Impish Protocols

When Michael jogged through the kitchen, cloak billowing, Tsumiko happened to be between him and the door, which forced him to face her. She asked, “Has something happened?”

He did a terrible job trying to hide his crystal-topped staff behind his back. “Ah! Well, not … precisely …?”

She gestured to the staff, which she knew had come to him when he’d been granted status as First of Wards. While its remnant stone wasn’t Stately House’s anchor, it acted as a key of sorts. Michael had explained its function to Kyrie back when he was still quite small. Six? Maybe seven? Now that she was thinking on it, Tsumiko recalled that her son hadn’t asked about the stone. No, he’d asked Michael to introduce him to the stone. Because the little boy had winnowed out its remnant song from among the myriad voices that only he seemed able to hear. The resulting lecture had been incidental.

“Is there a problem with the wards?” she pressed.

“As it happens, Kyrie called. He and Boon are on their way, and they need a … well, a back door.” With a tentative smile, Michael added, “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

Tsumiko stepped aside, and the moment he was gone, Tsumiko softly called, “Sonnet?”

“I’m here, Lady.” The wolf dropped a cardigan around Tsumiko’s shoulders before scooping Mercy from her arms. “Button up, love. The weather’s turning.”

On her way across the snow-drifted garden, Tsumiko pushed her arms into thick woolen sleeves and fumbled with fastenings, but most of her attention was on the sky. A storm wheeled out over the water.

Michael was already up on the wall overlooking the drop-off to the beach, his staff held ready. Deece was at his side, along with a few of their Kith, and Ginkgo was on his phone, his expression unusually grim.

She hung back, not wanting to interrupt. Perhaps he was talking to Kyrie? Michael said he’d called ahead, asking for help. Because of a storm. No. Rhomiko had said there were three storms. Was Kyrie bringing them home? It didn’t take much of a stretch of the imagination to believe he could.

Kyrie, who heard the songs of stone and the whispers of wind.

Kyrie, who beguiled strong wills with swaying words.

Kyrie, who slipped out of notice, simply by holding still.

Tsumiko hadn’t been surprised when Sinder gave his assessment of Kyrie’s reaver qualities—crystal adept. Michael had formalized matters, inviting the boy to become his apprentice, even though it was obvious in hindsight that he’d been guiding their son all along. Only the ambuscade part had baffled her. Kyrie was such a gentle soul.

And yet … she thought he didn’t confide in her as much as he once had. Not that he was hiding anything. He simply didn’t share every little thing. Their interests overlapped, for they both loved books. But Kyrie had a way of taking the things she found academically fascinating and putting them to immediate use. He stole from every saga and song, arming himself with lore, winning the aid of lorefolk.

Kyrie had always been sweet-natured, compassionate, and kind. Yet Sinder had so eagerly asked that they recast him as a battler. An unforeseen shift. She’d hoped for peace. Kyrie seemed more disposed to fight for that peace … and to defend it.

She could tell whenever his sly little sigils settled on her, whisper-light and hopeful as prayers. When the truth of his parentage had come out, he’d changed. Maybe it had been a loss of innocence. Maybe he’d caught a glimpse of purpose, much as she’d done when he’d been placed in her arms. If Tsumiko had to put it into words, she’s have said that Kyrie was the self-appointed guardian angel of every crosser at Stately House.

The only thing that saddened her was that they needed guarding at all.

Something teased at her, an awareness honed by years of raising a dragon’s child. Despite her concerns, she found herself smiling. Because Kyrie had a guardian angel of his own. “Sibley, are you close by?”

“Hi, Lady. You noticed me? That’s pretty good.”

Tsumiko offered her hand. “Your ears are better than mine. Can you tell me what they’ve been saying?”

The boy came forward, boots crunching in snow. His deep red eyes only lifted briefly to hers. “My claws. I wouldn’t want to hurt you any.”

“Where are the gloves I asked Randolla to make for you?”

He pulled his hands from his pockets, showing them.

“Come here, Sibley. Will you tell me what they’ve been saying? I don’t want to interrupt.”

Gaze full of a heartbreakingly wary sort of hope, he let himself be swayed.

