“What have you seen?”
Closing his eyes, Tenma took a slow breath. What a pleasant scent.
“What have you seen?” Salali held up a finger, silently commanding eye contact. “I want to know.”
Why the sudden urgency? Tenma reached out, inadvertently smearing pollen across gray freckles. He shook his head. “I don’t have any deep, dark secrets. I’m the secret.”
Salali bit his lip, then gruffly said, “You’ve touched the Broken.”
That was the label given to Amaranthine who’d become addicted to the hit of power they received by touching a reaver’s soul. Some from constant indulgence. Usually tied to a quest for power. But Tenma had encountered several Amaranthine whose Broken status was a result of subjugation. Under certain circumstances, tending could be used as a means of control.
“Yes. They come to me, or I go to them.” Tenma started tapping fingers, counting up the years. “It’s all I’ve done since graduation.”
“So you would know.”
Tenma shook his head. “Know what?”
“If someone was nearly there.” Salali seemed pale under his freckles. “Near to breaking.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
Salali scowled. “I’m no coward.”
“What do you want to know?” asked Tenma. “I’ll help if I can.”
“You? You are so very young.”
Funny. That’s what Tenma had been thinking, looking at all those little kids getting off the buses. “And here, I was feeling old.”
“Mister Subaru, you cannot comprehend old.”
“I can,” he protested. “I love old souls like yours. Try me, and you’ll trust me more.”
Salali tweaked his nose. “Trust is meant to come first. And a proper reaver waits to be asked.”
“I’m not really a proper reaver.” Tenma quietly repeated, “Try me.”
The squirrel clansman grumbled under his breath, then sketched sigils in the air over their heads. A puff of wind cleared Tenma’s head even as a barrier shimmered into place, holding the scent of flowers at bay.
“Do you understand what it means if I tell you that my first taste was a beacon.”
Tenma did. “For most, it’s their last taste. There’s no going back once someone’s touched the rarest of souls.”
Salali placed one finger over Tenma’s heart. “I’ve never forgotten that long-ago sip. And I haven’t dared take another.”
Pondering that for a moment, Tenma asked, “How are you so strong?”
Salali snorted.
“I mean no insult, but someone of your strength gets that way with the help of many reavers over many centuries.”
He snorted again, then sighed. “This is my nest.”
Tenma considered the implications of that. Their perch was a comfortable mess of soft fur and overstuffed pillows, a haphazard tree fort for an afternoon’s lounge on a sunny summer afternoon. But not any kind of house. “This is your home?”
“I have few requirements.”
The nest’s shallow bowl was comfortable, but there was barely room for the two of them. “Alone?” Tenma asked.
“Gent is good company.”
Tenma had almost forgotten the Kith. “Where is he?”
Salali’s smile regained its teasing twist. “Giving me some privacy.”
“Because you want me to tend you?” he guessed.
Eyes averted, the squirrel said, “Just … check. I want a checkup.”
“To see if you’re Broken?” Tenma shook his head. “You’re not.”
All of the sudden, Salali was much closer, practically nose to nose. “Squirrels are greedy. I watched my clan shatter, so I abstain. But I’ve never stopped wanting another taste. I can be very … greedy.”
This was a new one. Then again, every person’s circumstance had been a little different from everyone else’s. “You want me to tend you because you think I can’t break you.”
“The theory is sound.”
“Understood. No problem. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for me to overwhelm you. You’ll see.” Tenma gently repeated, “Try me.”
Salali sat across from Tenma, dragged the hat from his head, and rumpled his gray hair while studying him. The haunted, hungry gaze might have been frightening if Tenma hadn’t spent the last few years coaxing people like Salali into a connection that would do them both good.
He began, and Salali’s sharp intake began to worry Tenma. It took longer than usual for him to gasp for air. And mere moments for him to sway forward.
Different clans approached tending with a startling range of opinions. Some considered this a holy rite. Others took it medicinally. Tenma had met misers with jealously guarded cossets, and he’d spent time with reavers who spent all day, every day doling out little portions of their soul like a chain restaurant with a drive-thru window.
Tenma had begun to suspect that his only purpose as a reaver was this intimate give and take. “Do you think generosity is a job?”
Salali cleared his throat. “A time-honored one. Do you know why a cosset’s tunic is yellow?”
For someone who saw a soul in terms of color, Tenma had never given much thought to the colors worn by the various reaver classifications. “Why yellow?”
Words softly slurring, he said, “Intoxicating as pollen, sweet as honey, gentle as sunbeams.”
Tenma accepted that as a compliment. “You know, when they found out about me, I was barely anything but a spark. Some of my friends still call me little glimmer.”
“You’ve gained.”
“Yeah. There’s a reason for that. Try tending me.”
Salali favored him with a baffled look.
“I know, I know. It sounds backward.” Tenma admitted, “It’s sort of a secret, but you wanted mine. This one’s especially nice.”
Working out how to do what was needed took a few moments. Success tugged a soft whine from Salali, who toppled into Tenma’s waiting arms.
“That’s the way,” he murmured encouragingly.
They hadn’t really settled on official terms for this thing Tenma—and maybe one day, his line—could do. It had been described in terms of echoes and bouncing, of reverberation and even feedback. Those who were generous with him found themselves repaid tenfold. At least. And because Tenma was only returning what was given, his Amaranthine partner gained something compatible. Maybe even essential.
If tending was candy, Tenma was mother’s milk.
“Don’t stop,” whispered Salali.
“I won’t.”
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he again begged, “Don’t stop.”
“I haven’t stopped.”
“More?”
Tenma promised, “All you need.”
Somewhere along the way, Salali began sniffling, and Tenma bundled him close. The squirrel softly demanded, “Not a word to anyone. Especially not Gent. Or Glint.”
“This is between us.”
And again, Salali demanded, “Don’t stop.”
Bumping his lips against his new friend’s temple, Tenma confessed, “I’m glad I stumbled into your trap, Salali Fullstash.”