Every time I turn around, I trip over an ulterior motive.”
Mikoto plucked up a bundle of fringed fettle. “Should I be worried? As headman, I mean?”
Timur glanced at Fend, whose lip curled. “Not as headman. But you struck your own bargain with Sinder, yes?”
“I did. You heard?”
“Not much, no details. But a dragon’s pledge has a certain ring to it. Hard to miss.”
Mikoto sighed. “You have confided in me. I would gladly offer a return of trust, but my secret is more of a mystery. In truth, I already confided in your sister.”
“Lilya?”
He backed up. “The first time we met, Tenma somehow mistook me for an Amaranthine, Zisa began dropping little hints about Impressions. After that, Tenma placed a call to your sister Isla. She is very knowledgeable.”
“Oh, she is at that. And did she sort your problem?”
Mikoto studied his hands, then glanced toward Sinder. “She said I needed a dragon.”
“And did Sinder sort your problem?”
“Not yet.” With a sigh, he admitted, “Nobody has said so outright, but I am beginning to think I fell in love with the wrong girl.”
Timur went still, his gaze sad. “Tell me about it.”
“May I help with these?” Indicating the warming pots and crushed herbs, Mikoto asked, “Do the standard proportions change for dragons?”
With a bemused look, Timur said, “For dragons, I double the mallow pulp, and I’ve added some lemongrass for Sinder, since he favors bright scents. You know the healing arts?”
Mikoto supposed it was his turn. “I have been working alongside a healer since I was old enough to sneak off. Merl Alpenglow is my best friend, my brother.”
“Fandriel’s foresight, you’re a welcome surprise.” Timur shoved several implements into Mikoto’s hands. “Prep four full measures. Once he’s had a wallow in the lake, daub it on thick and hot.”
“Four measures,” he confirmed, calmly lining up ingredients in the order he’d need them.
“Steady hands and a sweet soul. Looks like I’m the fortunate one, having you here.” Timur scratched at the stubble on his chin. “If you can also handle Sinder’s tending, I can focus on closing the smaller wounds with sigils. It’s the dragon way.”
Mikoto was eager to see that sort of treatment but only asked, “Is there an ideal temperature?”
Timur rattled off an acceptable range while poking through a small pouch on a cord around his neck. Withdrawing a pale green marble—undoubtedly a remnant—he addressed Sinder. “Ever had a wound warded? Medical barriers? Sigil-soothing?”
Sinder’s claws gracefully formed a no. It hadn’t even occurred to Mikoto that hand signs were an option. In hindsight, he felt silly.
“Advanced sigilcraft wrought upon the body.” Timur held up the green marble. “This will anchor my sigils. You can keep it under your tongue, or you could swallow it. Either way, I’ll need it back. Eventually.”
There was a teasing light in Timur’s eyes.
Sinder extended a clawed hand to accept the crystal. He held it up to catch the light, studying it for several long moments, then took it into his mouth.
“Did you swallow it?” asked Kyrie, sloshing around to peer curiously into Sinder’s face.
The dragon’s brow ridges arched, but he kept his own counsel on the matter.
“Oh.” Kyrie’s giggle had a fluting quality.
“Did he say something?” asked Mikoto. He’d lived among the clans long enough to know that not all communication was verbal.
“No.” The boy’s smile was wide enough to reveal fangs. “But the stone did.”
“Dragons have an especial affinity for both wind and stone, which are rudimentary for all forms of sigilcraft.” Timur grappled out of his boots and sat on the lakeshore in order to roll up his pantlegs. Finding them already damp, he shucked off his breeches and dropped them over a nearby bush. “Amaranthine scholars believe sigilcraft originated with the dragon clans, but some of the lore suggests that they learned it from the stars.”
Kyrie said, “Mother thinks that sometimes when the stories say star, they mean angel.”
“Who can say for sure?” Timur pointed out, “The stars are listed among the lost clans of sky, so they could have been Impressions. But nobody seems to know for certain.”
“Hisoka-sensei might,” said Kyrie.
Timur grinned. “Cats do love their secrets. Which puts us right back at … who can say for sure? Because everybody—especially the illustrious Spokesperson—rarely says all they could.”
Mikoto wasn’t sure what to make of the teasing tone. His hesitation must have shown on his face, because Timur wagged a finger at him.
“Hisoka Twineshaft is an old friend of the family. My respect for him is second only to my fondness.” Turning to