by Forthright
“Hard to miss,” murmured Ash.
Picking reavers out of a crowd had always been a popular game when he and Kip were kids. Even incognito, Ash could spot them and usually sort them. The Amaranthine Council’s security team weren’t even trying to blend in. Dark teal tunics and the dull shine of pewter armbands.
“Where’s Melissa?” asked Rook.
“Crowd control.” Jiminy angled his chin toward the front. “She brought back up.”
Ash brightened. “When did Chris get here?”
“Late last night, along with Twineshaft’s retinue.” Rook’s smile widened. “See the woman beside him?”
An Amazonian blonde was quelling the entire press box with a stern look that was very familiar.
Ash asked, “How did that go, meeting Melissa’s parents?”
Jiminy whispered, “The only thing scarier than her mom is her moms together in a room with my mom.”
Ash chuckled.
But then the lights dimmed by half, and the stage lights came up. Cyril walked out and stood in the center of a subtle pattern worked into the boards of the stage. Under the right lights, it had the look and luster of a full moon. It had been his gift to the Nightspangle pack at the theater’s founding. An urban song circle.
It was rare to see him act without the other founders. But Cyril had insisted on making this move alone. Partly to protect the enclave, the inner workings of which would remain a secret. But mostly because declaring himself made it safer for Ash to do the same. He had a parent, a clan, and their protection.
Movement near the curtain pulled Ash’s attention to three figures who moved without fanfare to three chairs arranged off to one side. These were the principals of West Branch High, Archer Middle, and Landmark Elementary—Cyril’s collaborators for the selection of the Twineshaft Initiative.
Their presence was little more than a red herring. And an understated fix for some red tape.
According to recent legislation, no Amaranthine could travel unattended. So once Cyril exposed the truth of his species, he would be in direct violation of the regulation requiring a reaver escort. So in a tidy exchange of paperwork, Cyril submitted testimony, confirming a notable brilliance of soul only to be found in a reaver, and Tamiko signed the necessary documents to act as his escort.
If anyone was foolish enough to try and arrest Cyril, they’d have no grounds.
At center stage, Cyril touched his fingertips to his heart and smiled. Then in a conversational tone, he began, “Speculations have been flying about my reasons for calling you all together this morning. I understand there’s even a betting pool and that—as ever—the fates and odds alike favor Hisoka Twineshaft.”
Polite laughter.
“I am well aware that our students are eager to be done with this final obligation for the semester, so I will be as brief as I can. Let me begin by putting to rest a few of the more outrageous rumors.”
Cyril’s calm was infectious, his manner poised. If he hadn’t been so attached to his role as educator, he would have done well on the Amaranthine Council.
“I am not relinquishing my post. I am not under arrest, nor has my conduct been called into question. I am not running for elected office. I am not releasing a book. However, I didn’t gather you and the members of the press together in order to tell you that I have nothing to tell you.”
Another murmur of amusement.
“I have always considered myself a scholar. A deep and abiding love of learning can enrich a lifetime. Truth be told, I have never felt more at home than I do on this campus.”
He was good at this. Telling the truth without saying too much.
“If you checked my bio on your way over, you probably already know that I’ve been president of Bellwether College for the past twenty-six years. What I’m here to share this morning is a quirky little aside. I also happen to be Bellwether’s founder.”
Silence seized the entire room.
Ash groaned softly. Rook huffed.
Cyril lifted a finger. “Take a moment to gather your scattered wits while I welcome our international guests. They hardly need an introduction.”
Without any sort of rush, Hisoka Twineshaft and Argent Mettlebright filed out and flanked Cyril, standing at either shoulder in a silent show of support.
And nobody yet dared to break the silence.
“You know me as Dr. Cyril Bellamy. My true name is Cyril Sunfletch, and I’m an avian from one of the pheasant clans. I am Amaranthine, and since this country’s very inception, I have been an American.”
In the simplest form of greeting, Cyril offered open palms to an audience being multiplied by every camera in the room.
