In the Bleak Midwinter

Sinder wasn’t a huge fan of eldermost anything, but especially eldermost dragons. They were exasperatingly pompous and made terrible decisions based on stuff like prevailing winds, comfort colors, or sudden cravings. Opal the Sage was definitely an eldermost dragon.

“You’re humming again.”

“Was I?” The white dragon’s smile was entirely unapologetic.

“Since when do dragons break out ‘Coventry Carol’?”

“I am a bard, you know.”

“You may have mentioned that a time or two.” More like dozens of times. And Sinder had only known the guy a scant month. He hadn’t even started a file on him yet.

“It eases people’s minds.”

“The humming?”

“The role. Dragons do love their camouflage. Bard gives the right sort of impression.”

“What’s the wrong sort?”

“I think we can all agree that the Rogue is the wrong sort.”

“So you’re not a bard?”

“I have bardic tendencies, certainly.”

“And sage-ish tendencies?”

“That appellation is mostly due to Zeri. When one has a star whispering wisdom in your ear, it is entirely possible to convince the world that you are a sage.”

Sinder couldn’t decide if that was self-deprecation … or a dig at Hisoka. Either way, he still wasn’t a fan.

“We should try to get along, you know.” Opal’s gaze was unsettlingly clear. “While this is neither heights nor harem, it has become a clan home. We are elder brothers, wise guides, keepers of kindred tales and lore, teachers of the sagas and the songs.”

“You’re staying?”

“My vow is made.”

Sinder hadn’t realized there’d be another dragon around, and it was … okay, yeah. It was a relief. “You’re right. We should try to get along.”

“Shall we make a beginning, then? In the old way.”

“Seriously? Nobody goes through all those hoops anymore.”

“I do.”

“You’re old.”

“Come now, Sinder Stonecairne. Yield a truth I can trust, a secret I can shelter, a burden I can shoulder, and a touch that will bind.”

“So you’re a traditionalist?”

“Hardly. But you strike me as a lad who likes the idea of the old ways.” And opening the door to their first destination with a little flourish, Opal added, “You cannot deny it. Or me.”

“Fine. But you go first.” Sinder reached for the box that held the Plum Cascade.

The other dragon crossed to the case holding the Chrysanthemum Blaze and rested his fingertips lightly upon polished wood. “My truth—I have never really tried to be good. But because I wanted to live up to the hopes of my best-loved person, the world was spared from another rogue beast. Will that do?”

Sinder only needed a moment to figure out what mattered. “Your person—you called him Zeri—he’s still in the picture?”

“Very much so. Most people refer to him as Zeriel of the Beckoning Sky.”

“No kidding? And you’re his dragon?”

Opal brightened. “You’re familiar with our story?”

“Who isn’t?” Intrigued in spite of himself, Sinder said, “Okay, yeah. I’ll trust your truth.”

“Your turn.”

Sinder tried to think. “I don’t even know. Can it be anything?”

“Even the tiniest kernel of truth can take root and flourish.” And with less grandeur, “I am unlikely to criticize, lad. The stars sing of peace, and I find I want my portion.”

There were so many things Sinder could have told—about his former place, about his role in the taskforce. Nice, neutral, job-related facts. Safe topics, even if they were supposed to be secret. But instead, Sinder blurted something dearer. “I’m newly bonded.”

“An unusual turn of events for a dragon of the heights.”

“No shit. I mean … you’re not wrong. But Timur says it’s good and right and best, and I think I believe him. And since this is Timur’s home, I’m home. I’m staying, too.”

“I can only be delighted, both for you and for myself.” Lifting a finger, Opal declared, “And now a secret. I wonder which I should choose?”

“Got anything that isn’t woefully outdated?”

“As it happens, I do. But only in the sense that the information is currently applicable.” And with a sly smile, Opal revealed, “I know what your adorable rock babies need.”

Sinder stopped and turned. “How long have you known?”

“Always.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Opal sighed. “All the little dramas involved were so entertaining.”

Sinder snorted. “So you’ll give me the recipe? Or whatever?”

“Everything I know. And soon. But not just now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Priorities.” And making another scan of the room, he said, “Hold up. Where’s the Orchid Saddle?”

“Stolen.”

“What?” As far as Sinder knew, the only other people who could enter this room were Argent and Jacques.

“That thunderstorm took a fancy, and his boy indulged him.”

“Oh. That’s probably all right, then. Let’s get this to where it’s going.”

“And this.” Opal claimed the long case with its crisscrossing ribbons.

“If you say so.” Sinder picked up the pace, but he couldn’t outrun tradition.

“Your turn,” the other dragon reminded in a light sing-song.

“You need a secret? I mean, they’re part of my job. I’m not near as old, but I have more than my fair share.”

“Something personal.”

Sinder stewed over that until they were beyond the encampment of wolves and into the trees.

“I guess … I might be … sort of … in love?” Now that the worst was out, Sinder finished in a rush. “And I can’t for the life of me figure out how it happened.”

Opal diplomatically said, “To love one’s bondmate is a fine thing.”

