In the Presence of These Witnesses

Andor lumbered in, a cask of star wine on his shoulder. Seeing Bethiel in their midst, he didn’t register even a flicker of surprise. Simply tossed off a casual wave. The angel responded in glad tones, like he and the bear clansman were old friends.

Moving to stand beside Hajime, who caught and held his hand, Bethiel urged, “Carry on.”

Hisoka’s mind was utterly blank.

What was he even supposed to say.

“Yes. Right. Dearly beloved, and all that,” agreed Jacques, who had moderated his fair share of press conferences and knew how to steer a room. “Rhomiko, love, I believe you should lead off.”

The half-star made a graceful, grateful gesture that included the gathering of witnesses. “Stars. Tree. Bear. Smythe. I will say what I think, and you will tell me if it is enough.”

Hisoka rocked back into a receptive posture, and in some far corner of his mind, he could hear his sister’s teasing voice, ordering him to await, await, await. He’d never been good at it. Never wanted to lean too heavily into trust.

Jacques was his exception.

And Rhomiko was simply his.

Rhomiko said, “I have been watching, and I have seen. The way a gaze can follow and rest and plead. How the eyes reveal secrets and confirm them. What a glance can tell.

“Argent watches Tsumiko.

“Suuzu watches Akira.

“Ginkgo watches Snow.”

The half-star hesitated. “I could make a longer list, but I think there are secrets that are not mine to speak. Rather, I will confess to kinship with all those whose gaze lingers on their beloved. Because my eyes are also drawn, and my thoughts are always dwelling on the one I love to see.

“I am bound to Hisoka Twineshaft by my mother’s will and by a father’s twins. But I want an even closer tie. The closest of ties. I want a vow worthy of Song Circles and dragon song. But it can be spoken quietly. And here.”

And so with a star and a tree and a Smythe for witness, Hisoka Twineshaft said, “Yes.”

One small word.

A scant syllable.

You’d think an old diplomat like him was capable of something more eloquent. And yet Rhomiko’s expression grew more lovely, and a teary-eyed tree clapped his hands.

Bethiel spoke first. “It is good.”

Andor glanced up and gruffly announced, “The stars are singing.”

And Jacques quietly urged, “Uphold tradition, Hisoka. Kiss your bondmate.”

This time, it was Rhomiko whose posture shifted into one of willingness. “You like kisses.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Show me why.”

Many cats were comfortable with public displays, but Hisoka had always been—would always be—private in his attachments, reserved in showing his affection. So he confined himself to a kiss that was small and quiet, but no less profound than his yes.

“There is more,” Rhomiko said.

Hisoka expected there would be more. Eventually. “There is wine.”

“Not that. There is something yet unfinished.”

He awkwardly muttered, “Not here.”

“No. Not here.” Rhomiko’s hand found his. “You are needed. You need to go.”

“Where am I meant to be, if not with you?”

“Lord,” Jacques breathed. “You’re adorable, but your Romeo is right. Not to hurry matters along, but things were in a bit of a muddle when Hajime pulled me aside.”

“Isla did not listen.” Rhomiko repeated, “You need to go. Join her rescuers.”

Hisoka looked to Jacques. “Isla …?”

But it was his bondmate who answered. “The foxes who stole Mother. They have your apprentice.”

As the taskforce’s information guy, Sinder got ahold of everyone who was anyone to Isla, then tracked down the closest assets so Lapis would have support. Canarian Evernhold was a big help there, calmly suggesting the most ridiculous option.

“Sure, why not,” he muttered to himself. “I’m sure President-elect Sunfletch had nothing better to do on his one free day before his inauguration.”

But it had worked out. In spades. Because Doon-wen Nightspangle was in charge of Cyril’s security detail. Personally in charge. And Jiminy’s pack would have Jiminy’s protections. Which meant they’d be sigiled backward and forward against every possible threat. Including the kinds of foxy illusions the Hightip sisters must have used to net Isla.

