Which were a real possibility, thanks to the rogue.
Because that dragon wasn’t immune to the pull of instinct.
The women he stole were stashed in makeshift harems. Many profilers believed he was after progeny, a frustrated male who’d refined his techniques once he realized he could only impregnate females of reaver descent.
A noteworthy discovery, to be sure. Lapis Mossberne was especially interested in that particular point, but Sinder was skeptical. If the rogue wanted his children, wouldn’t he show more interest in gathering them up? Yes, some infants had gone missing, but those disappearances didn’t correlate with the reports of fresh kidnappings and killings.
Sinder thought it more likely that an even greedier instinct drove the rogue. He wanted to gain the sky.
The rogue was after wings, something that traditionally took a thousand years. But the truth was far less poetic. It went without saying that dragon lords had long been forming alliances with reavers and benefiting from their tending. What most left unsaid was that those who consumed the souls of reavers—even the undisciplined, unrefined souls of unregistered reavers—could gain those selfsame wings.
And damn the rest of them.
The lords had looked on in horror when mounting evidence pointed to a dragon as the perpetrator of heinous crimes against humanity. Immediately, they’d put the scholars of the heights to work. Registries were opened. Lineages traced. Eggs tallied. Identities confirmed. And to the mystification of all, every male was both found and found innocent.
Meaning the rogue dragon was an impossibility.
No male had sired him. No female had carried him.
And nobody would believe them.
Despite every protestation of peace, dragons would be vilified. So when Hisoka Twineshaft approached the lords, asking for any detail, no matter how small, that would give trackers an edge in the chase, the dragons pledged their cooperation.
And when the cat smiled and singled out the Graennturn enclave’s IT specialist, nobody questioned his choice in emissaries. Sinder was plucked from the heights of an urban high rise, thrown to the wolves, partnered to a phoenix, and trusted with more secrets than anyone should have to keep.
His musing were interrupted by the arrival of three reavers in the small clearing at the base of his hideaway. Had they managed to track him? That was promising.
No Kith in evidence. Should he trip a new trap? Just to see if they’d learned their lesson.
Earlier, the rookies had taken two hours to realize he’d compromised four of their members. If not for the Kith in their midst, they might never have realized that they’d begun trapping each other instead of him.
A low growl. A soft hiss.
Sinder glanced over his shoulder and winced as the twist pulled at his injuries. “He warded you? Smart.”
Timur’s feline partner crouched in the shadow of a bush, orange eyes burning with predatory zeal.
“Then again, he said you were the smart one.” Sinder did not like the twitch in Fend’s tail. “You going to let me off easy?”
The panther’s lips peeled back, baring fangs, and his growl escalated into a snarl.
Sinder swore and sprang away, barely evading Fend’s pounce. The animal’s scream alerted the battlers and spurred Sinder through the treetops. He’d have to add a line in his report about warding the Kith, which was terrifyingly effective. Hisoka would be pleased. Michaelson and Fend were exactly what Naroo-soh needed—invulnerable and innovative.
Teetering to a halt on the sagging limb of an old pine, he worked his way closer to the trunk and climbed to one of the hideaways he’d created back when the rookies were more gullible. The scent of tree sap wasn’t the best cover, but if he was lucky, he could catch his breath.
“Let me have a look.”
Sinder started violently enough to lose his balance, but strong hands grabbed his wrists. Which was a little too much like being held captive. But his captor turned him loose and raised both hands.
“Peace, Sinder. Or should I call you Damsel?” Salali Fullstash grinned at him from under the brim of a battered hat. “I’m a neutral party in these games, so you’re not caught.”
“Salali,” he mumbled. “Right. Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”
“Let me have a look,” he repeated with calm authority. “Or the scent of blood will give away your position quicker than a sneeze.”
Was he bleeding? Sinder pressed a hand to the stitch in his side.
“Hold this.” Salali pressed a blue pebble into his hand. “Gent, pass him Merl’s bundle.”
An overlarge blue jay dropped through the pine boughs and hopped sideways along the branch. From his beak dangled a cloth bag. Sinder accepted it with a puzzled nod.
“Eat,” ordered Salali, who was busily unwinding lengths of gauze.
The bundle contained bite-sized squares of dense cake, thick with dried fruit and nuts. Popping one into his mouth, Sinder slowly chewed. And immediately felt better. He hadn’t realized he was hungry. Rookie mistake. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Thank Ginkgo.” Salali slowly daubed a greenish paste onto the worst gash. Something antiseptic but laced with spikenard. “He owes me a favor. The goo and goodies are from Merl.”
Sinder mumbled around a mouthful. “As much as I needed a friend in my corner, this feels like cheating.”
“For all we know, the rogue has allies, too.” Salali shifted in midair to doctor a different abrasion. “It could explain why there are glimmers of brilliance in a pattern dominated by baser instincts.”
A second individual, somehow party to the crimes? Did the rogue—like Timur—have a smart partner? Someone with intelligence and influence. That was a chilling thought.
“Can I add that bit of speculation to my next report?” Sinder asked.
“Depends who you’re reporting to.”
“Twineshaft.”
“Tell him,” said Salali. “Tell him everything. Even if it doesn’t seem important. Even if it doesn’t seem related.”
Sinder muttered, “I’ll know.”
“What’ll you know?” countered the squirrel clansman lightly.
“I’ll know if it’s important. I’ll know if it’s related.”
Salali pushed a second crystal into Sinder’s hand like he was bartering for secrets. “Why?”
“Because Twineshaft tells me things.” And it was important for this person to know it.
“Things? Or everything?” With a low chuckle, the squirrel clansman made an impressive leap. “You’re his stash. Smart.”
FORTY-THREE
Lights Out
Lilya held Kyrie’s hand all the way back from movie night. They’d been treated to back-to-back episodes of Dare Together, with hints that special guests would be arriving the following weekend. Rampant speculation pointed toward a visit from Caleb and Josheb Dare … or any number of the cryptids they were so famous for tracking down.
It was long past curfew, but the event wasn’t quite over. All the lights had been switched off, making everyone’s trek back to their cabin a final hurdle. Growls and yelps and nervous laughter came from all sides. Older teens in ward colors lofted crystals, while battlers formed ranks around the younger kids in their cabins.