folded his hands on his lap. “How about this. When our schedules allow, I know a spot. There’s this secluded little lake, perfect for a grooming session. We can compare spots and ridges and horns and tails, and I can hand down wisecracks and wisdom. Rite of passage stuff.”
Kyrie said, “I want to. Can Ginkgo come?”
“Okay, sure. Your brother needs to know what you need, right?” Sinder decided not to mention how desperate he was for company. He didn’t really know Ginkgo, but they also had people in common. Maybe even common goals, if Timur’s crack about spies proved true. “Fetch him in, and we can see what he thinks of our plan.”
Scooting off the bed and hurrying to the door, Kyrie raised both hands, as if grabbing onto something. With a flourishing twist, the barrier vanished, allowing in a mélange of interesting scents and sounds.
Ginkgo gruffly called, “Watch yourself, Damsel!”
Belatedly, Sinder recalled why Timur had set such strong wards.
Some distant part of Sinder’s brain was grateful that Juuyu wasn’t here to see this. Because his partner had lived among Amaranthine trees and had coached Sinder on basic etiquette. Most of which went out the window long before Zisa drew back enough to smile coyly.
“Serves me right.” Seeing Timur poised to intervene, Sinder shook his head and asked, “Is this where I’m supposed to say kiss me again?”
FOURTEEN
The Stuff of Dynasties
Mikoto guessed he was in the presence of greatness. Or at least great fame. This was Argent Mettlebright’s family. Or more properly, his denmates, since Michael Ward also resided at Stately House. Mikoto knew the First of Wards by reputation, for Glint mentioned him often enough.
So much potential.
Glint had plied the man with proposals for paternity tours. Or a suite in his stable. Anything he wanted in exchange for greater multiplication.
All for naught.
Nothing frustrated Glint more than unions formed on the basis of mutual affection. At least, that’s how it sounded when Wardenclave’s matchmaker was grumping.
If the Eldermost Islands were in need of a new anchor, or when an enclave requested young diplomats willing to marry in, Glint wanted nothing more than to pull out his registries and ledgers and send them the individuals best suited to the task. But half the time, those best suited to some outlying enclave’s need were already making plans of their own.
They’d formed an attachment at school or at camp. They’d agreed to a marriage arranged by a parent or mentor. They’d eloped with someone from the general populace that they’d met by chance. All disasters as far as Glint was concerned.
True love mucked up his charts in the worst way.
It happened all the time, but Michael Ward was a recurring theme. The exception that proved the rule. Because for once, a reaver’s heart had guided him aright. Despite marrying for love, the First of Wards had achieved dynasty ranking by siring a beacon. A girl.
This girl.
Mikoto stepped back, dinging his hip against a bureau.
Glint must be delighted to have lured Michael Ward’s daughter here. A brand new beacon, ripe for arrangement. No doubt he’d lovingly mapped out dozens of potential matches for her, complete with progeny projections.
A beacon wouldn’t be sent out to prop up a flagging bloodline. No, Glint would want the dynasty to continue. A beacon could bear a beacon, given the right sire. And Mikoto had his suspicions about who topped Glint’s list.
“Michaelson?” Mikoto murmured.
Timur, who’d returned to his side once it was obvious that Sinder didn’t need help, angled his head to indicate he was listening.
“How old is your sister?”
The battler looked at him closely, as if Mikoto’s fears were plain upon his face. “Eleven.”
Young. But not too young.
Timur jostled him. “Planning to join the family?”
Mikoto couldn’t think what to say, so he simply shook his head.
“She doesn’t know. My parents never told her.” Timur still watched him, amusement gaining strength in his expression. “You don’t know either, do you?”
At an utter loss, Mikoto shook his head again.
Timur chuckled. “My father told me that Mum’s been shredding your offers for years. By hand. With a ceremonial dagger. It’s become one of her little Dichotomy Day traditions.”
Mikoto paled.
“Not to worry. It’s nothing too personal. My parents receive scads of offers. For all of us.” He smiled easily. “Once she’s done, we use the tatters to light a bonfire on the beach.”
“I did not know.” Mikoto wanted to defend himself somehow. “Glint must have sent them.”
“Yeah. Same herald every time. Papka gets to chatting.” Timur slung an arm around Mikoto’s shoulders.