with Fend, Kyrie watched Torloo turn a circle.

  “Never discount a dragon,” said Sinder. “Even a young one. We’re good at these games.”


  Kyrie liked being included, liked being Sinder’s brother.

  But Torloo’s agitation grew, to the point that he tucked his tail. “I am forewarned.”

  Then something else, too soft to hear. But the winds were willing, and they carried the young wolf’s troubled words to Kyrie—he is like him.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Blessing

  Lilya had always considered Lapis part of her family. His face had been bending into view since her cradle days, because he doted on Kyrie. But Lapis was too kind to part her from the brother she adored. He had two arms, and so he would carry them both away. Some of her earliest memories involved midnight blue hair, trilling lullabies, and reaching for sparkling baubles that seemed to be singing.

  Lapis came to Stately House more than any of the other members of the Amaranthine Council, and she was sure that in his heart, their home was his home.

  “Who banished your sparkle?” Lapis asked in scandalized tones. “Surely, it is a crime against the Maker to hide such brilliance under a bushel basket.”

  Lilya lifted her wrists, displaying the crystals that made up her wards.

  “Lovely, well-behaved remnants, to be sure.” The dragon pointed at her belly with one manicured claw, then twirled it. “Your back?”

  “Yes, on my back.” It was no use pretending nothing was there. More softly, she said, “Uncle Lapis, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

  He sniffed. “Not from me.”

  She glanced up at Moon, whose tail had begun a cheery thump against the floor.

  Lapis gracefully waved away her concern. “He is a secret, as well. We are all in excellent company.”

  “Who are we to question Argent’s precautions?” asked Glint.

  “I can and I do!” Lapis beckoned to Lilya with both hands. “Show me.”

  “Manners,” groused Glint. “Surely you can see that it would be inappropriate.”

  “We are family. Practically.” Lapis appealed to Lilya. “I suppose you have grown somewhat since I last assisted with your baths. Where is Kyrie, incidentally? He will vouch for me.”

  Lilya smiled. “I’ll vouch for you, too.”

  “There, see?” Lapis applied himself to Moon. “Why would Glint see overtures where there are none?”

  With a short laugh, Moon suggested, “Because he is a father?”

  Lapis widened his eyes and tutted. “Lilya is like a daughter to me! Or a niece, at the very least. Tell them, Lilya.”

  She thought perhaps it was time to change the subject. “Uncle Lapis, did you know I found a wind dragon.”

  He blinked.

  He blinked again.

  “Surely, you jest?” he murmured. “A wind dragon? Here?”

  “I named him Rifflet.” She claimed one of his hands in both her own. “He has the sweetest little voice.”

  Lapis succumbed to a flurry of blinks.

  Meanwhile, Glint leaned through the door and called, “Radiance? Would you be so good as to … arbitrate?”

  She waltzed in, shook her head at them, clapped her hands, and took charge. “We don’t have time for this! Snow finally agreed to this outing, and I won’t see it delayed. Lord Mossberne, you are more than welcome to join us. Lilya, we’re going somewhere safe for your wee ribbon monster, so fetch him along. For Lapis’ sake.”

  The dragon looked intrigued. “May I ask the nature of this errand?”

  Moon was close enough to tap Lapis’ shoulder. “I’m here for the first time in a good while, and I’ve coaxed my sister to share my path to her bondmate’s monument. I will say the words she cannot.”

  Lapis grew solemn. “Surely, I would be intruding.”

  But they coaxed, and he smiled and offered to sing a song of remembrance. Which was welcomed with such fluster, Lilya got the impression that Lapis would be doing something rare.

  When he trailed after her to fetch Rifflet, she quietly asked, “Is the song special, or is the song special because you’re singing it?”

  “A little of both.” Most of his attention was now on the soaring tree overhead. “Dragons collect songs and stories, but instead of committing them to paper, we commit them to memory. And to melody.”

  “You sing for us all the time.”

  Lapis gave a demure trill. “It is my pleasure to lavish upon Stately House what the wider world rarely hears.”

  Lilya stopped on one of the wide stairs. “Are you secretly majestic, or something?”

  “I am publicly majestic. I am secretly myself and happiest with people who take me entirely for granted.”

  She plucked at his sleeve. “I’ll let you check my seal, but only if Ginkgo’s there.”

  “I look forward to his opinion on the matter.”

  Lilya jumped down one step but lingered there. “Do you like seals?”

  “In the same way I like crossword puzzles and translating ancient poetry. But not nearly as much as I like storytelling in the naproom or taking part in amateur theatricals.”

