Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,17

noticed him. Kyrie was good at going unnoticed. A surprising quality in someone who didn’t look subtle. All because of his heritage.

Kyrie’s dad was slim and sly and sloppy and snooty, sometimes all at the same time. Uncle Argent was a fox with important friends. Sometimes he traveled, but he said he liked Stately House best. When home, he was never far from Kyrie’s mom, who was small and dainty and wise and kind. And a beacon, too. Just like Lilya.

But Kyrie was a fosterling.

Aunt Tsumiko would only ever talk about the story behind his name. But Naroo-soh had once mentioned her being there for the birth. So she knew more than she was telling. And Lilya’s sister Isla, who came back every time Hisoka-sensei visited Papka, had been arguing with Lord Mossberne about coloration and dragon clans when one of them let slip that Kyrie had a sire.

That meant Kyrie’s mother had been the human, and his father had been the dragon.

Kyrie was a crosser. Like Ginkgo.

Only Kyrie didn’t have fox ears and a tail like Ginkgo, who was a younger, scruffier version of Uncle Argent. Instead, Kyrie’s heritage showed up in scales and spots and horns. And in full daylight—like right now—you could tell that his hair was the rich, dark purple of the aubergines from Mare Withershanks’s garden, only glossier and swishier. Kyrie kept his hair long and left it loose. A curtain to hide behind.

Lilya’s brother was stronger than Papka.

He was faster than Minx.

He was clever with sigils and stones.

He was levels above Lilya in school.

And still people found it necessary to remind her that they weren’t true siblings. As if being the family’s greatest disappointment had robbed her of sense. As if she didn’t understand what was coming.

The knowing looks had begun this past winter.

All at once, almost overnight, the family noticed that Lilya was fifteen centimeters taller than Kyrie. Aunt Tsumiko had calmly reminded everyone that girls had their growth spurt earlier than boys. But she’d bit her lip and looked a little sad. Uncle Akira had pointed out that the Hajime family had always been shorter than average. And Mum proved the point by stealing up behind and looming over him.

Everyone had laughed and let the subject drop. Lilya wasn’t taller because something had changed. Lilya was taller because she always would have been. Heritage came into play for humans, too.

For the most part, Lilya was like Mum—tall and sturdy, with dark eyes and straight hair. But Lilya had inherited the shape of her face and its features from Papka. She’d borrowed a little from each of them, like any crosser.

But crossers with Amaranthine blood always grew up in the Amaranthine way. Slowly. So even though Kyrie had been growing up alongside Lilya until now, that would change. Really, it already had.

Her eleven-year-old self would only be the same as his eleven-year-old self for a little while longer. Which meant this was their last summer together. She’d move on, getting older, and in another year or two, she wouldn’t be half a head taller than him. She’d be head and shoulders taller. Then she’d gain Mum’s height, and he would still be a skinny little boy.

Lilya’s children and even her grandchildren would get to meet her brother and be eleven with him. Or maybe twelve. Or fifteen. Because she couldn’t slow down time any more than he could hurry up growing.

They’d be like Aunt Tsumiko and Uncle Akira.

Because of the special bond Kyrie’s mom shared with Uncle Argent, she was borrowing his years. Or something. Basically, she didn’t get older. So even though she’d been born before Uncle Akira, he’d caught up to her. And passed her.

When Lilya asked, Papka had explained that sharing an Amaranthine’s years was a mixed blessing. The very same thing that made Argent and Ginkgo and Kyrie so happy … was making Aunt Tsumiko and Uncle Suuzu sad.

“Feel that?” whispered Kyrie.

“Flawless,” marveled Ginkgo. “Talk about a blind approach.”

They must be there. Lilya nodded, even though she had no idea which direction to look. “Where?”

Kyrie pointed out his window, at what looked to her like an endless sea of grass. Although her older siblings talked about their travels, she’d never left Stately House. This place seemed foreign and formless and void. But Lilya had spent much of her life in the care of foxes, so she knew that seeming meant little. Or nothing at all.

She couldn’t manage sigils, commune with stones, or any of the other things that made