Which was quite the power move. But … so, so stupid. And not just because that young woman had friends in high places.

Sinder smiled grimly at the string of messages coming across his screen. He was feeling on top of things all the way up until he walked through the door to Timur’s room … and found Kyrie and Fend—in speaking form—sitting in the middle of the floor, heads bent over a small sphere of potent stone.

“He knew?”

Fend was wrapped around him an instant later. “Jealous?”

“Maybe a little. Talk about glam.” Shimmying out of the cat’s clutches, Sinder dropped to a seat next to Anan, whose usual glower was now limned in silver. “Who fancied you two up?”

“Anjou.” Kyrie’s eyes were lined with purple, and the scales on his face had been carefully edged in glitter. “For Ginkgo’s bonding ceremony.”

“Yeahhh, too bad about having to postpone.”

“Snow understands. If he goes after Isla, she will carry him.”

“Is that wise?” Sinder asked. “Your brother’s not … wait. Actually, he spent a lot of time with Salali last summer. Not for nothing. And if there’s one thing last summer taught me, it’s to never underestimate a crosser.”

“Those vixens were unwise for taking Isla. Ginkgo is–”

“Incensed,” filled in Sibley.

Sinder hadn’t even realized the kid was in the room. Given Fend’s soft hiss, he hadn’t either. Damned if these crossers weren’t impossible to predict.

Kyrie smiled in that secretive way of his. In the know as always. He asked, “You followed me?”

“I was looking for you.” Sibley’s gaze was fixed on the Kith-kin in their midst. “And you said that when things are happening, you gotta tell Fend. Now I get why.”

“I am found out.” Fend beckoned. “Come here, Sibley.”

The boy shuffled forward, though his attention was fixed on Kyrie. “You’re extra adorned.”

“Yes.” Kyrie case a shy look at Sinder, including him in the question. “Does it suit me?”

Fend reeled in an inattentive Sibley and petted his hair. “Tell your big brother he’s pretty. Dragons like compliments.”

“Do we? I never noticed.”

Fend said, “You are the bravest of the batch. Visit anytime.”

Sibley frowned at him for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, yeah. I liked that. You give good compliments.”

Noticing that Kyrie was still waiting for an answer, Sinder twirled a finger at his own face. “The glitter might be a little too over-the-top for every day, but sure. Your eyes. It’s a good look.”

Anan growled, “We were in the middle of something important.”

“Dragons—and their needs—are important,” countered Fend. “But yes. We have decisions to make. Including Sinder and Sibley with significant looks, he smoothly added, “Welcome to the cabal.”

Sibley had already been pretty good at tracking down Kyrie, but Anan made it extra easy. Storms had a certain feel to them, and if Sibley closed his eyes, he could tell where his eldermost brother was. At least, he thought it was all Anan. Might be he was sensing that typhoon Kyrie was keeping safe.

One thing was sure. Sibley really liked guys like Anan and Boon. All that swagger and rumble and that little bit of danger. Sibley planned to be just as big and bold as them once he grew up.

He could already tell it would be right for him.

Much better than trying to be like Kyrie.

Because alike wasn’t same. Sure, Kyrie was a little older and a little taller, and his nice manners made him all elegant, sorta like Uncle Jackie and Uncle Boniface. But that was stuff Sibley could learn if he tried. Those were things around the edges of Kyrie, like the liner that adorned his eyes. Anyone could have lines like that. But could they see what Kyrie saw?

The easiest way to put it was … there was a bigness to Kyrie. Big ideas. Big plans. He was big enough to carry eldermost storms inside him. And while everyone else was wasting time, Kyrie knew just what to do and what to say. And what to ask for.

And Kyrie had asked Sibley to do something. As part of a cabal. That was a good word. Cabal. It meant a group who did things secretly. Cabals were also perfect for Sibley. He’d had a lot of practice.

