Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,115

probably in the mix.” Ginkgo gave him a little shake. “This is the change every dragon awaits … works toward … right? This is good.”

It didn’t feel good.

But Sinder couldn’t deny that yes, that’s what must be happening. And he had no idea if he was supposed to do this in truest form or speaking form. Stories spoke of both. Did either have an advantage.

“I … I want Michaelson.”

Ginkgo nodded, turned to Kyrie, and lifted his chin toward the village. “Fetch Timur quick.”

“I will hurry.”

Sinder barely registered his absence. Drawing himself up, he tried to remember his lore. Information was his thing. He should know this stuff, probably did. But being in the middle of his attainment left him incoherent.

Slowly releasing his hold, Ginkgo took Sinder’s hand and tugged. Moving forward was better than staying still. Sinder locked his fingers with the half-fox’s and was glad he wasn’t alone.

The lake. He hadn’t realized they were close to it. Stars glittered on a surface that was glassy-smooth. Only then did Sinder realize how still the night had grown. Not a single breath of wind. Had they all followed Kyrie when he left?

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Ginkgo nodded. “When I came into my inheritance, I needed Dad’s help. But it’s probably different for crossers. I ended up needing both him and Tsumiko. They struck the right balance between my human part and my fox part. But Dad’s the one I wanted most. Say, should we have sent for Lapis?”

Sinder shook his head. He wanted Timur. Trusted him.

Rolling his shoulders, Sinder asked, “What was this inheritance?”

“My tail. I wasn’t born with one.” He gave it a lighthearted swish.

“What happened?”

“My bones were on fire, and I could hardly sit still. I was pretty damned scared, and I couldn’t figure out how to display for Dad. But he guided me.”

Sinder asked, “How?”

“You probably don’t want to know.” Ginkgo’s ears angled toward the tree line. “They’re coming.”

Timur charged out of the shadows, Kyrie riding on his back. Winded and worried, he rushed forward, stopped short, then bowed low. “Thank you for inviting me to attend your Ascension.”

Sinder was speechless.

“Where’s Fend?” Ginkgo asked.

“Unable to attend,” Timur said shortly. “Probably for the best. I apologize for any discomfort you’ve had to endure because of my delay. I’m here, Sinder. Right here.”

Admitting it to a Spomenka was hard. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Ah, Zolottse. Nothing to it, really.” Timur’s confidence had a calming effect. “This dawn will see you soaring.”

While Timur arranged things, Sinder balled and relaxed his fists over and over. The man’s shoulder bag clinked with an abundance of flasks. Had he brought medicine? Bandages? Would breaching wings leave him bloodied? Why wasn’t this in the lore? Then again, would anyone seek the sky if they knew the cost?

A smaller hand slipped into his. Kyrie. “Does it hurt?”

“Not exactly. It’s not comfortable.” Sinder was beginning to feel betrayed by his own body. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

Kyrie pressed closer. “We are here.”

“We are four,” said Timur, who was working on starting a fire. “That’s auspicious.”

“Are there other favorable conditions?” asked Kyrie.

“Plenty.” Flashing a smile at the boy, Timur asked, “Don’t suppose you could summon an east wind for him?”

“I will ask.”

Sinder eyed him skeptically. But a breeze rose from the direction of the lightening horizon, cooling his flushed face. Carrying with it a whisper of Novi’s song.

“Does he need to shift forms?” asked Ginkgo.

“Wings will manifest in either form, but in recent centuries, it’s become popular to remain in speaking form.” Timur’s voice was pitched to soothe. “It makes it easier to maintain a partial transformation later.”

“Wings in speaking form?” checked Kyrie.

“Like a wolf and his tail,” said Ginkgo. “Or a stag and his antlers.”

“That’s the idea. Sinder, may I have access to your blaze?” Timur seemed to tower over him.

No sense holding back now. He shrugged out of his tunic, presenting his bared shoulder.

Pushing aside Sinder’s hair with one finger, Timur asked, “Can we tie this out of the way?”

“Let me,” said Ginkgo. “I’m a pro at braids. In high demand by all the kids.”

Sinder frowned. His injuries had healed enough, he could have managed on his own. But Ginkgo was already smoothing and sectioning. Was everything spinning out of his control?

“Calm down, Damsel,” ordered Ginkgo.

“How can I?” He peered over his shoulder into pale eyes. “I still don’t know what to do.”

Timur was fiddling fireside, and the scent of warming oil filled the air. But he returned to