“There,” he said warmly. “Have I shocked you?”
On the longest night of the year, the oak glen was alight, and Ash had a pretty good idea Kip had been showing off. Biddie’s tree shimmered with colored lights that would have bankrupted the enclave if they’d been real crystals. But Kip was a champ at making do. He’d figured out long ago that while glass marbles didn’t cast light, they could be lit.
However, the critters were new.
Ash waited patiently for one to drift near enough for him to confirm that the thing wasn’t any kind of Ephemera. Nope, nothing of the sort. They seemed to be entirely made of sigilcraft, but they flitted among the branches like birds and butterflies. He might have written them off as a specialty of the evening’s entertainers, but the minstrels all bore the crests of cozy clans. While merriment and music were part of their repertoire, they weren’t known for the illusory arts.
“Clever bit of fuss, aren’t they?”
“Kind of pretty,” Ash agreed. “Are they yours, Uncle Denny?”
“Wish they were, seeing how chuffed our Chick-a-biddie is over them.” Kip’s uncle rolled his eyes dramatically toward the base of a nearby oak. “Never would have believed him capable.”
Sitting in the snow, heedless of his festival attire, was Argent Mettlebright, with Biddie perched on his knee. She wore a bottle green coat Faisal had designed for her, along with a floppy tam o’ shanter, into which he’d tucked a single curling peacock feather. Because it matched her eyes—or so he said.
Argent’s agile fingers pulled another bit of magic into existence—a midivar this time—and Biddie clapped and laughed and brought the faintest of smiles to the austere fox’s face.
“Easier to believe he takes in orphans when you see him like this.”
“Have you seen Kip?” asked Ash. He’d need his friend’s help to banish the wards that hid his wings.
“Recently?”
Classic evasion. “Do you know where he is?”
Uncle Denny hummed and huffed. “He outdid himself today. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was tucked up somewhere safe, taking his fill. Where’s your lady?”
“The mice have her.” Some of the minstrels were teaching Tamiko the steps to a walking dance that had exploded in popularity ever since it led up to Kimiko Miyabe’s fourth time kissing Eloquence Starmark.
“She’ll lure you into a mating dance yet!” Uncle Denny took possession of Ash’s arm. “Since she’s well occupied, how about you and I have a little chat with a cat.”
“I … haven’t actually been introduced.” Ash lowered his voice. “What are you up to?”
The squirrel waggled his brows. “Stick close, and you’ll soon see.”
“Why do I need to be involved?”
“Might be good to have a witness.”
Ash groaned but gave in. He’d been living with a squirrel for so long, a day wouldn’t be normal if there weren’t some kind of caper involved. And it gave him an excuse to introduce himself.
Hisoka exuded nothing more than polite interest at their approach. “Spokesperson Woodacre. Ashishishe Sunfletch. It is a pleasure.”
“Do you have time for a private word? Or would you prefer not to speak of weighty matters on the darkest day?”
“This is both an auspicious time and a hope-filled
place.” Hisoka beckoned for more. “I would never deny a spokesperson their right to speak.”
Uncle Denny gripped Hisoka’s hands gratefully, then slid his into the supporting position. “Two things, really. You see, I have connections. All of us in hiding, we find ways to keep in touch. Even before our boy here took to courting, I was pulling this together.”
From inside his sash, he withdrew a folded paper.
Ash had no idea what was going on, but he watched Hisoka’s face closely. The cat scanned the page twice, then murmured, “This is quite a list.”
“Only one of its kind.” He tapped the edge of the page. “Every one of them is willing to step forward and represent.”
“That is welcome news.”
“It’s just the beginning.” Uncle Denny withdrew a second paper, which was more of a packet. He beamed. “This isn’t just cake. It’s icing.”
Hisoka glanced at the pages, his brows slowly knitting. “Tell me what I’m looking at, Linden.”
