Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,40

Even Suuzu and Akira had shown up once, when the rest of the family were caught up with their many obligations. And Fend was a constant.

His exile ended the day Manya went into labor.

Mare Withershanks kept him close, talked him through the stages, plied him with the same teas she brewed for Manya. Before he was fully prepared, the healer placed a squirming baby in his hands. And there was a tiny person squalling angrily at him.

“Your son,” Mare Withershanks said. And with a doting smile and a familiar inflection, she asked, “He is beautiful, yes?”

Timur laughed and cried and babbled nonsense to his son in every language he knew. He was awestruck and happy, and when he looked up to find Manya watching, he said, “Thank you.”

She only nodded. But it had been a nice sort of nod. Like maybe she agreed with Rilka about their son.

The very next day, she left. He stood awkwardly by the door, babe in arms, heart in his throat. “I’ll miss you,” he managed.

Manya gave him the oddest look, one of those rare moments when she looked him in the eye. As if seeing him for the first time. Or perhaps startled that he would have formed any sort of attachment. Because she obviously hadn’t.

“I’ll let you know how he’s doing,” Timur offered.

She nodded again and murmured, “You do that.”

Timur filed Gregor’s registration and received a letter from Glint in return. He’d been tempted to let Fend shred it unread, for he was determined never to take another paternity contract. Instead, he’d found the job offer. Filling in for Boon. And a small postscript. Your line is established. Look to your house.

“Fend?” Timur leaned into his partner’s bulk. “Let’s go home.”

Whiskers tickled. Paws kneaded. A tongue rasped across stubble.

“I’m all right now. Let’s reclaim our boy.”

Fend dropped to all fours, and they returned to the path. Waaseyaa was waiting on his front step, singing a song in what Timur suspected was Old Amaranthine. He admired the man, who’d probably raised more sons and daughters than any human alive. Maybe it was his confidence. Maybe it was the singularity of his attention. When Gregor was in Waaseyaa’s arms, the boy was all he saw.

“We’re a little late.”

Waaseyaa only smiled and said, “Welcome home, Timur.”

Gregor bounced and reached, and Waaseyaa turned the toddler loose. Timur swooped him up and grinned. “There’s Papka’s little battler! Miss me much?”

“Pah-kah!”

Timur grinned and glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

“Most of us were at Zisa’s. I brought Gregor out because things were becoming … noisy.” Waaseyaa’s smile tilted, and he chuckled. “I believe Ginkgo is intoxicated. Or pretending to be. He is trying to cheer up Mikoto.”

“Is something the matter?”

Waaseyaa nodded. “Although I am more concerned about Sinder.”

Timur was already backing toward Zisa’s house. “What happened?”

“I think he needs a healer. Ginkgo thinks he needs a harem.” Waaseyaa waved him onward. “Either way, he asked for you.”

Timur spun on his heel and whispered to Gregor, “We shall catch us a dragon, yes? I can teach you how. It’s a family tradition.”

One that all his other sons and daughters were probably already learning.

One that might bring them back together someday. In a place like this.

TWENTY-ONE

Persons of Interest

Sinder was in familiar territory—fading into the background, overhearing more than people realized. Without really meaning to, he was filing away details about Tenma and Mikoto. They certainly counted as persons of interest.

The Savior.

The Successor.

But to Sinder’s wearily jaded eye, they seemed like a couple of close-kept and cosseted kids. Maybe he envied them their safety. Maybe he should be proud that he was one of the guys who kept them safe.

“Prismatic?” Mikoto looked too confused to be hiding something. “Are you talking about colors?”

Ginkgo’s attention fixed on the young headman. “Sure you’re seeing straight, Tenma? He’s definitely human.”

“Do me!” exclaimed Zisa, who eased between the two men. “Look at me.”

Sinder couldn’t shake the idea that the tree knew exactly what was going on. Easing away so he could watch everyone’s reactions, he focused his senses, trying to catch the import of Tenma’s mistake.

“Oooh,” breathed Tenma. He looked between Waaseyaa and Zisa, then beamed at Mikoto. “You’re tree-kin?”

Zisa tittered.

“No?” Mikoto scooped up his puppy like he wanted to hide behind it. “Just a reaver.”

Ginkgo held up a hand. “Maybe we should start over.”

As they began a rehearsal of bland and useless facts, Sinder slipped into the only other room in Zisa’s house. While some snide part of his personality was amused because trees shouldn’t need toilets,