“Friends,” Mikoto agreed, then scooped up Sinder to carry him out the door.
“I can walk!”
“Can you?” he challenged. He knew better. Knew how tired and lonely and scared this dragon was.
Sinder swore. And went limp. And whispered, “I promise, Mikoto. It’s a good story.”
“I believe you.” He wryly asked, “Is that because you are a dragon?”
“That reminds me!” Sinder’s eyes glinted, and he slyly urged, “Touch my nose.”
THIRTY
The First Rule of Dragons
Kyrie had been looking forward to the trip to the lake, but not quite like this.
He was used to sharing. His home. His room. His mother. His father. But when he’d spoken with Sinder about this trek and its purpose—rite of passage stuff—he’d sort of thought it would be less crowded.
Yet as he followed Ginkgo, who braced a crate on one shoulder, Kyrie couldn’t honestly imagine asking anyone to leave.
Timur, who had taken charge.
Ginkgo, who was taking orders.
Mikoto, who was finally taking notice of the way the wind danced for him. In Kyrie’s opinion, it was sort of like the way Fend made all sorts of little bids for Timur’s attention. Such a friendly wind, but more focused than the ones Kyrie usually met in passing.
He’d never seen a wind stay before.
Kyrie was a part of this party, too. Kyrie, who had been taken along, even though the day would be less about the dragon half of his heritage and more about helping Sinder recover.
Making four. At least, four in speaking form. Kyrie cuddled Noble under his chin, since minding the puppy was his current contribution, freeing Mikoto’s hands. The headman had a backpack and two big duffles, their straps crisscrossing his broad chest.
Four.
Kyrie knew as many stories of dragons as Mother could find, and in every story, fours were important. Did Sinder need things in fours? Was he more at ease now that he’d asked Mikoto along? Kyrie would need to watch for other examples.
Could numbers be inherent? Surely, they were only tradition. Kyrie didn’t think he had an instinctual need for fours. Except … he’d been raised by four parents. With enough siblings to make a dragon lord proud. Was some part of Kyrie more at ease because he longed for a harem?
Maybe he should ask Lapis the next time he visited. Or maybe Sinder would know.
“Hey, little bro.” Ginkgo was looking back, his free hand extended.
Quickening his pace, Kyrie laced his fingers with his brother’s.
“Something on your mind?”
Kyrie sifted through the many ideas niggling at him and selected something safe. “Can crossers tend?”
“Not sure. Never really tried. Not on purpose, anyhow.”
His brother’s face had gone suspiciously pink. Kyrie pressed, “Accidentally?”
“Me and Kel, I guess. We got a little tangled up once. His brothers kept a closer eye on us after that.” Ginkgo admitted, “I was probably his first taste. Though the Elderboughs decided it didn’t count.”
“Because crossers do not count?”
“Nah. They counted me as a packmate, so I mattered as much as anyone. But we were too young to be messing around with stuff we didn’t understand. Kind of like underage drinking.”
“You did not try again?”
“Not … exactly. Well, maybe. With Dad.”
Kyrie wasn’t sure why his brother wasn’t sure.
“Mostly, I like to be on the receiving end of tending. Michael usually sets me up, but Mom’s the absolute best.” Ginkgo gave his hand a squeeze. “You getting curious about this stuff?”
He was curious about most stuff. But Kyrie understood the underlying question. “Not enough to get tangled.”
“When you are, go to Michael.”
“I will.” And because Ginkgo would be honest, he asked, “Will I be in the way today?”
“Hardly. Or did you forget you’re the whole reason for today.”
Kyrie ventured, “Sinder is hurt. This is for his healing?”
“The outing will do him good. Being in truest form will do him good,” Ginkgo allowed. “But Timur didn’t redecorate Zisa’s house just so we could get out of there. He probably would have kept his patient there if he could’ve. But Damsel insisted.”
“For me?”
“For sure. And maybe for himself. You might be the only other dragon on the continent.” Ginkgo’s gaze tracked to Timur, who’d insisted that Sinder ride Fend. And further insisted on riding with him, to prevent him from sliding off the sleek cat. “Dragons are really social. Loners are rare, and Sinder isn’t a loner. He’s had it rough.”
“We are here. He has us.”
“We’ll remind him of that.” Ginkgo’s smirk promised mischief. “Juuyu insisted.”
On the mossy bank of a pretty little lake, Sinder sank to his knees before Kyrie and said, “Little cousin. I’m like you, and you’re like me. Not the same, but alike. And I like that.”
“Me, too,” admitted Kyrie.
“Let’s start simple. I’ll revert, and you may make a full inspection.” Sinder hesitated. “Will you be able to hear my voice in truest form?”
“I do not know.” Kyrie looked to Ginkgo.
The half-fox shrugged. “I can sometimes hear Dad, but only if we’re touching and he’s trying. Not sure if blood ties are part of that or if clan ties are enough.”
Kyrie really wished Ginkgo was more interested in the duality of his existence, but introspection had never been his strong point. Kyrie’s most probing questions had never occurred to his big brother, who didn’t even have a philosophy of life. Just a motto. You’re alive, so live.
Some of their crossers really needed to hear that.
Like Ginkgo was giving them permission to exist.
“Guess we’re here to find out.” Sinder shrugged. “If not, no big deal. Save up your questions for after.”
“I will,” promised Kyrie.
“Two steps back,” urged Sinder.
He sprang away and waited breathlessly.
With a solemn wink, Sinder transformed.
Even though he knew what to expect, Kyrie’s heart squeezed as Sinder seemed to shatter like light through a prism, scattering before gathering into a new shape. Scales rippled outward, and curving claws flexed against soft soil.
Sinder’s scales were like opal—translucent, even luminous, and sparked by colors that shifted in the gaining sun. Two white horns spiraled above a pale mane threaded with green. Familiar eyes glinted, clear and calculating, as sharp as any fox’s.
Kyrie suddenly understood something about himself. He was drawn to Sinder’s intelligence even more than his beauty. Here was another person—like Dad—who would speak the truth, even if it wasn’t easy.
Needing to touch, knowing it was all right, Kyrie let his fingertips glide over silken scales. While the overall impression was certainly green, the vivid colors that marked Sinder’s speaking form were only apparent on close inspection. Hidden facets. Ribbons under ice. Flowers in the snow.