That last one hadn’t occurred to Tenma.
It was so simple, he wondered why not.
Isla lowered her voice and asked, “Can you see Zisa’s colors?”
“Yes.” Smiling at the tree, Tenma added, “He’s glorious.”
“Can we assume that means you will now recognize another tree if you were to meet them? In much the same way you’re able to differentiate members of different clans?”
“Maybe.” Tenma asked, “Aren’t there supposed to be many kinds of trees?”
She hummed again. “Who is the human involved?”
“Me,” said Mikoto.
Isla immediately countered, “Well, that makes no sense. Your bloodline can easily be traced.”
“An original Reaver,” agreed Tenma. “Yet I see colors.”
“Wait.” The drumming quickened, then a sharp sound carried through. A snap. “Do you still see swapped colors? Or a shared color when two souls accept a bond?”
“Yes, of course. That hasn’t changed.” Tenma rather enjoyed picking out colors in a crowd. In a way, he was matchmaking, only after the fact.
“Could you be catching an echo of Mikoto’s attachment to someone?”
“Closer,” crooned Zisa. “So very close!”
Mikoto shook his head. “Lupe is human.”
Zisa reached up to touch the young man’s cheek. “She is,” he assured.
A new idea rushed at him. “Isla, are imps and the Amaranthine … compatible?”
“Oh, yes. Many of the old stories are romantic, even erotic.”
Tenma shook his head. “I meant … are there crossers?”
She took a moment to react. “What in interesting question! I’m not sure. I’m not even sure how to find out!” The sound of scribbling accompanied her muttering. “If Impressions are compatible with Amaranthine, and Amaranthine are compatible with humans …! Well, reavers are compatible. And Mikoto is undeniably a reaver. Hmm.”
Tenma’s attention jumped from face to face, trying to read the others’ expressions.
Mikoto looked more and more like a frightened boy. For his part, Zisa hung on their every word, eager for them to understand.
Isla rambled on. “How would something so ethereal … ah, but the wolves! And in the tales of stars … of course! Tenma, this is brilliant.”
“Which part?”
“All of it, really. This single shift in premise could have monumental repercussions. In a good way, I think.”
Tenma sighed. “You’ve always been a big picture kind of girl.”
“I’m sorry. Well, not sorry, exactly. This is all so exciting. But I understand that this isn’t why you called.” He could almost see her straighten up and clasp her hands. “Did you have a more specific question?”
“Yes. And I’d like Zisa to share his answer with you.” Tenma eased the phone closer to the tree. “What changed the day everything changed?”
The tree looked up and away. Night breezes toyed with leaves festooning his head, and he smiled at the stars. “Mikoto would have died if she hadn’t shared her breath.” He placed his hand on the young man’s chest. “She blew wind into your lungs, and she saved you.”
“Wind?” Mikoto rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced around.
Little gusts were puffing around them. Tenma’s skin prickled into gooseflesh.
On the other end of the connection, Isla echoed, “Wind? Zisa, are you saying you know of a wind imp?”
The breeze grew more agitated, and Tenma tried to catch a glimpse of it. But he had no idea where to look. But this hint was better than the others, and Zisa hadn’t told them they were close or closer. This was their answer. “Isla, do you know any helpful stories about wind?”
“Entire libraries are dedicated to wind lore, and I’d wager Lapis knows every ode and epic.” With a little laugh, Isla said, “If you want to woo the wind to your side, all you really need is a dragon.”
TWENTY-FOUR
New Moon Night
Sinder saw no reason not to report for training exercises at his appointed position. Torloo was taking advantage of the new moon to push the rookies through more night maneuvers. From what little he could hear, they were definitely up to something. New code words. Different team comps. For some reason, they’d gone to groups of five instead of three.
Fine by him. All he had to do was evade.
Thanks to Tenma and Timur, Sinder was feeling much more like himself. Refreshed. Elated. Maybe a little keyed up, but he’d have every opportunity run off the excess energy. Torloo was getting more serious, too. Limiting how much Sinder knew in advance. Forcing more realistic outcomes.
The training wheels were off.
Sinder dodged a swooping owl, only to find his way barred by a lone battler with a crossbow. He dove for cover, but a second archer was in position. The first dart grazed his shoulder, and he took to the trees.
Sheltering in the boughs of an evergreen, he did a swift self-check and cursed. A sigil fizzed against the fabric. Improperly anchored, Sinder was able to dispel the thing. For a few moments, Sinder wrestled with the sting of betrayal. This was Michaelson’s handiwork.
But … not really, or it would have worked.
Which meant they were applying his tactics. Or adapting them. Which was the whole point of these exercises.
A wolf howled, and another answered. They were flanking him, and he hadn’t even noticed.
Dropping to the ground, Sinder flashed through the woods at speed. Not quite worried, but no longer comfortable with his chances. He kind of wished Michaelson was here, but the man had been sound asleep when Sinder stole away.
And what good would it do to have him here? Timur wouldn’t be on his side.
Another dart whizzed past Sinder’s nose, stopping him in his tracks. That’s when two more hit his upper arm. They pattered to the ground, having delivered their shimmering sigils.
Sinder caught one up and inspected it as he ran.
Blunt tips. They weren’t meant to break skin, though there would be more bruises.
Embedded crystals. And that was going to be a problem.
“Are they insane?” he muttered. Hallow was obsessed with tuned crystals, so Sinder had been exposed to every variation known to carry Cadmiel’s song. That’s why he knew that this rookie scheme might actually work. But not necessarily in the way they hoped.
Another dart found its mark, smack dab in the center of a spreading sigil. Targeted. Good for them. Bad for dragons. This one bit deep. Scenting the air with Sinder’s blood. Bowing him over with a pain that wasn’t entirely physical.
A red remnant. He really hated the red ones.
Sinder was frightened beyond clear thinking. Sweating and swearing, he stumbled onward. He needed to get away from his pursuers before any of them died.
Ginkgo’s phone chirruped impatiently, startling him from a light doze. He snatched it up and squinted at the time, already thumbing to accept the call. “I’m here.”
“Where is Sinder?”
“This second? Not sure.” Ginkgo eased from the bed and padded to the window. There wasn’t much to see in the dark.