He was sweet, but this was so silly. Sibley definitely got close to others—Uncle Jackie, Ginkgo, Boon, Akira. She didn’t like being an exception, even though it proved he cared. Giving Sibley her full attention, Tsumiko promised, “You won’t hurt me just by being close. If I hug you, will you hug me back?”

“Okay, I guess. If you’re sure …?”

She slipped her arms around sturdy shoulders and pulled him into contact. He hid his face against her thick sweater. Slowly, cautiously, he put his arms around her waist and proceeded to cling. She smoothed wavy hair and quietly asked, “If I love you, will you love me back?”

His hold tightened, and he nodded, nuzzling closer.

Tsumiko let everything else fall away, as if the two of them were a world unto themselves. She went right on petting his hair, giving him time to get used to the idea that this was his place just as much as Stately House was. Argent did this with the children, too, urging them to take in his scent, to learn his voice, to find reasons to trust.

Sibley lifted his face in order to meet her waiting gaze. He said, “There’s a storm coming. It’s chasing Kyrie. Him and Boon will outrun it, and … umm … P-papka’s gonna open the way. Only Deece is worried about what else might get in if they do.”

He was a good communicator, this boy. She knew Michael was encouraging all their new children to simply call him Papka. Sibley was shy about it, though.

“Chased by a storm?” she echoed, turning to peer at the sky again. “Kyrie usually gets along very well with winds.”

“This one’s pissed. Oh. Sorry, Lady. It’s … uhh … incensed. That’s a word I learned from Uncle Jackie. It’s a good one, yeah?”

“Uncle Jackie knows many fine words,” she murmured. He was the one person Sibley wasn’t shy about owning. Jacques had been his Uncle Jackie right from the start. It was too bad Argent’s protective streak was keeping everyone from their favorite uncle.

Ginkgo turned then. Possibly to spare her from questions about whether or not Uncle Jackie could have visitors yet. Dropping from the low wall, he asked, “Need a boost?”

“Please.”

Sibley stepped back, and Deece took her hand, steadying her upon this new vantage point, which offered an unparalleled view of sea and sky.

“You, too, little bro.” Ginkgo urged, and Sibley reclaimed his place.

This time, Tsumiko could tell that he wasn’t clinging for comfort. His arms around her waist were an anchor, lest she fall. She saw Ginkgo’s approving nod and held her peace. According to what Jacques and Boon has shared with her, Sibley had gone out of his way to protect the children at the lab where they’d been found. He would be a leader, this boy.

Michael murmured under his breath, a lilting string of words in another language. Not for the first time, she thought it sounded like he was casting a spell. But now she knew that the incantation was Old Amaranthine poetry, and that the verses were a traditional invitation to any willing winds. Their cooperation made sigilcraft possible, or so the stories went.

She added silent prayers for Kyrie’s safe return.

Ginkgo’s ears twitched her way, and he smiled. “Lousy time for Dad to be gone, but Boon’s more than a match for most things. And so’s his backup.”

Following his nod, Tsumiko spied several wolves striding their way, confidence in their swaggers and in the easy sway of their tails. Whatever was coming, the Elderboughs were ready. Ninook, who was Adoona-soh’s bondmate, was in the lead, and Pim Moonprowl, one of Boon’s bondmates, was at his flank.

Ginkgo said, “The barrier’s only going to be down for a few moments, but just in case someone’s been lurking in the area, waiting for an opening ….” He trailed off with a shrug.

“Is that the only danger?” Tsumiko didn’t like the look of the sky.

“Probably. Kyrie’s stirred up trouble, but I think Dad’ll be proud of him. He freed some captive wind imps, so all that? The storm’s just one big, worked-up Impression, and it’s chasing our guys home.”

“The storm’s attacking?”

“Mmm. I think that’s overstating things. What’s that story? The Boy and the Thundercloud? Like that.”

She was surprised into laughing. “But that’s a love story.”

“I know. And little bro is three-timing it. Not bad for a crosser!” Ginkgo cheerfully added, “One more imp, and he’ll be the only dragon to ever match Lord Beckonthrall’s good fortune.”

Michael warned, “I’ll be lowering the first few sections now, so … guard up.”

