Governed by Whimsy (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 4)
Page 9
Tending Is Always Honest
Greta already had Ambrose’s pledge before he began his courtship. Perhaps that’s why his behavior didn’t change all that much. Or maybe it meant that she’d missed the signs, and he’d been displaying for her since the beginning.
He still showed up to thread needles and sort beads. But there was more in the way of dancing, and when she was ready for bed each night, he pulled a chair close and held her hand while spinning out tales of the avian clans.
Ambrose asked for nothing more. Not even tending.
So she led the way, drawing him into her presence.
He seemed to understand. “Tending is always honest. Take my measure. Trust what you find, even if it comes as a surprise.”
And each time, Greta was surprised. By his candor. By his attachment. By his gratitude. By the person he became when she was the only one who could see. Vast and strong and dazzlingly confident. Then again, he was like this on the stage, leading the way, ruling the moment, pulling you in so that he was more sun than star.
“You beauty,” she whispered.
Ambrose quirked a brow and matched her regard. “My beauty.”
Flustered, she slipped into a receptive stance.
Amused, he mimicked her posture, reminding her of the balance he’d requested. If she wanted to make him happy, he would devote himself to her happiness. If she decided to please him, her pleasure would become his privilege. Trust for trust. Kindness for kindness. Love for love.
Greta couldn’t outdo him, couldn’t resist him.
“Do you think this is love?” she asked.
“Do you mean this shade of blue, or the harmony you’ve achieved between sigil and stone?” Ambrose trilled softly even as he twirled before the mirror. Preening in more ways than one. “Or … are you becoming infatuated with me?”
“Would you mind?”
For an answer, Ambrose finally got around to kissing her.
Ambrose’s many attentions so captured Greta’s that she hardly noticed their arrival at the big and bustling train station in the easternmost city on the line. But she no longer feared this destination. It wasn’t final.
And there were bound to be shops.
Before anyone could disembark, Catalan announced that the necessary arrangements had been made. The Leclerc Company had rented an entire floor in a building managed by one of the city’s urban enclaves. Because midsummer was nearly upon them.
“Dichotomy Day?” Greta hadn’t looked at a calendar in weeks.
Canarian explained, “We’ve arranged for the full course of days. The company is a mixed bag, but we’ve been together long enough to create our own traditions.”
“Join our circle.” Touching her shoulder, Catalan said, “For once, hospitality to a reaver will be our delight.”
Greta asked, “Don’t you always have a reaver with you?”
With a faint grimace, Canarian admitted, “This is where most of them parted ways.”
Catalan blithely added, “Thanks to our Ambrose.”
“But our Greta will be staying on.” Canarian took her hand and slyly said, “Thanks to our Ambrose?”
She didn’t mind his teasing smile, not when his whole manner radiated approval.
The enclave sent transportation, and all the way there, Greta pointed out likely looking boutiques and bakeries. Ambrose feigned indifference but noted street names. Colt pointed out that fresh air and long walks were good for her health, and Fairlee volunteered his cart.
Everyone’s mood was high and bright when they rolled through a set of gates that gleamed with complex sigilcraft. Greta picked up enough identifying markers to know that spiders were at work.
As they disembarked in a peaceful courtyard, Canarian pointed the way, and Catalan fell in step beside Greta. “Will you ward the rooms for us?” he asked. “It’s mostly a formality, but it would be a homey touch.”
“My pleasure.”
But when they reached their place, it was already too late.
A Most Auspicious Day
Catalan was in front in a twinkling, a hissing barrier of black fur. Greta wanted to hurry forward almost as much as she wanted to run away. Ambrose spared her from deciding by taking a position behind her … and easing the excess of his new cape around her.
“Stay by me,” he urged in an undertone. “Let the cats sort out their differences in their own way.”
Feline spats could be noisy. And violent. Greta turned and quickly traced her finger over Ambrose’s vest, adjusting her personal wards to include him.
He swayed and grabbed her shoulders. “Are you trying to protect me or seduce me?”
Belatedly, she realized that in her haste, she’d removed every barrier between them. Unfastening one of her earrings, she whispered to it and pressed it into his palm. A temporary measure, but sufficient to the needs of the moment. “Stay by me,” she demanded.
His eyes widened.
With careful deliberation, he removed the hummingbird egg stickpin from his cravat and placed it in her hand. “I will stay,” he promised.
