Mikoto shook his head.
Timur lowered his voice. “Kyrie’s marked him.”
“With what?”
“Small sigils.” His curled fingers described a circle no bigger than a coin. “They started arriving just before sunup. I have no idea how he’s delivering them. Unless he marked Sinder before they parted. Or keyed off that crystal I warded. But … I don’t think so.”
“How far can a sigil travel?”
“Depends on the anchor. Etch a sigil into stone, and it’ll go as far as you can fling it. But these are airborne.” Timur squinted at Sinder. “I wonder why he hasn’t noticed? I mean, he’s a dragon.”
Fend’s big paw gently biffed him across the cheek. Then planted that paw on Timur’s ankle. Where a small sigil gleamed faintly on his pants cuff.
“Oh. Well spotted,” Timur muttered sheepishly. “Kyrie got me, too. I wonder why I hadn’t noticed. I mean, I’m a ward.”
Mikoto rubbed at his face, trying to hide his smile.
Shaking his head, Timur scanned the forest. With a scowl, he gruffly lapsed into the accent of his mother and his uncle. “A dragon who thinks like a fox. Is a dangerous combination, yes?”
As a rule, Amaranthine were patient. But Sinder had always been a bit of a rule-bender, if not an outright breaker. “Joining the dawn patrol implies attacking at dawn,” he muttered. Yet the sun was nearing mid-high.
“Show me what you can do implies showing up at all.” Sinder’s gaze flashed across scenery. Granted, a dragon’s camouflage was universally effective, but he’d expected Kyrie to leap out of a shrub or cast a barrier or … something.
All he attracted were rookies, and their heart wasn’t in the hunt. They were being too cautious. Not because they were afraid of dragons, but because the blessed idiots were afraid to hurt him. Should the mission be scrapped?
He’d talk it through with Torloo.
Michaelson might have ideas, too.
Sinder checked on his support crew. Timur and Mikoto were conferring under the cover of a barrier, but Fend was staring. And it wasn’t a nice stare. If anything, the big feline looked eager. Hungry? No it was more like … anticipation.
Oh, shit.
He dove, narrowly evading a pretty bit of sigilcraft. Something like a net that promised restriction. How had the kid gotten close enough to drop it? Sinder took to his heels, only to be brought up short by a three-man cell. Dunce and double dunce. He was willing to bet the battlers didn’t even know they’d been warded.
Swearing at all Four Storms, Sinder forced himself to hold position. Where?
It was no use running if you ran straight into your pursuer’s arms. Where?
A breeze brushed his face. Another slid through his hair.
Definitely time to go.
Sinder ran.
Ginkgo was used to keeping track of children. It was part and parcel of life at Stately House. Wards for out-of-bounds spots. Special necklaces with etched sigilcraft. Added to those were his own eyes, ears, nose, and gut. All making sure Ginkgo was where he needed to be whenever he was needed.
Michael’s and Sansa’s kids were a special case. As was Kyrie.
All of them had been bound to him by sigils, pretty much since birth. That had been Dad’s idea and Michael’s doing. Making Ginkgo their bodyguard. Giving him every excuse to become more. Reminding him over and again that he was family.
For this trip, Michael went above and beyond with tuned crystals. Stones in Lilya’s necklace, Gregor’s bracelets, and Kyrie’s armband had been tuned to those Ginkgo wore wolf-style, on a knotted cord around his neck.
They gave him a general direction, resonated with strong emotions, and tipped him off whenever Kyrie was working a bit of sigilcraft. So he usually knew if they were at lessons with Michael. Or mixed up in mischief.
Most of the time, he tuned them out.
This wasn’t one of those times.
Ears flattened, teeth gritting, he muttered a hasty excuse and was over the wall in a bound. Salali was half a heartbeat behind.
“Any chance this is some kind of … early warning system?” Ginkgo demanded.
“None.” The squirrel blandly added, “At least, not one of mine.”
“Coulda fooled me. What the hell’s wrong with your trees?”
“Somebody is using them.”
Ginkgo spared him a glance. “My brother.”
With a faint smirk, Salali remarked, “The sons of Stately House do not disappoint.”
“You’re not bothered?”
Catching his arm, the squirrel forced him to slow. “Why are you bothered?”
“My brother might be in trouble!”
Salali pulled up short, and Gent wheeled tightly, coming to a rest atop the squirrel’s hat. “Sinder is testing him. At your request.”
“But this …!” Ginkgo indicated the woods. “You gotta admit this is unusual.”
“That, my dear apprentice, is an understatement.” Salali cocked his ear and smiled. “I know full well what a mismatched jumble of shards your brother found. Barely worth a second look. But he’s not only coaxed them into song, he’s tuned them to each other.”
“So my brother’s a crystal adept. Not exactly news.” Ginkgo swiveled his ears, trying to catch the music Salali was hearing. “Unfortunately, I’m not.”
“Kyrie isn’t any old ward.”
“You’re weighing in on his assessment?”
Salali peered at him from under a drooping brim. “I could. If anyone bothered to ask.”
“I’m asking.”
“Your brother’s improvisation amounts to a trap.” The squirrel gestured broadly. “He’s weaponized an entire forest, and your dragon friend cannot escape.”
“That’s … impressive.”
“That’s an ambuscade for you.”
Ginkgo was catching something faint, and he didn’t think it was crystal resonance. But Salali’s remark distracted him. “Ambuscade. Is that a subclass?”
“Obsolete ward class,” said Salali with a wry twist of a smile. “Not the sort of thing you’d find on an academy syllabus. We had one of our own, back at Wardenclave’s founding. Hemet was a good man.”
“You’re going to have to tell me. I’m way out of this loop.”
“Hemet could use crystals as a focus. The destructive force of his soul scattered Wardenclave’s attackers. And in a few memorable instances, he ended them.”
Ginkgo’s ears snapped forward. “What?”
“Reavers of the ambuscade classification are killers.”
“My brother’s not a killer!”
“I am talking about skill sets, not wholesale slaughter.” Salali tapped Ginkgo’s nose. “Hemet was a good man. Kyrie is a good boy.”
Calming enough to think, Ginkgo caught another fragment of a melody. “What am I hearing?” he asked. “Is that someone … singing?”
Salali pushed back his hat, unseating Gent. “You have good ears. This sort of thing happens in high places.”
“Where’s it coming from?” It wasn’t easy to see past the overlapping sigils of Wardenclave’s barriers.