Deece traded a look with Ninook, who calmly readied a bow that was nearly his own height. Tsumiko had time to register the crystal glittering at the point of the arrow he nocked. Then Ninook signaled to his packmates, and they leapt into the sky, taking up what must have been a defensive formation out over the water.

“So it is him. I am glad I came.”

Tsumiko turned. Opulence Windlore had arrived without a sound.

His gaze was on the sky, but his words were for her. “It would seem I have another confluence of destinies to weather. Ah. No pun intended.”

Tsumiko had reason to be grateful for the dragon bard’s arrival in their household. His lullabies had a calming effect, and his breezy manner helped to offset the current mood at Stately House. She might be the heart of their home, but emotions were running high, and that made setting a peaceful tone especially challenging.

Unrequited loves.

Unfinished business.

Unexpected bonds.

Unhappy children.

“A confluence of destinies?” she echoed with a smile, appreciating the allusion to an angel whose stories were popular with the children. “Are you embracing Fandriel’s foresight? Or his faith?”

“I fear my situation resembles one of Fandriel’s misadventures at this point.” There was an uneasiness to Opal’s smile when he sought her gaze. “Something more along the lines of … be sure your sins will find you out.”

Kyrie had never approached home from the direction of the sea, and he was having trouble picking out the right section of shoreline. Only once they were near enough for him to catch the resonance of Sinder’s underwater array did he realize that there were illusions at play, masking the view. “I have not been tuned to these barriers.”

“Sinder and Argent might be the only ones.” Boon checked his speed, then pulled up short. “Uhh … uh-oh. Seems we have another contender for your attention.”

Following the wolf’s gaze, Kyrie gasped.

“I’m not due for any visitations that I know of. Not sure these guys ever make appointments, though.” Boon blandly said, “Given this and that, it’s probably for you, yeah?”

“I do not know that star.”

“Neither do I. Want to say hey?”

“I would. Very much.”

Boon redirected, but he kept to a much slower pace. “I’m not totally unfamiliar with protocols here. Want me to do the talking?”

“Please.” Kyrie swiftly created two small sigils to protect them from a star’s unique allure. He’d just patted Boon’s into place when they came even with the gleaming person who’d caught the wolf’s eye.

Boon said, “Do you have a message for one of us? Or … maybe a personal stake in the proceedings?”

“As it happens … both.”

Kyrie knew two stars. Novi, who had spoken to him at Wardenclave. And Eri, who had quietly joined their enclave when Andor Skypact had accepted the place—and privacy—Dad had offered. Apparently, the bear clansman’s former home had become popular with tourists, which hadn’t been good for Andor’s mood. Or for his precious bumbers.

Like those two stars, this one was luminous, with a cascade of creamy hair. But Kyrie was intrigued that this star’s eyes had been artfully adorned. Surrounded by sharp lines of red paint, with rosy hues blended outward in a fashion that appealed to the dragon in Kyrie. Would Mother let him try it? In addition, the star wore a carved stone pendant. Pure white. Coiling scales. A dragon, beautiful in its intricacy.

“I am Zeriel, and I only wanted to make certain that Haizea does not succumb to exhaustion.” A solemn gaze sought his. “She needs you, Kyrie. Go to her, and call her by name. She will be glad to find that Anan is already with you.”

Boon pivoted. “Aww, hell. Poor thing’s running out of steam.” And he shot back the way they’d come.

Kyrie’s conscience pricked. “Should we have thanked him?”

“Angel says go, you go. We can thank him for the heads-up sometime else.” Boon pulled Kyrie snug against his chest and dropped, only making small adjustments as they plunged toward a waterspout wavering in advance of the larger storm.

The controlled fall was like nothing Kyrie had experienced before. Exhilaration bubbled over in a delighted laugh that probably wasn’t appropriate under the circumstances. He glanced guiltily at Boon, who grinned. “Nothing strange about a dragon finding pleasure in flight. You probably crave the sky as much as the next drake.”

“I … yes. I believe I do.”

“You know what? I’ll bet you’d love surfing. Once summer’s here, lessons. And more airtime.” With an intensity that came on suddenly, Boon asked, “Ever ride a wolf before today?”

“Only Torloo.”