“Okay, sure. I get that. But he’s not the one I mean.”

The old dragon got in front of him, eyes bright with curiosity. “Oh, I do love complications. Tell me more of your story.”

“There’s not much to tell. It’s just that Timur’s partner is really … distracting.”

With a soft warble that was pure happiness, Opal asked, “You fell in love with a Kith?”

Startled by the other dragon’s reaction, Sinder blurted, “Kith-kin. Which may not be a secret for much longer, but he doesn’t like to let on. Promise you won’t tell.”

“On him? Or on you?”

“Both. Please.”

“I suppose I will have to put off writing your ballad.”

“What? Is that a threat? Don’t you dare!”

“A threat? Nonsense. Composition is a form of affection, and I am growing increasingly fond of you. Now then. A burden. How can I support you?”

“You first,” countered Sinder, since he was drawing a blank.

“Ah, yes.” Opal’s expression turned pensive. “I am whole and well and that is wonderous in its way. But the fact remains that I broke.”

Knowing the story as he did, Sinder winced. “Your wings. In the old stories, you found them to reach your star.”

“Useless now. And yet the sky still beckons.”

“Need a lift?”

“From time to time.”

“I can do that.” Sinder was startled by the vulnerability in the other dragon’s expression. Eldermost or not, he had really ordinary hopes. Stuff Sinder could understand. Because once you found the place you belonged, all you really wanted after that was to be there.

Opal asked, “And for you …?”

An answer lurched immediately to mind, and Sinder guessed he’d be in so much trouble that the support of an eldermost dragon might lend a little balance. Somehow. He slowed to a standstill, suddenly feeling sick.

“Oh, my. Calm yourself, or you will upset your bondmate.” Opal adjusted his grip on the Chrysanthemum Blaze so he could reach for Sinder’s hand. “Are we not brothers, after a fashion? Tell on, Kindred.”

It was hard to say, this truth that was both a secret and a burden.

“You can tell me,” Opal said, lacing his words with sway.

Sinder was kind of glad the guy was such a jerk. Because maybe he wouldn’t think less of Sinder.

“I know where there are more,” he confessed. “Have known. For years. And I didn’t tell anyone. Or do anything. They were just … information gathered. On file. I cared enough to find them, but not enough to do anything.”

Opal gently asked, “Who are they?”

“More of the Rogue’s kids. More of Kyrie’s half-siblings.” Squeezing Opal’s hand tightly, Sinder wished he had a better excuse. “I didn’t think.”

“We are famously selfish, dragons.”

“I want to make up for it. I want to go get them. If Argent will let me.”

“The fathers are strong, but the brothers are not weak.” Opal bowed until their foreheads met, the touch to bind. “When you bring your findings to Lord Mettlebright, I will stand with you. Together, we will beseech a strong father to bring home the rest of the children who will be in our care.”

“You think he’ll just ignore that I’ve been sitting on something so important?”

“If I have Argent Mettlebright’s measure—and I am exceedingly good at divining natures—he will be glad. Your information aligns with his own determination. That is a good balance.”

“Eventually glad, sure. But does that make up for immediate indignation?”

“Use your much-vaunted wits, lad. Before we bring your findings to Lord Mettlebright, we will bring them to his lady.”

“Okay, yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Opal pulled back, let go, and indicated the path. As they hurried along it, Sinder decided he felt just the tiniest bit better. But there might still be some heartfelt abasement in his near future. Like when he admitted all of this to Kyrie.

Kyrie considered the face of his biological father. It was a stranger’s face. Naturally, there were traces of this person in all of his newfound half-siblings. The shape of his eyes. The curve of his jaw. The arch of his brows. The line of his nose.

Uncle Boniface had told Kyrie that he had his biological mother’s smile. What legacies would he carry forward from his sire?

There was only one that Kyrie actually wanted.

So he would wrest it away, make it his own.

Because he was dragon enough to be greedy.

And foxy enough to pull off a diabolical scheme.

“They were right,” his sire gloated. “You’re all here.”

Kyrie wanted that clarified. “Did the vixens tell you where to find the children you sired?”

“That fox stole them, hid them here. But now I’ll steal them back.”

“Is that why you came?” Kyrie was trying to understand. It wasn’t easy. “You wished to meet us?”

“I’ll begin my own clan. For that, I need to get all of you back. A father needs children.”

“Like me?”

“You and more like you.”

Kyrie didn’t like how swiftly he was dismissed as a person. “None of my siblings are just like me.”

“That won’t matter. You’re all mine.”

“Are you certain you have any claim on us?”

“Blood.” The dragon smiled proudly. “You are one of the seeds I planted. You’re a success. A survivor. A successor. You and whatever other halfers the fox stole, you owe me your existence. You should be grateful to me!”

“Are these the things your father would tell you?”

His expression closed off. “My father is dead.”

Kyrie dared to ask, “Are you glad?”

The Rogue’s eyes narrowed.

“I am asking because you do not seem sad.”

“What do you care?”

“I am trying to understand why you want me, even though you do not care about me.”

“Because you’re mine.”

