Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,34
laughed lightly and turned his way, smiling as she tucked flyaway hair behind her ear. Lupe Navarro wasn’t very tall; he’d surpassed her height when he was only eleven. She was all confident sweetness and crooked smiles. Bold with colors. Deft with crystals. Crazy about dancing.
Lupe was a reach. Reavers of their order acted almost like a tuned crystal, able to hone in on a location, so long as they had something or someone to reach for. They were prized as navigators, but it was said that reaches of the highest order could find their way into the thoughts of an Amaranthine with whom they shared close ties. Like telepathy. Or something.
“You’re here,” Lupe said.
Mikoto thought she sounded glad of it. “You are back.”
She dimpled and accused, “You’ve changed.”
Not fast enough. Wishing he could think of something clever to say, he mumbled, “You have not.”
Lupe’s brows arched over laughing eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“He is blind,” cut in a sharper voice. Priska Runefarer casually balanced a trunk on one shoulder. Her pale blue hair was its usual mess of choppy waves, and her lip curled to reveal a dainty fang.
Priska frowned, but her tone moderated. “You do your father proud.”
“We’re sorry for your loss.” Lupe’s eyes shimmered with sympathy. “Is there anything we can do?”
He didn’t want this. Not even from her. Pasting on a smile, he slid into his role as headman. It was easier this way. “Hana will be so glad for your company. You should come by the house later. Once you are settled.”
Empty words.
Expected courtesies.
“Do you remember the way?” he asked.
Priska snorted. “I’ve been trawling these waters for more centuries than you have years.” With a scowl, she took Lupe’s arm and guided her away toward the cabins set aside for instructors and recruiters.
Mikoto let them go with nothing more than an awkward wave.
He knew how to fall and how to fight, but there had been no fending off the blow Lupe delivered. Turning on his heel, he stumbled off the path and into the woods, desperate to be alone before coming to terms with three things he hadn’t expected.
He could see that Lupe was abundantly happy. He knew the significance of the ornamental sigil decorating her brow. And he understood the meaning of the curves Lupe’s dress didn’t quite hide. She was going to be a mother.
EIGHTEEN
Eastern Bride
Sinder limped along the path to his new quarters. Zisa’s guest house was small by any standard, but it wasn’t a comfortless, woods-damp tent. And it was safe. Right now, Sinder desperately needed that sense of security.
Even with Michaelson absent from their ranks, the recruits were getting on nicely, and Sinder was hiding fresh bruises. He’d barely managed to convince Torloo he could make it back on his own. It wasn’t that far. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t going to get any easier.
All Sinder wanted was a soft bed. And he wouldn’t refuse a dosing once Timur finished up his First Day duties with the campers. Sinder stumbled and swore, quickly straightening when he realized that Fend was sprawled across Zisa’s doorstep. Very much alert.
“I’m fine,” Sinder muttered.
Fend’s lids lowered a fraction. So skeptical.
With a hushing motion, he eased around the big feline. “Between you and me, this is nothing compared to what’s ahead. So leave it.”
A foolish demand. Fend couldn’t exactly spread Sinder’s paltry secrets.
He laid back his ears and glared.
“You know, you’re probably right.” Indulging in a tired sigh, Sinder whispered, “I like that about cats.”
Darned if the big feline didn’t roll his eyes. Fend rose, stretched, and walked away, tail lashing.
Pushing through the door, Sinder drew up short. As grateful as he’d been for the company that Timur and Mikoto provided, he’d expected an empty house at this hour. Instead, he walked in on what could only be described as a drinking party.
Ginkgo lifted a beer bottle in greeting. “Grab a seat, Sinder. I’ll pour you a glass.”
Zisa frisked forward to kiss Sinder. “Welcome home.”
“I didn’t realize you were entertaining.” Absentmindedly returning the greeting, he tallied up the tree’s guest list.
Waaseyaa sat in the corner, cradling Timur’s sleeping son.
Ginkgo’s mood was as high as his color.
The man in their midst pushed up his glasses and offered a small nod.
“Salali captured him and brought him to me.” Zisa fluttered over to the man, draping himself around the newcomer’s shoulders. “He is mine now.”
Rather than deny the tree’s claim, the man smiled and touched Zisa’s arms.