“A proposal for the proposal.” Uncle Denny’s hand clamped onto Ash’s shoulder. “He has a lady to impress, and she wants nothing more than peace. So he makes the rounds, the old whistle-stop treatment. Fifty states, fifty enclaves, each one doing good in their communities, each one willing to be known.”
Ash tried to get a look at the papers. “What are you talking about, Uncle Denny?”
All he got was a wink. Denny was too deep in his pitch to stop now. “I know a guy who knows a guy, as they say. Willing and able to give Ash and his courtship a television series. He goes in, gets a bit of history, tries his hand at their stock-in-trade, and brings home some special trinket for his lady. Real. Informative. Entertaining. And every episode brings another clan or enclave into the open.”
“Interesting,” mused Hisoka.
“Isn’t it? A crosser crossing the country. You never know when he might visit your state.” Denny was nodding like the deal was done. “Two-hour episodes aired once a month, plus holiday specials, and you’ll have Americans on the edge of their seats for … oh, four years, at least. You’d be giving the world something to look forward to after the Miyabe-Starmark courtship runs its course.”
“Very interesting.” Hisoka’s gaze settled on Ash. “Is this something you would consider?”
It was a crazy idea. And catchy. It would probably take off, but there would have to be limits. “If you can keep my part of the production to one weekend a month, I’d consider it. Because I’m not giving up my day job. And you’d better come up with some other reason than courtship for my bringing home gifts, because I’m not waiting four years.”
Hisoka smiled. “You remind me of your father.”
Ash felt … teased. “I am his son. All is as it should be.”
The cat took a conciliatory stance. “Cyril placed similar conditions on his collaboration.”
“He wouldn’t leave his school?” That was hardly a surprise.
“He wouldn’t leave his son.”
While the oak glen rang with the songs of bards and the ballads of storytellers, three twins, two janitors, and two wolves slipped away by twos and a trio. The appointed time was near, and the appointed place hummed with enough power to give Ash pause.
“Did you add to the wards?” he asked Kip.
“Should I be flattered? Or was that a joke?” His best friend’s tail was puffed double. “Jiminy?”
“Did anybody catch the guest list to this cabal?”
Tami edged closer to Joe. “All Argent said was that the meeting would have the appropriate balance.”
“So … seven of us, seven of them.” Ash dared to ask, “He wouldn’t have brought the whole council, would he?”
“No way,” said Kip. “They’re all over the place, doing their Dichotomy Day thing like good little ambassadors for peace.”
Tami nodded. “Harmonious Starmark is touring South America. Lapis Mossberne is in Jerusalem. Tenna Silverprong is in Russia. And Kimiko Miyabe is visiting Wardenclave.”
“That leaves Elderbough and Farroost.” Melissa asked, “Any whiff?”
Kip, whose nose was twitching nearly as fast as his tail, asked, “Are you kidding?”
“The wards are too strong, but they’re also dropping hints.” Jiminy indicated several points along the wall. “Fox. Dragon. Wolf. Phoenix.”
Joe simply shrugged, opened the door, and walked through.
“Gutsy,” muttered Kip.
“Punctual,” countered Tami, patting his shoulder on her way past. “Let’s not keep our guests waiting.”
Ash waved the others inside, then followed, carefully easing his wings through. The apple barn was closed for the season—tables stacked, baskets stowed, floors swept—but the scent of fruit lingered in the air. More sigils wheeled along the walls and amidst the rafters, fainter in here, with the lights switched on.
Argent waited just inside the door. “Allow me,” he murmured, solicitous as a butler.
He thought the fox meant to add more wards to the door, but with little more than a touch, he banished Ash’s illusions.
Giving his wings a little shake, Ash whispered, “Thanks.”
“It was no trouble.” With a lift of his brows, Argent suggested, “Brace yourself.”
Before he could ask what for, Tamiko blindsided him.
“Can you believe it?” Her lovely eyes were dancing, her happiness adding a squeak to her question.
“I might believe anything on this night.”
“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here!”