Poking his nose into one of the downstairs parlors, Sibley froze when Mum’s dark eyes met his. Just like that, he was caught. She was harder to hide from that the rest, like she had a second sense when it came to sneaks.

“Hey, little bro.” Ginkgo greeted him with the lift of his chin. He was sitting on a footstool, still all dressed up for the wedding-thingie they’d called off. Since they were having an emergency instead.

Sibley checked Mum again, unsure of his welcome. Some days, the lady was as stormy as Anan, and maybe that should have scared him. Except he had fuzzy memories of another dark-eyed lady. Someone who’d liked to watch battle games and that show with Aloora Longstride in it. Not his real mother, but someone who’d shared her blanket and her bowl of popcorn.

Sansa held out a big hand and said, “Here is an elusive one. Come and let Transcendence sort your scent.”

Ginkgo said, “Sibley’s American. English, please.”

“It would have been English anywise,” countered Ginkgo’s lady. She had white hair, copper eyes, and all kinds of swagger in her soul.

“Is good, yes? A wolf is always welcome.”

Sibley hadn’t exactly been avoiding this she-wolf. She was the best kind of big and bold, too, but he’d been busy with Anjou and Etienne. “What’s transcendence?” Sibley hastily adjusted his posture to make the question more polite.

“Something that goes above and beyond. And a real mouthful.” Ginkgo asked, “Okay if the kids call you Snow?”

She inclined her head. “You may call me Snow.”

“That’s settled. Auntie Snow it is.”

“Why aunt?” she challenged.

“Respect, mostly.”

“Nobody has ever called you Uncle Ginkgo in my hearing.”

“Well, nooo. I’m just Ginkgo.”

“Then I am just Snow.” And the lady sought Sibley’s gaze to order, “Call me Snow.”

Sibley watched closely. Gingko was really good at hiding things, but not his tail. It was puffed and twitchy, and even though it’d lifted when Sibley came in, it’d gone right back to being tucked between his ankles.

But Ginkgo sounded like himself when he patted the side of his leg and said, “And this is Pact. You two met yet?”

A dog burst out from under a table, fairly prancing up to Sibley and licking his chin before running to Ginkgo and trying to clamber onto his lap.

“Come on, pup. Say hello to Sibley.”

And the dog shifted into a little boy with floppy puppy ears and silver eyes, who snuggled into Ginkgo and said, “Da.” Then stuck a finger in his mouth.

He was cute.

Sibley thought of something. “If you and me are brothers, and you’re Pact’s da, am I his uncle?”

“Well, sure. I guess that’d be right. But it might be simpler if you’re just Sibley. Kith-kin like Pact grow up fast. He’ll be bigger than both of us put together in another few years. But don’t be shy about chipping in. Big brothers are the best.”

Sibley tended to agree, but Ginkgo’s inflection made him curious. “Do you have any?”

“Big brothers? Sure I do. If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice that Boon sometimes calls me little bro. Same goes for his big brother, Roo-nii.”

“You have wolf brothers.” Sibley was kind of impressed.

With a knowing look, Ginkgo pointed out, “And you have a wolf mother, just like Pact. Go ahead, pup. Sibley will understand.”

Glad that his claws had been rendered safe, Sibley wiggled his fingers coaxingly. “Friends?”

With an achingly sweet smile, Pact lunged for him, and Sibley swung the little guy onto his hip.

“Sibby?”

“Sibley,” he corrected, rubbing their noses together. “Good for you. This place is nice. You and your mom and your da can help me and Kyrie keep it safe.” He stole a peek Sansa’s way and hopefully added, “Mum, too.”

Pact was friendly, but he was too busy to cuddle for long. When he squirmed to be let down, Sibley let him go. Moments later, the pup was back on four paws and chasing his own tail. Ginkgo and Snow barely noticed the ruckus, they were so deep in conversation. Making plans. Ones Kyrie needed Sibley to change.