Boon held his gaze for a long moment, and in that brief space, a choice was made. “In the old days, ambuscades were always partnered by wolves.”

Kyrie considered the trail at his feet and made an oblique statement of his own. “I want to become my clan’s tribute.”

“Music to my ears. But I’ll have to wait my turn.” Slowing to a stop above low-rolling waves, Boon boosted Kyrie back onto his shoulders. Giving his calves a squeeze, he rumbled, “Okay, kid. Do your thing.”

Kyrie composed himself and sang a few lines, and the waterspout veered their way. He quietly said, “Anan? Haizea is here. Help me?”

The thunderstorm grumbled, “What are you on about? Why are you so pretty?”

Feeling foolish, Kyrie ventured, “Dragons are pretty?”

“There is that. Yes, that is a point in your favor. But you have shine!” It sounded like an accusation.

“The kind you need?”

“Well, it’s better than a bottle,”the thunderstorm grumped. But then he seemed to catch up with what Kyrie had said. “Haizea? She’s here?”

“And she is growing weaker. She needs a safe place? Can I do that? Is there … is there room?”

“Get me closer!”demanded Anan. “Don’t you dare let her fade!”

Kyrie renewed his song, and this time, he threaded it with more than sway. For he did have shine—carefully kept, secretly nurtured.

Boon’s grip tightened. “That’s …! Hell and hellions, kid, that’s a dangerous combination.”

Oh, it was. Or it could be. But Kyrie only ever used it to sooth away nightmares, to sweettalk wardstones, and now, to woo another wind to his side. Because Zeriel has sent him. Because Anan had asked it. Because Haizea needed the haven he could become.

Kyrie wasn’t sure how much—or even how—Anan could see, but his voice came again, rough with urgency. “More of that, dragonling. I can’t … quite … reach.”

“Closer, Boon!”

“Not a problem. I gotchu.” With the audacity of a surfer who doesn’t fear the curl of a wave overhead, Boon dropped into the eye of Haizea’s dwindling storm.

Immediately, Kyrie could feel a vibration coming up through his heels. Boon was trying to soothe the storm in his own way, with a wolvish rumble. Worried it might frighten their wind, Kyrie tuned his voice, truing it to that note, and from within came Anan’s voice.

“A wolf. Always did like a wolf. Never fears a storm. Knows how to howl.”

So winds could appreciate the songs of wolves? All the better. Kyrie added a cadence he’d learned from Torloo, high and sweet, a promise of peace.

Haizea showed far less reluctance than Anan had done. Maybe she was simply too weary to resist. Maybe it was the exasperated orders coming from the thunderstorm. Whatever her reasons, Kyrie felt a definite shift in her mood. Water sheeted back into the sea, leaving a swirl of wind that lifted his hair and explored his scales with whispery little touches. When he drew breath for the next lyric of his song, it caught in his throat.

A sudden well of heat startled him into stillness.

“Kyrie?” checked Boon. “Everything good?”

“Is she safe?” he whispered.

“So weak,”Anan complained. “She needs to borrow. Is there more?”

“They want more.” Kyrie leaned down, seeking Boon’s gaze. “Anan says she needs it. They need it.”

“Planning to tend them?” The wolf pulled him down and cradled him close. “That’s real generous and all. But are you sure that’s the best course? I’m in no place to criticize, but I speak from experience when I say … you’ll be bond-building. Possibly in triplicate.”

“If I release them again, once they are stronger …?”

Boon cracked a smile despite the worry in his gaze. “I’m probably not the best one to advise you on this. Because I’m the kind of guy who’d love to add a wind-wielding, barrier-wrecking, wolf-riding, sway-capable ambuscade to my team.”

“Ohhh,” Kyrie breathed, and Anan shared in his delight, for he’d let some of his reserves spill over.

“Your parents are gonna skin me for this.”

“I will protect you.”

“What’re you …? Kid, those were binding words.” Boon eyed him keenly. “Why vow it?”

“Because you are one of mine now.”

“Huh.” As Boon turned toward home, he bluntly asked, “Did you know Sinder thinks you’re our best weapon against your sire?”

“Yes.”

“Argent isn’t likely to let you test that theory.”

Kyrie decided to be honest. Brutally so. “Dad could try to stop me.”

