Canny as Trees

Hisoka held still, rooted in place as surely as if he were a tree. He didn’t understand his persistent need to stay at Stately House. Perhaps the compulsion was simply another sign that he was, in truth, a bereft tree-kin. With no seed and no sibling, he’d buried himself instead.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing.

Or ….

A new idea niggled at him. Was it possible that like most trees and their kin, he was canny enough to know what he needed? And the thing he needed most was here at Stately House.

He shied away from the possibility. It would be selfish to abandon his post. A leader mustn’t be self-serving. The needs of others came first. Should be foremost. Must rule the ruler. Because to lead was to serve others.

These were things he’d always believed.

Or … had come to believe …?

Hisoka hugged a pillow, trying to remember why he’d ever been sure that the future of the Amaranthine clans had been his to secure. Why had the Emergence been the answer to every question anyone raised? How had he convinced so many to risk everything for peace?

Had it worked because he’d secured their trust? Or was he only trusted because his plan worked? Two centuries of preparation. Decades of wondering if cooperation was possible for the clans, then if they’d see eye-to-eye with the reavers of the In-between. And finally, peace with a planet full of humans busy with their own struggles and disputes.

How could anyone have guessed that their unveiling would sweep across the world, changing the landscape on a scale that hadn’t been seen since the Maker answered Veliel’s restless longing with a single word—bloom.

“Leaf and twig before flower and fruit,” Hisoka murmured.

All at once, at the faintest of sounds, his heart gave a feeble leap.

He knew that step in the hall, knew the rhythm of the knock before it ever touched the door. Hisoka curled more tightly under the blankets, embarrassed for Michael to see him like this.

The man paused on the threshold, no doubt sensing Hisoka’s mood. With a more cautious tone that usual, Michael said, “Good morning, Sensei. Do you have time for me?”

“You should not have to ask.” Hisoka winced at the creak in his voice. How long since he’d last spoken? Or bothered to drink? He was parched as sand, and he’d let the tea Rhomiko poured earlier go cold. A vague apology died on his lips when he uncurled enough to see past his blankets.

Michael sat rather heavily on the edge of the bed and held out his hand.

Hisoka poked his own out from under the covers, all the while eyeing the crisscrossing bands of cloth that bound one of the wardstones to Michael’s upper body. “I already knew your affection for crystal was unrivaled the whole world over.” He sat up, rubbing wearily at his hair. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you began doting on them as you would your children.”

With a light laugh, Michael said, “Babies need a healthy amount of doting. Would you like to help me pamper this one?”

Hisoka touched the topmost curve of the stone, the green shining prettily against the dark blue of Michael’s tunic, setting sparkles into eyes that held concern. The man’s soul was all lightness and luster, starry enough to dazzle, soft enough to do no harm, even as it looped around Hisoka in intangible ways.

Not because he was special. Well, no more special than anyone else in Michael’s circle of friends. Because as he was always saying, Michael always got attached.

Hisoka was far less trusting. Even less so, given recent betrayals.

And yet he longed for this man, for his Michael.

According to Rhomiko, Nemi had known what he needed, wanted him to trade his Michael for a miko. For Rhomiko. Let go this starry soul and embrace a half-star.

Hisoka had always thought that trees and stars were meant for each other. History was repeating itself, or perhaps themes were recurring. For Hoshiko, there had been Nemi, and on some level, Hisoka had wanted Michael to be his star. In a sudden flash of clarity, Hisoka realized that if he pushed the analogy further, he’d essentially chosen Jacques for his tree. The safest of companions. Seductive yet chaste. His place to return. The arms in which he slept.

His mortification intensified. A tom of his years, playing house like a child. Makeshifting bonds that were doomed to be both unrequited and ephemeral.

“Sensei?” Michael tugged him into an embrace made clumsy by the chrysalis, humming in the funny approximation of purring he’d developed as a child. An endearing quirk.

Michael also wordlessly opened himself up for tending, oblique permission for Hisoka to take what he wanted. Not that he ever did. He’d gotten good at polite evasion. Timely distraction. Gracious refusal.

Well, there had been that one time when he’d allowed himself to take comfort in the manner of felines. But that had been Jacques, whose soul had posed no temptation and who understood cats and their ways. This was Michael. Like the fox who’d raised him, he’d chosen once and well. That was yet another thing Hisoka found charming about Michael. He was the sort of man who believed in true love.

“Sensei, please don’t put me off. You need this.”

“I can’t.” Hisoka was too tired to deflect. Too weary to be wise. “It’s not my way.”

Michael, being Michael, actually listened. “No? But you want to. I can tell that much. Or did you mean … oh. I wonder why I never considered …? Ah, yes, I think see.”

Hisoka didn’t believe him.

“Well, then,” Michael said gamely. “Shall I?”

Little reavers with stellar lineages were taught to let an Amaranthine set the pace in a tending session. As a courtesy. By the same token, they were sigiled and warded and sealed and trained that generosity could be dangerous. Strictly portioning their soul kept both parties safe.

Restraint had long been the hallmark of Michael’s tending, so Hisoka wasn’t in any way ready for the sudden tide that stole his breath and left him dizzy. Vaguely, he was aware that he’d pushed up onto his knees, that his hands were on Michael’s shoulders, that he’d pressed his face to the man’s neck in silent plea, teeth gritted for fear of what he might beg for.

“All right, Sensei. Trust me.”

Slowly, Hisoka eased away, retreating to a more polite distance. Sitting back on his heels, he took Michael’s hands. Handholding had always been Michael’s way when it came to tending, so Hisoka was startled when the man gently pulled free.