While she didn’t grasp the full significance, Greta knew the exchange meant something to him. And that she’d pleased him.
A warning yowl tapered off to a growl, and Canarian hurried forward, placing himself between the coiled jaguar and the … well, he was hardly an intruder.
“Uncle,” he greeted. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Peace, nephews. Did you not receive my letter?” Hands spread in a respectful greeting, Lady Himeko’s brother offered a small smile. “You should have received ample notice of my plans, but I do apologize for startling you. Quite humbly.”
Canarian grimly said, “You’re a long way from your usual haunts.”
“I come and go as I please. Much as you do.”
Catalan returned to speaking form and snapped, “Why are you here, Uncle?”
“Dichotomy Day is a time for reunions. Families should be together, don’t you think?” And then his gaze sought hers. “May I approach?”
She welcomed him gladly enough, which may have been the only reason his nephews permitted it. Her trust became theirs. And she did trust this person. “Are you here to see me, Uncle? Did Lady Evernhold send you?”
“I am here at the bidding of no other than myself.” He offered his palms. “Peace, Reaver Demerara. Or … should I say Lady Scatterlight?”
She glanced up in time to see Ambrose’s dignified nod.
“You should,” he said.
The cat took this news entirely in stride. “An auspicious day for unions. I am pleased to be counted among the witnesses of your bonding. May I add to their number?”
Touching a finger to his lips, he slipped three crystals from an inner pocket and offered them. One pink and two blue. Fine specimens that were clearly tuned as anchors. What had he warded? No, wait … these were keyed to illusions.
At her touch, something vanished with a faint pop. Catalan and Canarian hissed oaths, astonishment plain on their faces, for they were picking up the traces now. The scent of secrets. The giggles of girls.
Out from under his cloak—which was lined with some of the most beautiful painted silk Greta had ever seen—peeped Ava and Ada. And then Neven crawled into the open, too, eyes dancing with merriment.
“Mother.” He jumped to his feet and dusted his knees. “Did we surprise you?”
All Greta could do was open her arms. Her children ran into them.
There was a confusion of introductions, during which Colt quickly laid claim to four-year-old Ava, calling her a clever filly and giving her flowers from who-knows-where. Canarian cuddled Ada, who liked being called kitten almost as much as the nonsensical ballad he dedicated to her arrival. Nine-year-old Neven was making the rounds of the room with Ambrose, who kept his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he made certain the boy met everyone in the company.
“Why do this for me?” Greta asked.
“I heard a song among the stars,”
he murmured. Shaking his head, he answered more clearly. “Dichotomy Day has long been a time of reunion. Didn’t I say? I’m sure I did.”
“Can they stay?”
“These children belong with their mother. Even my sister was forced to concede the point.” He smiled serenely. “During academy breaks, I will escort them to your hearth.”
“It’s really more of a berth.”
“An intriguing one.” His gaze swept the room. “I have rarely seen representatives from so many clans come together for a singular purpose.”
“Maybe it’s because they have so much faith in Canarian’s storytelling.” She indicated his nephew. “He always knows just what to do, and he always leads us to a happy ending.”
Slowly, flared eyebrows lifted.
Greta laughed and leaned closer. “Pay attention, Uncle Hisoka. This could be the part where you discover that you’ve been the hero all along.”
THE END
Governed by Whimsy: The Anthology
a four-story collection
coming soon in print & audio
never more than
FORTHRIGHT
a teller of tales who began as a fandom ficcer. (Which basically means that no one in RL knows about her anime habit, her manga collection, or her penchant for serial storytelling.) Kinda sorta almost famous for gently-paced, WAFFy adventures that might inadvertently overturn your OTP, forthy will forever adore drabble challenges, surprise fanart, and twinkles (which are rumored to keep well in jars). As always... be nice, play fair, have fun! ::twinkle::
FORTHWRITES.COM
Songs of the Amaranthine is a collection of short stories set in FORTHRIGHT’s Amaranthine universe. Before the Emergence, the clans were nothing more than whispers and mysteries and legends and lore. But every so often—in out-of-the-way places or shockingly close to home—an unsuspecting person stumbles into a fateful encounter with someone who is decidedly other.
An eclectic collection, spanning continents and centuries. Tales of adventure, discovery, friendship, rescue, belonging, and love. Each short story stands alone and can be read in any order.
Amaranthine Saga
Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal
Tamiko and the Two Janitors
Mikoto and the Reaver Village