His nostrils flared, and he nodded. “We do get some interesting creatures in these woods, but they mostly avoid humans.”
“I know about Ephemera,” she grumbled, lifting aside another clump of foliage.
Glint asked, “Is one of your parents a reaver, then?”
“Both.” She felt a little foxy, not telling the whole truth. “I know it’s hard to tell. Sorry about that.”
With a perplexed expression, he looked between her and the bushes. “Not sure what to make of either of you.”
Before another word could be spoken, something streaked into the open and wrapped itself around Lilya’s neck. She started, but held very still, trusting Glint to deal with the threat if there was one. As she waited and watched him, Glint’s eyes slowly widened, then went all misty.
“Child,” he said softly. “Where do you find your courage?”
She reached up to tap his nose. “Here.” And because she couldn’t see what was tucked snug around her neck, she asked, “What did we find?”
“Something … new?” Glint’s nostrils flared. “An unfamiliar scent. But I suppose it must be an Ephemera.”
Lilya’s fingers found silken scales. But also fur. “Who are you, please?” she murmured.
“Yes. We need a better look at you.”
So saying, Glint gently worked a finger under the critter. When it tightened its hold, he lapsed into crooning, but Lilya didn’t know much Old Amaranthine. Mostly just the lullaby that Uncle Argent used to sing. And a couple of endearments.
She tried one, letting it roll of her tongue, and wished her soul wasn’t quite so locked away. Calming little ones was so much easier when they found her lovely.
“How many languages do you know?”
“Fluently?” she countered, not really wanting to admit to more than she already had. “Four, I guess. Bits and pieces of more.”
Glint gave her a sidelong look. “You remind me of my best friend.”
She knew he must mean Waaseyaa, but she doubted a newcomer to Denholm was meant to know about him. So she simply asked, “I do?”
“The first thing we ever did was learn each other’s languages. He knows dozens.” Finally disentangling their mystery creature, he murmured, “You were right. He does look a bit like a dragon.”
Lilya’s confusion must have shown.
“That is what you called him in my language.” Glint repeated the endearment, then translated. “Little dragon.”
The creature wasn’t anything Lilya had seen before, which was amazing, considering how extensive Uncle Argent’s collection was supposed to be. It wasn’t very big—probably as long as Lilya’s forearm, with most of its length only as thick as her thumb. Fine scales shimmered slightly, the soft gold of sunlight, but with a faint bloom of pink low on its chest, right above his first set of legs.
“Showy little thing.” The critter twined around Glint’s fingers, not exactly trying to escape, but not exactly happy to have been dislodged.
Lilya amended her original impression. The creature’s first set of legs was its only set of legs. The rest of its body was more serpentine, with a mane of creamy yellow fur tapering towards the tip of its tail, which ended in a thorny spike.
“Poisonous?” she asked.
Glint shook his head. “Nothing toxic in his scent.”
The little one lifted a narrow muzzle to sniff at the air. There was a prominent tuft of fur on top of his head, which flexed and fanned, almost like the crest on a cockatoo. Then he butted Glint’s big knuckle and reached for Lilya with dainty claws.
Chuckling, Glint said, “You are the one he wants, and I see no harm in letting him have you.”
Lilya reached back, and the little dragon grabbed her thumb, coiled around her wrist. His eyes were dark gold, without whites, and exhibiting the narrow pupils that were characteristic of both the Kith and the clans. But not Ephemera. “You really don’t know what he is?”
“He is not native. Probably a stowaway.” Jerking a thumb at the wall behind them, Glint said, “We receive guests and shipments from all over.”
Tiny claws, soft as a kitten’s, caught in Lilya’s clothes and hair as the little one clambered swiftly up her arm. Once again, he settled around her neck. She couldn’t see him, but she stroked his silken sides and tickled his fur. “He’s heavier than he looks.”
Glint smiled crookedly. “He is holding his own tail to stay in place.”
“Would it be okay if I named him?”
“Are you asking to claim him?”
Lilya supposed she was. “Is that allowed?”
The little one rubbed his wedge-shaped head under her chin and offered a musical trill. Glint chuckled and pointed out, “He has his own opinion on the matter.”
With another burble of high notes, the little dragon coiled just a bit tighter. And into the middle of Lilya’s warm thoughts, she heard a single word. High and sweet, like a child’s.
Mine.
Clearly unaware of this development, Glint said, “We are supposed to have a dragon somewhere hereabouts. I think we should try asking him.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Window Dressing
Shortly after sunrise, Yulin sent Mikoto a message, letting him know that Glint was finally up and about. He could return home. But Mikoto couldn’t bring himself to leave his post, seated on the floor at the foot of the bed where Timur had tucked Sinder in with Kyrie.
Maybe it was stubborn. Maybe he was selfish. But Mikoto wasn’t leaving without something he could hang onto. “If you want to woo the wind to your side, all you really need is a dragon,” he murmured. That’s what Isla Ward had said. And that meant Sinder. They’d never hosted a single dragon in Wardenclave before this season, and it felt as if they were about to lose him. Mikoto had overheard enough to know that powerful people were upset.
There might be repercussions.
His to deal with as headman.
But right now, Mikoto couldn’t have cared less about the wider world. He wasn’t here in any official capacity. This was personal.
He picked a bit of meat from his handroll and fed it to Noble.
Tending to the pup’s needs. Teaching Noble to look to him.
Looking to. Looking after. Mikoto could see how they were linked.
Had Glint meant to comfort him or to teach him how to lead?
With a muffled bump, Timur bustled through the door, barely able to see past the ungainly bundle in his arms. Ginkgo jumped up to help, so Mikoto stayed put. In such a small room, he’d only be in the way. Worse, Noble would get underfoot.
“What’s all this for?” asked Ginkgo, who pulled free a couple of embroidered cushions.
“Just some things,” Timur said shortly.
More textiles came to light—blankets, bed linens, towels, and a loomed rug. Even a few bolts of cloth that had the distinctive shimmer of Dimityblest workmanship. Expensive stuff. And all of it in shades of yellow.
“I’m sensing a theme here,” remarked Ginkgo.
Timur’s jaw worked. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I don’t.” Frowning slightly, the half-fox added, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Boss me around, cuddle bud. I care about Damsel, too.”