“But you’re ….” Tenma glanced at Ginkgo before cautiously asking, “Are you a crosser, then?”
“No? I am a reaver.”
“Glint can vouch for his bloodlines,” said Waaseyaa. “Mikoto is a Reaver among reavers.”
Tenma was staring hard and shaking his head. “But all the colors. I’ve never seen the like. You’re positively … prismatic.”
NINETEEN
Snow
Although Kyrie’s father gave every impression of hating the idea of sending his sons to Wardenclave for the summer, he’d also been the first and fiercest to banish all of Kyrie’s qualms. “You are unique. They will be intrigued. Use that to your advantage.”
Father was often blunter than Mother liked. But Kyrie liked being trusted with plain truths.
“Only indulge the bare minimum of curiosity. In most cases innocuous facts will suffice.”
Kyrie had asked, “Am I forbidden to speak of home?”
“Not necessarily. However, choose what you say—and to whom—with care.” Father smiled thinly. “Questions do not constitute obligations. And we have much to protect.”
Since this was true, Kyrie agreed readily enough. But another point was harder to confess. “I doubt anyone will wish to befriend me.”
Father had wreathed him in all his many tails and repeated, “Not necessarily. Use your judgment, which is sound. And bestow your trust, which is precious, when the time seems right.”
“How will I know what is right?”
“If you were more like me, I would speak of scents.” Tapping his nose, Father murmured, “Because it is you, I would say … listen closely to the whispers of your conscience and also to those of the winds who seek your favor. Neither has ever led you astray.”
Kyrie liked the simplicity. It meant that no matter where he was, he would still be himself. And being sure of himself would make everything easier, even if that was the only thing he could be sure about.
First Day wasn’t so bad. Even when the leaders divided the girls from the boys, Kyrie was more interested in what he’d learn than in worrying that he’d be parted from Lilya.
Now, he was conscience-stricken, for he could see from across the green that Lilya was tense and pale.
The moment their instructors released them for an afternoon of free time, Kyrie worked his way toward the sister of his heart. He knew her so well, he could tell she was trying not to run in order to get back to him. And he could tell tears were threatening.
Catching her hand, he redirected her off the path and into the shelter of trees. Ducking under the trailing limbs of an ancient conifer, he hugged her close and offered one of the warbling trills he’d learned from Lapis.
Lilya held him so tightly, it almost hurt. But Kyrie only crooned and waited her out. What had overwhelmed her? A second possibility caused him to blurt, “Was someone mean to you?”
“Everyone is nice. Very nice.”
“Then … why?”
With a wan smile, she confessed, “You were gone.”
“Not far.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I am right here.”
“But you won’t always be.”
Kyrie sighed. “That may be true. And we need to get used to the idea.”
“A little at a time?” There was a smile in her voice. She always did bounce back quickly.
“Is that not why our parents let us come?” Because it was, at least in part.
Lilya took a deep breath and let go. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin, “That sounds like something Uncle Argent would say.”
Kyrie giggled. Because they both knew that what Father said and what Father meant were often two very different things.
“What should we do?” asked Lilya.
He tried to think what would please her most. “Explore the forest. Look for Resplendence. Take pictures for Ever.”
She nodded in an indecisive way, then suggested, “Check to see if Ginkgo and Gregor missed us?”
“Yes. Good.” Kyrie took her hand and asked, “May I choose the route?”
Lilya smiled. “Are the winds here friendly?”
He blushed and said, “Same as always.”
“Where do they want you to go?”
It was almost a game, like pretend. Only Kyrie wasn’t pretending. He really did catch impressions out of thin air. Lapis was the one who’d understood first. He’d begun singing ballads—some sad, some silly, some sweet—about dragons and their entanglement with wind imps. Kyrie hoped some of those stories were true. He’d love to meet a gentle breeze or a towering storm. Maybe even a monsoon.
Pointing in the general direction of Zisa, Kyrie said, “Back, but by a roundabout trail.”
Lilya never questioned him, always trusted him. And it was nice to be believed, even when the truest of true things sounded impossible.
“What will we find?”
Kyrie cocked an ear and quietly said, “Someone is singing again.”
Away from the cabins and halls of Wardenclave, it was possible for Lilya to pretend that these were the woods surrounding Stately House. She and Kyrie often wandered them, usually leading a small army of crossers. Or chasing after stragglers.
She could almost see Gilen’s banded tail disappearing high above, with Tawny in close pursuit. And hear Mori’s stern voice reminding everyone to stay with their buddy. Right now, she even missed Nonny, who was a terror and a tease with everyone except Uncle Jackie.
Kyrie stopped inspecting a cluster of mushrooms growing up the side of a tree like stairsteps to say, “Jarrah would call for a climbing contest.”
So true. She said, “Finnick would have lost his shoes by now.”
“Disa would beg to be carried.”
“And Raife would give in first.” Lilya tightened her grip. “I wish we could have brought everyone.”
With a wistful smile, Kyrie said, “We miss them because we love them. They are a part of us. Our family.”
“Maybe we can borrow Ginkgo’s phone? Send messages.”
“Yes. Good.” With a finger before his lips, he quietly added, “Almost there, I think.”
Although she listened hard, Lilya couldn’t hear anything beyond the calls of birds and the rustle of leaves high above. “I miss the sea.”
“I want to climb a mountain.”
That was a good plan. “Can we?”
“Why not?”
Kyrie’s winding way brought them around the hilltop, through a pasture, and over a fence with crystal-topped posts. They were well under Zisa’s vast canopy. When Kyrie pulled Lilya through another barrier, they were there. But things looked different on this side of the tree. Waaseyaa had the bigger house, and Zisa had the tiny cottage. But there was a third building, partly buried in climbing vines. It didn’t have many windows, and the door was big, so maybe it was a barn?
That’s where Kyrie wanted to go, so that’s where they went.
Now, it was possible for Lilya to hear the sound of singing—rich and mellow and belonging to a lady. Kyrie tried the door, a panel that slid easily to the side. The singing didn’t stop. Closing the door behind them, they stole toward the voice.