“Right then. Lie back against the pillows.” A firm push at Hisoka’s shoulder reinforced the order.

He did as he was told.

Michael worked at the sling, loosening until he freed the chrysalis. “Your turn,” he announced, carefully lowering the crystal onto Hisoka’s bare chest.

The stone was warm, smooth, and heavy. Fleetingly, he worried that Michael would hurt himself, lugging so much weight around.

“Hold still. Keep them steady.”

Again, Hisoka obeyed, bracing the chrysalis with both hands.

Michael folded away the carrying cloth, then straightened the blankets. Next, he crossed to the table, raided one of the trays abandoned there, and returned with water. All while maintaining the giddying tumult of tending that stole Hisoka’s ability to protest.

“Drink.”

Hisoka did.

“When did you last eat?”

He could only shake his head.

With a small nod, Michael returned to the trays, and after much rattling through their contents, brought something that smelled savory. “Open your mouth.”

Startled by this entirely unprecedented turn of events, Hisoka parted his lips to receive a morsel of food. His stomach immediately rumbled for more.

Michael smiled crookedly. Still, his tone was firm when he said, “All of this then. It’ll do you as much good as the tending.”

Hisoka knew he should protest. He didn’t. Mostly because Michael didn’t give him the chance. All Hisoka could do was yield, allowing Michael to dictate their pace, pressing more on him than Hisoka ever would have let himself take. Utterly awash, he basked without burning and felt safe.

Even though Michael was close enough to notice.

Even though there were no secrets left to hide.

“Sensei?”

When had he closed his eyes? Hisoka stirred himself enough to open them and blinked to focus. Michael’s expression was difficult to read, but they were connected deeply enough for Hisoka to catch moods. Michael was happy about something. Hardly surprising. Michael was always happy about something.

“Hmm?”

Michael quietly asked, “Can you feel that?”

He was feeling a great many things, but Hisoka shook his head.

“This resonance. It’s pleasant, don’t you think?”

Hisoka smoothed his hands up over the wardstone. When had it begun to sing? Surely this wasn’t the first time. Because this melody had been reeling through his mind for days.

“I think they’re making a bid for attention.” Michael smiled approvingly at the stone. “Argent expects me to sort out what these little ones need, but I’m mostly at a loss. So far, the only things I’ve discovered are that they resonate with certain people … and that Rhomiko seems to know when the rock imps have chosen them.”

“And this one chose you?”

“Us,” Michael gently corrected. “You and I. So you see, I really do need your cooperation.”

Hisoka’s curiosity stirred. “Is it always two people?”

“So far, yes. I’m pleased to have been singled out, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say paired off. Experiencing the phenomenon firsthand is bound to help me understand what’s going on. I don’t have any answers, though.” Michael peered thoughtfully at the chrysalis. “I would expect there to be instincts at work, but I’m not sure if there’s something you and I are meant to provide …? Or if they’re drawn to something that exists between two people …?”

Hisoka cautiously asked, “Who else do they resonate with?”

“They first fixed upon Isla and Lapis.”

“Oh.”

“Mmm. But before we leap to conclusions, the other duo is Timur and Sinder.”

“That’s … unexpected.” Hisoka searched his memory for mentions of Michael’s son in Sinder’s reports. “I know they became acquainted last summer.”

“Timur’s never mentioned Sinder to me. Then again, we mostly talk about Gregor. I didn’t even realize Sinder was here until Rhomiko pinpointed him as Timur’s other half. So there must be a bond.”

“Or there will be. Did you ask him?”

“Certainly, but much of what Order members do with dragons is held in the strictest of confidence. So Timur only said they worked closely for a short time.” A smile played at the corners of Michael’s mouth. “Sinder is more likely to let something slip. Or … Jacques might know. He inspires confidences.”

Hisoka winced.

The concern was back in Michael’s gaze. “Argent didn’t go into any particular detail, but I got the impression that you and Jacques …? Was there a falling out?”

“I didn’t recognize him.”

Michael didn’t question his excuse. Only asked, “Did anyone explain why?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. I haven’t been listening.”

“Will you listen to me?”

Hisoka fidgeted. After the last bombshell, discovering that Kodoku and his twin were Nemi’s children, he was honestly afraid of what he might hear.

Michael’s tone shifted, and he firmly said, “Listen carefully.”

So Hisoka did.

When Michael finished filling in parts of the rescue mission to which Hisoka hadn’t been privy, one question remained unanswered. Feeling peevish, he asked it. Again. “What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I have no idea.” Because Michael had served as his confessor, Hisoka grumbled, “I’ve always had a star to ask.”

Gaze searching, the man posed, “Has that changed?”

Hisoka hesitated, unsure how to answer. Rhomiko might have a star’s legacy, but they’d spent their whole life in captivity.

“Rhomiko knows things. I cannot imagine they would mislead you.”

Michael didn’t say it, but there was weight to his implication. Hisoka—leader of the Emergence, orchestrator of the New Saga, the one everyone looked to for guidance—liked for someone else to be in charge.

“Have I made your life more difficult by needing you?”

Evasion was reflexive. “Do you need me?”

“Sensei!” Michael exclaimed in disappointed tones.

Hisoka averted his face.

“Do you know what I think?”

He gestured mutely for Michael to continue.

“Rhomiko is learning as much as they can as quickly as they can, and they’re making a place for themself here at Stately House. I think it’s for your sake. And … I think that means your place is here, too.” Michael betrayed a hope that was as true as it was tempting. “At heart, you’ve always been a teacher. Stay, Sensei. Teach at Stately House.”