Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,103
Stately House, some of whom were Alpenglows.
“Since I am sure it was Salali’s true purpose, allow me to introduce you to some friends.”
Ginkgo suspected his own delight was showing as Hannick took him around what amounted to a small village populated by tree-kin. Salali lagged behind while his apprentice was kissed and petted by tree twins. Ginkgo welcomed their curiosity and unloaded plenty of his own, quizzing their human counterparts on the contents of their gardens. Enough healers were hanging about to give the whole place the ambiance of a hush-hush hospice, with a secondary business being the preservation and packaging of medicinal herbs, teas, and pollen.
By the time he’d chatted with everyone, Ginkgo’s pockets were bulging with seed packets.
“You would do well here,” remarked Hannick.
Ginkgo shrugged that off. “I like people. Especially kids.”
Salali casually interjected, “We could probably push for ours to go to him.”
“Is that so?” Hannick led the way to a small building with colored glass set into its windows. Rapping on a door left open to catch the flower-scented breezes, he said, “I apologize for interrupting your lesson, Mare Anella, but I bring a visiting professor. He is a leading expert on crossers.”
Eighteen children stared at Ginkgo with widening eyes. Half of them were human. The others looked to be Alpenglow colts and fillies.
Hannick said, “Ginkgo is our guest because his enclave will receive a Scattering.”
“How many?” asked a teenage girl with a toddler propped on one hip.
Salali said, “If he takes a liking to you, he’ll have no choice but to take the lot of you.”
“We can stay together?” asked a surly boy of nine or ten who’d been clinging to a shyer friend’s hand ever since Ginkgo stepped inside. “All of us?”
“What about us?” whispered a filly cradling a sleeping baby.
Nothing like being put on the spot. Ginkgo thought he’d sized up the situation, but he wanted to be clear. “Are you all tree-kin?”
The human children looked to Hannick and the mares first, but slowly, they each brought out necklaces. Some displayed slim capsules. Others looked more like lockets. Dad had told him about this. Kids born with a golden seed in their hand. Just like in the stories.
“And … since this garden’s jam-packed, you have to go someplace else to plant your seeds and start a new grove.” Ginkgo’s heart went out to them. “Is going all together an option?”
Hannick said, “If an existing grove needs a specific variety, one or two might be sent. But your enclave is starting anew.”
“So it’s not crazy to hope?”
The teenage girl, the one who looked to be oldest, asked, “Is there room?”
“Plenty.” Ginkgo wanted to help them. “Why don’t you write up some letters of introduction for my Dad. Tell him why you want to stay together.”
The filly on baby-cuddling duty dared to repeat, “What about us?”
“Guess that’s up to your Stallion. We have a small herd—including a few distant relatives—at Stately House. Could be like boarding school. Could be apprenticing. Maybe?”
“Perhaps,” said Hannick.
Looking to Mare Anella, Ginkgo suggested, “Address the letters to Lord Argent Mettlebright of Stately House.”
That stirred more than a few whispers.
“And maybe get started on language lessons. Any chance someone around here can teach Japanese?”
This time the response was clearer. Over and over, they repeated one name—Sora. Sora. Lady Sora.
Salali jostled him with an elbow and rolled his eyes. “Mikoto’s mother came to us from Japan. Seems to me, you and yours might be interested.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ginkgo’s stomach did a little anticipatory flip. “Why’s that?”
“Could be a distant relation.” Salali quietly added, “Before taking the Reaver name, Sora was a Hajime.”
Kyrie searched the star’s face, struggling against the urge to hide his own. He rivaled the dawn, and his gaze seemed to slide right into the secret places of Kyrie’s heart … as easily as his voice slipped into Kyrie’s mind.
“Are you certain you are not an angel?” he asked.
The shining person smiled. “I am sure that I am not carrying a message.”
Oh, tricky. The literal meaning of angel was “messenger.” Was he hiding a truth or revealing one? Perhaps angels were members of the sky clans with deliveries to make. Starry heralds.
Kyrie refined his question. “Are you an Impression?”
“That is how my people are understood.” The hand that partially supported Kyrie tugged. “Come, Kyrie. You must set your seal upon me, or I will overwhelm you.”
“Seal?” He swayed with the treetop, nearly colliding with the star.
“A sigil.” The star caught him close, and they were flying. “A ward. Lest you become