Identity was no mystery, but his method was a surprise.
“Are you my knight, come to rescue me from Timur’s kindly clutches?” Sinder indicated the door. “How’d you get past his barrier?”
The kid blinked and looked back. “I did not notice. I am sorry. Am I intruding?”
“Not at all.” Sinder gestured to the tray on his lap. “Hungry?”
Kyrie surveyed the two emptied trays on the bed beside Sinder. “A little, but you need it more.”
“Share with me,” he urged. Mostly to see if it worked on a half-dragon.
The boy glanced over his shoulder, then eased closer to the bed. “May I ask you things?”
“I’ll indulge your curiosity if you’ll indulge mine.” Sinder patted the mattress at his side. The boy obliged him, but for his own reasons. Which suited Sinder well enough. He wouldn’t need to mind his words so closely.
Argent’s foster son carried all the markers of his diabolical sire. In the course of their investigations, Sinder had encountered no less than eight children with some combination of draconic features. The hair, the scales, the speckling, the eyes. Kyrie’s horns weren’t always handed down, and one child’s legacy had included a tail.
This boy had no way of knowing that he had siblings. Sinder didn’t doubt that they’d also kept that little detail from Argent. Perhaps for fear of what he might do. Then again, he was a clever old fox. Clever enough to stash his sons in safety for a season.
What mischief might Lord Mettlebright be up to, even now?
“Go ahead,” prompted Sinder. “Your curiosity is both understandable and flattering. Though I know I’m not your first dragon.”
Kyrie knelt beside him and offered his palms. “Lapis comes when his schedule allows.”
“Not often enough?”
The boy shook his head. “And I have to share.”
“How fortunate that Timur has provided us with so much privacy.” He pressed half a pomegranate into the boy’s hand. Plucking out his own half’s ruby seeds with the tips of his claws, he added, “You don’t have to be formal with me. Blurt away.”
“Do you have horns?”
“In truest form, yes. Most dragons do, but there’s a whole lot of variation by clan. Horns, antlers, tusks, ridges, even fins.” He cleared his throat. “Horns of your sort usually come in sets. If I may?”
Kyrie dipped his head invitingly, and Sinder sifted through silky hair. Two pairs of horns curved gracefully from his hairline, up and inward, white as fangs. His questing fingers found a third set that had budded just behind and below. They were still small enough to be mostly hidden by his hair.
“I’ve seen something like this among the Winnowind and Galestrafe clans. There’s a chance that the coming years will find you with a princely coronet.”
The boy searched his face with eyes nearly the same color as the seeds he was toying with. Finally, he asked, “Do you have a tail?”
Sinder’s curiosity was piqued. “Do you?”
Kyrie didn’t answer, moving along to another question. “What about … your back?”
“Something there? May I see?”
With a small nod, the boy set aside his fruit and turned.
“May I touch?” checked Sinder.
“Please,” said the boy, whose cheeks had gone rosy.
Sinder carefully lifted the boy’s tunic, baring pale skin that looked human enough. But higher up, he discovered nascent ridges protecting his spine. And whorls of lavender that may have been his blaze. But were positioned in a way that suggested … wings.
“Do you have a blaze?”
Kyrie nodded.
“Is this it?” Sinder let the fabric fall back into place.
He shook his head, turned, and tugged at his collar. “Over my heart.” With a tiny smile, he added, “Just like Ginkgo.”
“Where has he got to?”
“Right there.” Kyrie pointed to the barrier, and his whole expression warmed. “I think he is stalling.”
“To give you time to interrogate the prisoner?”
“Just … time.”
“That’s very considerate of him.” Sinder set aside his tray and folded his hands on his lap. “How about this. When our schedules allow, I know a spot. There’s this secluded little lake, perfect for a grooming session. We can compare spots and ridges and horns and tails, and I can hand down wisecracks and wisdom. Rite of passage stuff.”
Kyrie said, “I want to. Can Ginkgo come?”
“Okay, sure. Your brother needs to know what you need, right?” Sinder decided not to mention how desperate he was for company. He didn’t really know Ginkgo, but they also had people in common. Maybe even common goals, if Timur’s crack about spies proved true. “Fetch him in, and we can see what he thinks of our plan.”
Scooting off the bed and hurrying to the door, Kyrie raised both hands, as if grabbing onto something. With a flourishing twist, the barrier vanished, allowing in a mélange of interesting scents and sounds.
Ginkgo gruffly called, “Watch yourself, Damsel!”
Belatedly, Sinder recalled why Timur had set such strong wards.
Some distant part of Sinder’s brain was grateful that Juuyu wasn’t here to see this. Because his partner had lived among Amaranthine trees and had coached Sinder on basic etiquette. Most of which went out the window long before Zisa drew back enough to smile coyly.
“Serves me right.” Seeing Timur poised to intervene, Sinder shook his head and asked, “Is this where I’m supposed to say kiss me again?”
FOURTEEN
The Stuff of Dynasties
Mikoto guessed he was in the presence of greatness. Or at least great fame. This was Argent Mettlebright’s family. Or more properly, his denmates, since Michael Ward also resided at Stately House. Mikoto knew the First of Wards by reputation, for Glint mentioned him often enough.
So much potential.
Glint had plied the man with proposals for paternity tours. Or a suite in his stable. Anything he wanted in exchange for greater multiplication.
All for naught.
Nothing frustrated Glint more than unions formed on the basis of mutual affection. At least, that’s how it sounded when Wardenclave’s matchmaker was grumping.
If the Eldermost Islands were in need of a new anchor, or when an enclave requested young diplomats willing to marry in, Glint wanted nothing more than to pull out his registries and ledgers and send them the individuals best suited to the task. But half the time, those best suited to some outlying enclave’s need were already making plans of their own.
They’d formed an attachment at school or at camp. They’d agreed to a marriage arranged by a parent or mentor. They’d eloped with someone from the general populace that they’d met by chance. All disasters as far as Glint was concerned.
True love mucked up his charts in the worst way.
It happened all the time, but Michael Ward was a recurring theme. The exception that proved the rule. Because for once, a reaver’s heart had guided him aright. Despite marrying for love, the First of Wards had achieved dynasty ranking by siring a beacon. A girl.