Sinder was offended. “I’m not here to woo your baby beacon.”
Ginkgo snorted. “And that’s gonna stop her from taking a liking? Face up to facts, Damsel. There’s a reason they call hers an impressionable age.”
That sobered him right up.
Beacons might be people, but they were also a commodity. Many Amaranthine equated potent souls with power, with acclaim, or with safety. Any … no, every dragon lord would wish to add such a soul to their harem, in hopes of regaining the sky. Every enclave wanted one for its anchor. By the same token, every bloodline wanted a beacon as their boast.
Once Lilya reached her attainment, she would have her pick of husbands. But in the current climate and with public sentiment heartily in favor of inter-species mingling, this young lady might have her pick of the clans, as well.
Argent would definitely be protecting her interests. And limiting them.
“Get me out of here.” Tossing up his hands, Sinder muttered, “On second thought, get her out of here. Or did you not notice that this tree has an amorous streak?”
With a wary glance at the room, Ginkgo leaned so close, his breath fanned Sinder’s face. “It’s not the end of the world if she likes it here. Waaseyaa’s between wives.”
Sinder swore. Twice. Then begged, “Get me gone.”
He scanned the room, but Timur was absent. So was the headman. And Zisa seemed to be luring the kids away with the promise of food. Very tree-like. Leaving them with the only other person he hadn’t met.
Waaseyaa smiled at Gregor, then Ginkgo, before studying Sinder’s face. “I could not help but overhear.”
Sinder glanced guiltily at Ginkgo and asked, “Which part?”
“You would like to stay.” The man settled on the edge of the mattress. “Hardly surprising. You slept safely here. That is a kind of bond.”
Entirely true.
“My brother was eager to meet you.”
Sinder cracked a smile. “He’s something else.”
Waaseyaa nodded. “So are you. As it happens, you are our first dragon.”
“Well, you don’t get out much. And there are no clans native to this region.” He gave a little roll of the wrist and flourish of fingers. “I am not the finest specimen, but I may be the most grateful. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Hospitality I willingly extend.” Waaseyaa lifted a hand to forestall Ginkgo’s protest. “This is my home, and my pledge to Argent Mettlebright stands. However, Zisa has a little house of his own. It is empty.”
“Why would a tree need a house?” Ginkgo asked.
Waaseyaa folded his hands together. “Some of my wives have been … territorial.”
He left it at that.
Sinder checked, “I’d be bunking with Zisa?”
“He would undoubtedly consider himself your host. The only other person who uses the cottage is Glint. I would inform him of your presence.” With a small shrug, he said, “My brother is affectionate, and my oldest friend comes and goes as he pleases.”
Sinder glanced at Ginkgo, trying to gauge the plan’s acceptability.
“Any chance there’s room for two in that cottage?” asked the half-fox.
Waaseyaa countered, “Who did you have in mind?”
Patting a sleeping Gregor’s back, Ginkgo said, “I’d be happier with Timur closer.”
Clearly, Sinder had a masochistic streak, because all he said was, “Fine by me.”
FIFTEEN
First Day
Buses would begin arriving by mid-high, carrying hundreds of campers. First Day had always been a big deal for the Reaver household. Their responsibilities as hosts would soon have them scattered and scurrying for weeks on end, so before things got crazy, the family marked summer’s arrival with a special breakfast.
Familiar smells wafted temptingly from the kitchen, but Mikoto didn’t have much of an appetite. Facing the annual influx without Dad? It was hard. Gabe Reaver had loved First Day better than any festival day. This is what he’d lived for, and now he was … well, he wasn’t.
Mikoto couldn’t hope to match his father’s enthusiasm.
Wardenclave wasn’t the same without him. Couldn’t be.
Yulin murmured, “Brace yourself, brave noble.”
He half-heartedly corrected his posture, though he was certain his soul was sagging.
A rap sounded at the door, and his eldest half-sister Wren went to see who it was. Yulin gestured for Mikoto to stand just as her voice carried from the front of the house. “Glint! And Uncle! Please, come in. Are you joining us? That’s so kind. Be welcome.”
Mikoto stood mute, unsure if this was good or bad. He hung back, leaving the greetings to Yulin. Not that Glint let the moth get very far.
Silencing Yulin with a fierce glance, Glint bore down on Mikoto, herded him into the corner, and folded him in strong arms. It took several startled moments for Mikoto to realize that Glint was crying.
Hot tears hit his shoulder, and Glint’s soft whine filled Mikoto with distress. He wanted to look to Uncle for help, but he couldn’t see past Glint’s bulk. The head of the Starmark clan curled around him as if seeking comfort. As if Mikoto had any to give.
“I miss him,” Glint muttered, arms tightening. “I miss my friend.”
The broken confession broke Mikoto, who choked on a sob.
Waaseyaa and Yulin took charge then, hustling them in a clumsy jumble along the hall to Mikoto’s own room. The moth swiftly warded walls and doors for privacy, barely in time to contain Glint’s howl. Mikoto could feel his pain. After that came an uncomfortably messy torrent of grief.
It scared him.
It gutted him.
When Mikoto finally caught his breath, he was more wrung out than if he’d run a cross-country marathon with the Guard. He strongly suspected that Glint was the only thing keeping him standing. Which ceased to be true the moment Mikoto’s feet left the floor.
“Brave boy. Good lad.” Glint snuffled at his neck and mumbled childhood endearments and hoarse apologies.
Just this once, Mikoto decided he’d take it. Because today would go from hard to heartrending. For reasons that had his eyes watering anew. Gently wrapping his arms around the First of Dogs, Mikoto pretended he could keep anything simply by wanting it hard enough.
“Oh, my boy.” Glint’s whole body trembled. “I do not like letting go.”
Mikoto just sort of grabbed, even though he might be pulling hair or spoiling embroidery. Because he understood what it was like, loving someone even though they would leave you. His summers were like lifetimes, and they always ended in grief. Over and over. Because he couldn’t help staying loyal.
Every year, Mikoto lost Lupe.
Every lifetime, Glint lost a friend.
Waaseyaa coaxed and Yulin prodded Glint toward Mikoto’s unmade bed.
“You need rest,” said Uncle. “A long one.”
“This room is best,” added Yulin. “I will take responsibility.”
Glint groaned and growled. Then gruffly muttered, “With your permission, boy?”
“Stay,” Mikoto urged, his head aching, his nose plugged. Yet an offer of hospitality should never be stinting, so he asked, “Do you want tending?”