“There’s that attitude again.” Boon frowned. “You don’t think he can?”

“No.”

“I hope you don’t plan to go off on your own ….” Boon gruffly said, “Tell me you’re smarter than that.”

“I am.” Kyrie knew it was the truth when he added, “I will not be alone.”

Ginkgo lifted Tsumiko to the ground and urged her to back up. She listened, if only because she knew Argent expected him to protect her. She hugged Sibley to her side as barriers fell and the wind whipped up.

Boon dropped through the opening Michael made. Already, the barrier was reforming. Perfectly coordinated. No signs of trouble.

Then Kyrie stood in the snow, and Ginkgo was kneeling before him, hands roaming, nose working, words welcoming.

“Okay if I go, too, Lady?” asked Sibley.

She hadn’t realized how tight her hold had been. Patting his shoulder, she smiled and nodded.

Ninook and the Elderboughs were still in the air, but Pim had followed Boon to the ground. While she didn’t fuss over him, her tail puffed wide, and there was a definite twitch.

Boon hauled his bonded into a one-armed hug and said, “Easy does it. That was more excitement than danger. And it’s not over. I don’t doubt we’ll be seeing some unseasonable rain.”

Ginkgo spoke up. “Michael says he can block the weather but he’d rather not.”

“It’s all good. I’m pretty sure we should let the typhoon get to the kid.”

“How do you figure?” Ginkgo challenged.

“Angelic say-so.”

“Which angel?” asked Opal.

Tsumiko wasn’t sure when the bard had slipped behind her. When she tried to step aside to stand with him, he edged backward, as if trying to hide.

Boon said, “Nice enough guy. Real considerate. Gave the name Zeriel.”

“Well, that could become awkward,” muttered Opal. “Or perhaps ironic? Definite hints of poetic justice. We disagreed, you see. On whether I took the right course. But I stand by my interpretation, not that I am the sort to say, ‘I told you so.’”

Tsumiko tried to sort through what he’d said. “You and Zeriel?”

“Yes, yes. Zeri and I.”

And putting the pieces together, she lowered her voice. “You’re Zeriel’s dragon?”

“Oh! You are familiar with our story? That ballad is quite obscure. Stopped performing it ages ago. Yes, I am Zeri’s dragon. Though it is equally accurate to say he is my star.”

“We must tell Suuzu,” she said warmly. “On account of the nippets.”

“Charming tradition. But dear lady,” Opal inclined his head to where Kyrie stood hand-in-hand with Sibley. “You are wanted.”

“I am home, Mother.”

“Welcome back,” she murmured. “I’ll want the whole story eventually, but for now … are your new friends safe? Do they need anything we can provide? Or send for?”

“I would like Papka to check on them, please. And … Grandfather Naoki has considerable experience with lorefolk.” He looked as if he were about to ask for something more, but his expression shifted to surprise, and he looked up.

Over his head, a storm cloud billowed into existence, small and black and surly.

Kyrie asked, “Are you really going to …?”

And with a fizzling pop that might have been meant for thunder, the cloud began to drizzle on him and Sibley. Murmuring an apology, Kyrie took two quick strides to one side, which put a slack-jawed Sibley in the clear.

Tsumiko could only stare.

Everyonewas staring.

“Sorry.” Kyrie hunched his shoulders and glanced sheepishly at his cloud cover. “Anan must be feeling a little better, since he is strong enough to disapprove.”

Tsumiko thought her son looked quite happy with this new development. He lifted his face, letting the rain wash it. She said, “You must be freezing.”

“It is cold, but I do not think I should bring a thunderstorm into the kitchen.”

Gingko said, “Sibley, help me get a fire going?”

Tsumiko took a step closer. “You really are just like The Boy and the Thundercloud.”

Kyrie blinked a few times before saying, “That might be interesting, but I do not think Anan is flirting with me. He believes I am abandoning Dima, even though I will not. She is the typhoon I must next sing to my side.”

Every head turned to consider the oncoming storm.

“And … he thinks I have betrayed them to an old enemy.” Kyrie’s gaze turned cool as he considered a point just above Tsumiko’s head. “What did you do, Opulence Windlore?”