from every corner of the world.
She tapped Kyrie’s shoulder. “Your children, too.”
He shrugged and shook his head.
“Crossers marry,” she insisted. “Like Ash and Tami.”
Kyrie’s lips twitched into a little half-smile. “Ash’s inheritance never frightened anyone.”
“You might have wings one day,” Lilya reasoned. “An attainment.”
Her brother’s eyes were soft with the gentle sadness that had always been a part of him. “Ash has the wings of an angel. With dragon wings, I would look even more like a devil.”
Lilya’s troubles seemed small and silly now. She dropped back into the seat and hauled him into a fierce hug. “No, nyet, non, and never.”
Kyrie melted against her. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I should not borrow trouble from my tomorrows.”
“Today has enough worries,” Lilya agreed, quoting Aunt Tsumiko. “Can we go to Timur, now?”
“May I hold Gregor first?”
Lilya giggled. “If you can get him away from Ginkgo.”
With chorused thanks to the driver, they linked hands and hurried to join their brothers. What a sight they made. True to form, Ginkgo had secured the baby for himself, but that gave Timur the advantage. He scooped up Ginkgo and Gregor, proving he was strong enough to cradle both the half-fox who’d raised him and the son he was raising alone.
“Put me down, cuddle bud.” Ginkgo’s smile held nothing back. “I know I’m your favorite, but you really shouldn’t neglect the rest of your denmates.”
Timur landed a resounding kiss on Ginkgo’s forehead, then turned him loose in order to capture Kyrie. He tossed him high, earning a warbling yelp, caught him close, and kissed his cheeks. “Have you grown?” Dangling Kyrie at arm’s length, Timur let the boy squirm and smile under his scrutiny before nodding. “You have grown a little, I think. Yes?”
It always amazed Lilya that someone who looked so much like Mum could behave so much like Papka. Timur had been away for years. A training trip from which he’d returned with mixed baggage. A deeper laugh and a sadder smile. A richer accent and a baby son.
But no wife.
Lilya got the impression that Papka was somehow worried about Timur but delighted to welcome Gregor into the family. Mum was flat-out proud, but she tried not to let it show. And nobody was willing to pass along the particulars to a couple of kids.
While Timur quizzed Kyrie about their trip, Lilya offered a hand to Fend, one of the cubs from Minx’s litters. He nosed her palm and tickled her with his whiskers, mostly to be polite. Fend was all business. Not one for indiscriminate cuddling or purring. But he sat beside her, watching Timur more closely than anyone. And Lilya waited her turn with the confidence of one who knows they are being saved for last … and will get the best because of it.
“Where is that sister of mine?” called Timur.
She raised her fist in a battler’s hand sign. Or was it from wolf trackers? Lilya was always getting them mixed up.
Not that it mattered. Timur closed the distance in a handful of strides, dropped to one knee, and offered his hand like a burly prince charming.
Delighted, Lilya curtsied and placed her fingertips on his palm.
With a murmured endearment in their mother’s first tongue, he tugged her into the circle of his arms. “Did you see many strange things along your way?”
For someone who lived with giant cats, flying foxes, and phoenix friends, the trip had been filled with fresh oddities. “A boat and a plane and a train and a bus.”
“Wonders beyond compare?” teased Timur.
“New things,” she replied seriously. “Kyrie and I have finally broadened our horizons.”
Ginkgo swayed over, making silly faces for Gregor, and asked, “Do we need to check in with anyone?”
“As it happens, I just met the headman, and he wants to welcome you personally.”
TWELVE
Treeborne Boy
Even knowing what to expect, Ginkgo had trouble making sense of reality. Once the promised Amaranthine tree towered into view, he understood the scope of the illusions that kept it safe. “Okay, that thing’s beyond big.”
“He is,” agreed Timur.
Ginkgo peered around, senses alert. So much had been fine-tuned—the tree’s presence, the shadow it cast, temperature differences, the view of the sky. There was probably a barrier similar to the one Dad used to keep his conservatory from being overrun. It made most people at Stately House forget the glassed-in garden even existed.
Straight out of a book of fairy tales and looking like someone’s rendering of the World Tree, Zisa’s trunk appeared to be smooth, and his leaves were an uncanny shade of chartreuse.