Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,24

helpless and happy about it.

“Are you all right, Kyrie?” asked Waaseyaa.

He stirred to fuller attention, tried to remember what he’d been about to say. There had been a question. Ah, yes. Kyrie sought the tree’s gaze and solemnly answered, “Yes, Zisa. I still love you.”

Sinder was working his way through second breakfast. Colt Alpenglow was a good sort, having the sense to bring food by the trayful rather than bowlful or plateful. So intent was he on tearing, scooping, and chewing that he didn’t notice the subtle shift in Timur’s sigilcraft until it did something very odd. With a whispery sigh, it swirled and resettled, as insurmountable as ever. But only after letting someone through.

Identity was no mystery, but his method was a surprise.

“Are you my knight, come to rescue me from Timur’s kindly clutches?” Sinder indicated the door. “How’d you get past his barrier?”

The kid blinked and looked back. “I did not notice. I am sorry. Am I intruding?”

“Not at all.” Sinder gestured to the tray on his lap. “Hungry?”

Kyrie surveyed the two emptied trays on the bed beside Sinder. “A little, but you need it more.”

“Share with me,” he urged. Mostly to see if it worked on a half-dragon.

The boy glanced over his shoulder, then eased closer to the bed. “May I ask you things?”

“I’ll indulge your curiosity if you’ll indulge mine.” Sinder patted the mattress at his side. The boy obliged him, but for his own reasons. Which suited Sinder well enough. He wouldn’t need to mind his words so closely.

Argent’s foster son carried all the markers of his diabolical sire. In the course of their investigations, Sinder had encountered no less than eight children with some combination of draconic features. The hair, the scales, the speckling, the eyes. Kyrie’s horns weren’t always handed down, and one child’s legacy had included a tail.

This boy had no way of knowing that he had siblings. Sinder didn’t doubt that they’d also kept that little detail from Argent. Perhaps for fear of what he might do. Then again, he was a clever old fox. Clever enough to stash his sons in safety for a season.

What mischief might Lord Mettlebright be up to, even now?

“Go ahead,” prompted Sinder. “Your curiosity is both understandable and flattering. Though I know I’m not your first dragon.”

Kyrie knelt beside him and offered his palms. “Lapis comes when his schedule allows.”

“Not often enough?”

The boy shook his head. “And I have to share.”

“How fortunate that Timur has provided us with so much privacy.” He pressed half a pomegranate into the boy’s hand. Plucking out his own half’s ruby seeds with the tips of his claws, he added, “You don’t have to be formal with me. Blurt away.”

“Do you have horns?”

“In truest form, yes. Most dragons do, but there’s a whole lot of variation by clan. Horns, antlers, tusks, ridges, even fins.” He cleared his throat. “Horns of your sort usually come in sets. If I may?”

Kyrie dipped his head invitingly, and Sinder sifted through silky hair. Two pairs of horns curved gracefully from his hairline, up and inward, white as fangs. His questing fingers found a third set that had budded just behind and below. They were still small enough to be mostly hidden by his hair.

“I’ve seen something like this among the Winnowind and Galestrafe clans. There’s a chance that the coming years will find you with a princely coronet.”

The boy searched his face with eyes nearly the same color as the seeds he was toying with. Finally, he asked, “Do you have a tail?”

Sinder’s curiosity was piqued. “Do you?”

Kyrie didn’t answer, moving along to another question. “What about … your back?”

“Something there? May I see?”

With a small nod, the boy set aside his fruit and turned.

“May I touch?” checked Sinder.

“Please,” said the boy, whose cheeks had gone rosy.

Sinder carefully lifted the boy’s tunic, baring pale skin that looked human enough. But higher up, he discovered nascent ridges protecting his spine. And whorls of lavender that may have been his blaze. But were positioned in a way that suggested … wings.

“Do you have a blaze?”

Kyrie nodded.

“Is this it?” Sinder let the fabric fall back into place.

He shook his head, turned, and tugged at his collar. “Over my heart.” With a tiny smile, he added, “Just like Ginkgo.”

“Where has he got to?”

“Right there.” Kyrie pointed to the barrier, and his whole expression warmed. “I think he is stalling.”

“To give you time to interrogate the prisoner?”

“Just … time.”

“That’s very considerate of him.” Sinder set aside his tray and