Sansa crooked a finger. “I know this look. Is important, yes? This thing you want to say.”

Ginkgo’s ears pricked, and his nose took to twitching. “Sibley?”

He was ready for this. Fend had coached him. And Kyrie was depending on him. So he lifted his chin and said, “I’m here, and you’re looking at me.”

“Yeah, little bro.” Ginkgo beckoned, inviting him closer.

Sibley stayed where he was. “And while you’re looking at me, you’re not looking at Kyrie.”

The half-fox’s ears flattened. “He’s not here. He’s … off that way.” And to Snow, he added, “All the kids are tagged one way or another, just to be safe.”

“Yes,” Sibley said, calling his attention back. “He explained it real good. How I could keep you busy here while he walked out.”

“Out,” echoed Mum. “What is this out?”

Ginkgo’s eyes widened. “Tell me he didn’t go after Isla.”

Sibley shook his head. “Kyrie thinks your dad can handle another fox. But there’s this question I gotta ask you. While all of them rescuers are looking for vixens, maybe it’s to keep everyone from noticing something else.”

“Kyrie’s worried about decoys?” Ginkgo traded a look with Snow. “There are two vixens.”

“And the Rogue, yes?” Mum’s eyes held a dangerous glitter.

“Are you the kind of people who’ll listen to kids, even though we’re kids.”

Ginkgo promised, “I’m listening.”

But Snow huffed. “He’s stalling.”

Wolves. They were really good at sniffing out the truth. “Yeah. I am. I’m the decoy. And I need you to promise that you won’t leave, even though you love Isla. She’s yours, right? You fostered her.”

Ginkgo’s cheerful mask slipped some. “From the day she was born.”

“And you’re her mum,” he said to Sansa.

“Yes. Isla is my girl.”

Snow warned, “He’s still stalling.”

Sibley smiled. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why?” asked Ginkgo.

“Because there’s a problem with the new head of security for Stately House.” Sibley looked her in the eye and hoped she wouldn’t be too mad. “Pick me up.”

Without hesitation, she crossed to him and lifted him, giving him a really good look at shining copper eyes.

“Pet my hair,” he said.

Ginkgo was there, and his eyes flashed warnings. “Hey, now, little bro …!”

Because he was using sway. “Touch my nose,” he ordered next.

She did. Gently. And without any sign of resistance. Fend had been right. Snow wasn’t going to be any kind of help if they were facing a dragon.

“Da! Up!”

Ginkgo’s expression was hard to read when he lifted Pact so the little boy could pet Sibley’s hair and touch his nose. But Sibley thought Ginkgo’s drooping ears meant he got it. And that was good.

Sansa asked, “How many went? How many who hurried away were the ones who know better than to listen to dragons?”

“Most.” Ginkgo shook his head. “Most of the adults. Dragon crossers are immune. And Kith.”

“Beg pardon,” came a voice from the doorway. Opal the Sage offered a wave. “You left out dragons. And imps.”

“And Timur,” said Sansa, brimming with pride. “But these things, they are not why our boy is stalling, yes?”

Ginkgo looked worried then. “Where’s Kyrie going?”

“He’s got this friend. Seems like Kyrie cares just as much about rocks as he does winds. And one’s missing. He went looking for it.”

“The missing anchor crystal? But we checked. It’s not … oh, hell. It’s not inside the barrier.” Ginkgo shoved Pact into Snow’s other arm and ran out.

Sansa said, “Michael and I, we will secure the house. Opal, bring our people here. All of them. Empty the enclave.”

The dragon sketched a bow and slipped away.

“Let me down.” And once Sibley dropped to the floor, he quietly said, “Pact needs his mum.”

It wasn’t really an order, but it was true. And it might keep Ginkgo’s new family safe.

Because if Kyrie was right, their sire was looking for a way in.

And if Fend was right, their cabal was perfectly equipped to stop him.