Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,105

the annual tournaments as a two-man team. Totally unrealistic, given their responsibilities. New headman. New dad. But it was fun to ponder training menus and battle strategies.

A large owl passed overhead. A rookie’s Kith. It gave no sign of having noticed Sinder, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t.

Sinder slipped away without a sound.

Mounting Fend, Timur and Mikoto followed.

When Sinder next stopped, Timur made sure he drank some tea before falling back to a reasonable distance. To Fend, he said, “It happened again. I was standing right there, or I might not have noticed.”

Mikoto silently signaled a request for information.

Timur took more care with his sigils this time. “It’s Kyrie.”

“Is he coming?”

“I don’t think so. Sinder would be reacting differently if Kyrie had begun his approach.” Timur searched for some sign that the dragon realized what was happening. “I’m going to have to get that boy to show me how it’s done.”

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