They walked in silence for several long moments before Kyrie spoke again. “I have a name.”

A snort. Very rude.

Kyrie wondered if Dr. Kodoku had bothered to teach his children any basic courtesies. “In Amaranthine tradition, the exchange of names is how two people begin to know one another. All the clans take an interest in names. When a new name is given, it can become a claim. My mother chose my name. With it, she claimed me as her own, and it embodies her hopes for me. And my father claimed me by giving me his name, bringing me into his clan.”

“Father?” retorted the Rogue. “Do you mean that fox? I hate him.”

“Yes, I mean him. I know his voice, his scent, his warmth, and his care.”

“I made you.”

“That fox is my dad.” Kyrie tried for a more even tone. “You are a stranger.”

“I’m going to kill that fox.”

He kept right on walking toward the house that was his home. “I do not think you could. But we will not know for certain, since I will not let you try.”

Another rude snort. “I can make you do whatever I want.”

“I am immune to sway.”

“There are other ways.” He flexed his claws. “I am the father now. You should listen and do as you’re told.”

Kyrie wasn’t used to so many empty words. Did this dragon even understand what he was saying. “You want me to listen? To do as you say? What would have me do?”

“Bring me the others.”

“No.”

“You will bring them!”

“No.”

The dragon glowered at him, but Kyrie thought Anan was much better at this sort of thing. He withstood his sire’s irritation with an increasing sense of detachment.

“You are a disobedient child!”

“Most of the time, I am careful to comply with my parents’ wishes. Both their rules, which are reasonable, and their expectations for proper behavior.” He got the sense that these ideas were totally foreign to his sire. Holding his gaze, Kyrie said, “Usually, I live in a way that will not disappoint them. But today, I am tempted to become a very disobedient child.”

He walked on.

The Rogue followed.

Kyrie couldn’t have said what he expected from a conversation with this person. Maybe he’d wanted to find a shred of decency inside the monster? Maybe he’d simply needed to reassure himself that this truly was the best course.

Yes. He was sure. And in that moment of decision, the Rogue’s fate was sealed.

Sinder knew—in a cerebral sense—that Andor Skypact was cozy with a descended star imp. These facts were duly noted in the vintner’s file.

Unofficially, Sinder was no stranger to stars. He hadn’t been working for Hisoka very long before he’d pegged the one who sometimes stuck close enough to give his new boss a halo. But Novi wasn’t a secret Hisoka shared with him. So while they were acquainted enough that Sinder could pick Novi’s voice out of a chorus, they really only acknowledged each other’s place in the Twineshaft cortege. And left it at that.

So Sinder’s firsthand, up-close experience was decidedly lacking. Maybe someday, he’d feel more blasé about meeting impressions, but he was pretty excited to be doubling down. If what Opal said was true, then Andor was harboring his starry business partner and a wind imp. Plus, she was something of a rockstar. He’d grown up hearing stories of the Changing Winds, so meeting the Haizea was going to be epic.

If Opal didn’t ruin it.

“You can’t just walk in!” hissed Sinder.

But the other dragon rolled his eyes, put a finger to his lips, and threw the door wide. Which was incredibly rude. And dangerous, if you believed all the stuff that was said about one of the world’s oldest—and grumpiest—bears. But it was also pretty darn informative.

Because the cabin was harboring an extra imp. And they’d caught two of them mid-kiss.

Opal was not fazed. “What a lovely surprise! Oh, this is a pleasure. If I had only known, I would have brought a suitable gift to mark the occasion. Unless … why, yes, I do think this suits quite nicely. Sinder, are you acquainted with the happy couple?”

The infamous whirlwind of legend was a dainty lady with soft ringlets. She was obviously dressed in Eri’s spare clothes, since they were doing the matchy-matchy thing. But Sinder doubted that the softly shimmering fabric was responsible for her glow of happiness. That apparently came from kissing stars.

“Nooo. I mean, by reputation, I guess? I’ve always favored an east wind.” And with increasing fluster, he was reduced to a feeble, “Hi.”

Haizea dimpled and said, “That is very sweet.”

And the guy came forward, hands on offer. “I’m Bethiel.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Bethiel of the Changing Winds … that Bethiel?”

“That is historically accurate, but I’m semi-retired. Or pivoting? You see, I’m facing a rather dramatic career change.”

“Sooo you’re Bethiel of the Changing Jobs.” Sinder hated himself the moment the words were out of his mouth. “I’ll just shut up now.”

“No, no, little brother,” countered Opal. “There are songs of celebration to sing. For their descent and for their union. Ah, the lyrics I shall write for you! Leaving the sky in order to walk with one another. And with the clans. And with humanity.”

“That’s great and all, but ….” Sinder held up the precious case he carried. “Aren’t we supposed to be rushing the Junzi to the Four Storms so they can head off the Rogue … or something?”

“No.”

“No?” Sinder watched with increasing bafflement as Opal presented the Chrysanthemum Blaze to Bethiel on both palms.

“No and not so. That confluence of destinies belongs to others. This is our part in the culminating song.”