She bounced against him, not an unpleasant sensation, and he spread his wings further for balance. Whose arrival could possibly have eclipsed that of Hisoka Twineshaft and Argent Mettlebright?
Ash’s gaze darted to the cluster of strangers surrounding Spokesperson Twineshaft, and he understood. The Starmark clan had sent a representative. With a chuckle, he suggested, “How about we say hi?”
Tamiko nodded, but she remained very much locked in place, also far from unpleasant. Ash took advantage of his now-visible wings to hide her with his feathers. “Starstruck?” he teased.
“He’s … he’s Eloquence Starmark!”
Chancing a peek, he reported, “And he’s coming this way.”
“May I beg an introduction?”
“No need to beg.” Ash gently turned Tami to face Eloquence. “We’re surprised and honored and … really very happy.”
Tamiko leaned heavily into Ash, a position he encouraged by wrapping his arms around her from behind. Her heart was racing, but she rallied enough to say, “Hi.”
Eloquence offered his palms. “My father sends both his greetings and his congratulations. He will come to meet you as soon as he is able. In the meantime, he sent me … and a cask of star wine with which to liven the night.”
To Ash’s amusement, Tamiko thanked him in Japanese, then English, then again in Japanese before blurting, “You’re here.”
“I apologize for unsettling you.” Eloquence took a deferential posture. “Sensei thought it best that we meet quickly and make friends. If that’s acceptable.”
Ash took charge, catching Tamiko’s wrists and guiding her hands into place, then covering them with his own. “Friends sounds good. I go by Ash. This is Tami.”
She mumbled, “I’m sorry, I’m just ….”
Eloquence gently finished, “… surprised, honored, and really very happy?”
Tami shook her head. “I don’t even know where to begin, and I don’t want to gush about things you’ve probably heard a million times.”
“You can say anything you’d like.”
Ash released Tami’s hands, preferring to hold her. Some of it was probably instinct, making sure Eloquence understood his claim. But also because he’d never seen her so flustered, and he wanted to lend his support, to be a pinion to her flight.
Tamiko’s hands lingered on Eloquence’s. “You and she … you’re beautiful together.”
“Thank you.” He gently squeezed her h
ands, then stepped back. “Kimiko has many commitments, but Sensei and Suuzu are clearing her schedule so that we can be here for your nuptials.”
“You would do that?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“You’re … famous.”
Eloquence dismissed that with a flick of his fingers. “After tomorrow, you’ll both be celebrities. May I offer a word of advice?”
“Please.”
He gestured for permission, which Ash was happy to give. Eloquence took Tami by the shoulders and said, “Never forget this. Hundreds of people, thousands of people, will tremble and stammer and gush because they’ve found reasons to thank you, or to admire you, or even to love you. They’ll want to tell you things you probably will hear a million times. And when they do, remember this … and the enormity of the emotions a single meeting can hold.”
Ash could feel Tamiko grow still, then calm.
“I’ll try,” she said.
“Good. Please, call me Quen.” And kissing her forehead, he lifted his face to Ash. “I think, perhaps, you have the years.”
“The years are mine,” Ash confirmed and pressed his lips to Eloquence’s brow.
A staff beat against the cement floor, and Hisoka raised his voice. “While I could not bring the full council without drawing attention to matters best kept secret, I did my best. You have met Quen. These other three are people I trust absolutely. May I keep the introductions brief?”
“The less said, the better, Poesy,” said a strapping wolf in faded blue jeans.
“We know how to keep secrets,” countered Kip, his arms folded over his chest.
The wolf smirked. “And we know how to bury them.”
Argent clucked his tongue—and something formidable flared around them. The posturing quickly ended. Biddie leaned into Ash’s leg, quieter than he’d ever seen her. This group was certainly having an effect on the ladies in his life. Without a fuss, he offered his hand, and when she tugged it, he hauled her onto his hip.
At the center of the room, a large cask of star wine stood on end, with a cloth-draped object resting on top. The Amaranthine formed a line on one side. Jiminy guided their group into a line facing them.