Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,39
ever did this sort of thing when they were alone. Timur grabbed hold with both hands, grateful for this reminder that Fend knew. And even if he didn’t fully understand, he cared.
Timur guessed his family was as close-knit as any reaver family could be. His folks were unusual in that regard, and they’d set a high standard for their own children. To choose for love. To nurture the next generation. To cherish the bonds of blood.
But Papka and Mum hadn’t seen the progeny projections and heard Uncle Sergei’s grudging admission that the Order of Spomenka was a dying breed. Timur had seen the villages, entered the enclaves, tended to dragon lords and their harems. Nobody had pressured him, but the facts were compelling.
Maybe they’d guessed he would offer.
He knew they’d been hoping.
Timur fulfilled his first short contract when he was nineteen. Quietly, but not off the record. Because pedigree was everything.
The following winter, he accompanied Uncle Sergei and a healer from the Canterbelle herd to a remote village belonging to members of the Order of Spomenka. Long days of training. Brief sessions as a one-man stable. By spring, he had more than fulfilled his contract, but he’d had enough. Because in the end, he wanted something more like what Papka and Mum had chosen.
So he’d told Uncle Sergei to refuse any other offers.
Instead, he watched for likeminded women. And he’d begun to dream about the children who were growing up without him.
Finally, he’d written an inquiry to the registry at Wardenclave, wanting to know how many sons and daughters he could claim. And if possible, to learn their names.
What he received in return was a mixed blessing. Ten sons. Fourteen daughters. And a plea from Glint Starmark himself. To meet a woman named Manya. To help her fulfill her obligation to the In-between.
She was exceptional—single digit ranking and an intellectual, a crystal adept specializing in cutting and tuning. But she would be reporting under protest. And with conditions. Because like most of the elite, she was choosy.
Manya required a top-class ward, but there were none of sufficient rank in Glint’s stable.
However, Timur’s record had tempted her out of seclusion. Battler though he might be, he was the son of the First of Wards. She would have him and no other, in the fervent hope that Timur would pass along his father’s genes.
Timur had done it before. He could do it again. And the bonus he’d receive would set him up nicely for the future. The only problem was, he wanted a better future than this. So he’d drafted a response with his own set of conditions.
He wanted to live with Manya for as long as it took to impregnate her. He wanted them to remain together for the duration of her pregnancy. He wanted to be in attendance at the birth of their child, along with Mare Rilka Withershanks. And he would take full responsibility for the child. Their baby would be his to keep.
Naively, Timur thought that with all that time and closeness, he’d be able to win Manya’s affection. On paper, they seemed suited. She could become the one true love he’d share his life with.
She accepted all his terms, provided she’d have a workshop on the premises.
Quarters were arranged at an enclave famous for both its healers and its crystal mines, and from the start, she was cool toward him.
Manya had little patience for closeness or conversation. He tried a range of thoughtful gestures and cautious flirtation, but she rebuffed everything. Most of her days were spent closed up in her workshop. She employed tests to determine when she was ovulating. What intimacy they shared was both scheduled and monitored for success. It had only taken three attempts before a pregnancy test showed positive.
All that remained was the contracted waiting period.
Little by little, Timur’s hopes grew stale and crumbled. He’d never been lonelier in his life. That’s when he finally confessed to Papka—where he was and what he’d done. That very night, he’d been visited by the silver fox who’d loomed large in his childhood. Argent Mettlebright whisked into his room, pulled him into an embrace, and let him cry.
The next night, Deece had arrived with Fend, who’d been born to Minx’s first litter. Timur remembered when that set was born, had played with the cubs. Fend had been his favorite. Apparently Timur had been Fend’s favorite, as well, and was demanding a pact.