  That’s what he called any game of make believe. Lilya knew Lapis was supposed to be a world-renowned scholar, but whenever he was at Stately House, it didn’t show.

  Thinking of Uncle Waaseyaa, Lilya asked, “Why don’t you adopt a crosser?”

  “Ah.” He smiled faintly. “I could. I might. But then I would have to choose, and I would really rather belong to all of you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Mostly.” Lapis fiddled with the rings on his fingers. “I will acknowledge that adoption would be the most sensible course for someone like me.”

  Lilya thought she understood. “You don’t want to be sensible?”

  “No.” He laughed and sighed and shook his head.

  “What is the secret wish of your heart?” Lilya took a receptive posture. “You don’t have to say. But I’ve found it helps to know that. About yourself.”

  Lapis smiled warmly. “Those who know me well know that I do not wish to remain a bachelor forever.”

  “You want a harem? Brides from east and west, north and south?”

  “One bride would suffice. If she can be found.”

  “That would be good,” Lilya agreed. “Not me, though.”

  He warbled his surprise. “Certainly not! I will probably always see you as a daughter.”

  Lilya challenged, “Even when I look older than you?”

  “How forward thinking. A sister, perhaps?”

  She nodded approvingly. “I’d like having both you and Kyrie for brothers.”

  Lapis inclined his head, but his smile was quizzical. “What put such an idea in your head?”

  Before she could tell him about Glint’s ridiculous list and her decisive countermeasure, something else occurred to her. “I need to know something, please. It’s important.”

  “By all means.” Lapis sat upon his step, folded his hands, and waited.

  Not for the first time, it occurred to Lilya that a dragon’s full attention was dazzling, even if you were mostly used to it. She firmed her posture and began. “Tenma Subaru is your apprentice.”

  “He is.” Lapis inquired, “Did you meet him here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will seek him out in due course.”

  Lilya asked, “Do mentors have to give their blessing when it’s time for them to marry?”

  He pouted thoughtfully. “The boy is dear to me, and I wish to see him happily settled. No easy task, given his temperament. He longs for deep connections, and he deserves to be cherished. Yet he is tossed about by the plans of others. It is not that his trust is misplaced, but … he underestimates himself. As his mentor, I would certainly step in if I thought he was making an unwise decision. Or put a word in Harmonious’ ear. He has more in the way of experience where females are … ah.” Lapis stopped himself and waved a hand. “I apologize for rambling on. Did you have a question for me, Lilya child?”

  “Yes. Will you give me your blessing?”

  “For …?”

  “Tenma-san. I chose him.” P
ointing back the way they came, she added, “I was going to ask Glint to write my offer.”

  Lapis quietly asked, “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Feeling suddenly uncertain, she mumbled, “If Tenma-san doesn’t like it, he can always shred it and burn it.”

  “I am not discounting you. Give me a moment to consider.” But even as he said it, Lapis gently lifted her hands, as if to kiss her knuckles. “This is unexpected.”

  She nodded and silently studied the dragon’s manicure. Today, his claws looked as if they’d been carved from his namesake stone, with the tips lightly dipped in gold.

  “Lilya.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “I have no firsthand experience with bonding and matrimony, but I am no stranger to contracts and the diplomacy required to appease all sides in the most complex of arrangements. And … I am no stranger to you. Would you allow me to act as your go-between?”

  Oh. That was smart. Really smart.

  Flinging her arms around him, she whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Is that yes?” he asked in teasing tones. “I should not have to tell you that having a dragon to speak for you is both rare and majestic.”

  Lilya nodded. “Please, speak for me.”

  “I will win the whole world to your side.”

  He was probably forgetting about Mum. But there was time, so she smiled and said, “One groom would suffice.”

  FORTY-NINE

  Every Tool

  Kyrie liked games, and he was eager to play in one that could test his limits. Even so, he couldn’t see how this game was fair. “But, Sinder, I know your scent. Very well.”

  “Do you think trackers go into a hunt nose-blind?” He indicated Torloo. “Kith and Kindred alike have learned my scent.”

  “Spikenard is distinctive,” he protested.

  Sinder rolled his eyes. “Rely on that, and you’ll be chasing decoys for days.”

  Kyrie appreciated the warning. But did he truly understand? “You are covered in sigils.”

  “Knowing where I am and getting to where I am are winds apart,” countered Sinder. “And before you try to tell me that the winds are in your favor, remember this. Every hunter uses every tool at their disposal to achieve their goal. Do you remember what yours is?”