Places Please

Timur was torn between getting to where the Rogue was supposed to be … and backtracking to locate his bondmate, whose emotions were all over the place. Looming over his Kith partner, he growled, “Fend! Please! Does he need us?”

“It’s all right. I got through. Sinder’s safe. The discombobulation was largely incidental and partially understandable, since there are imps involved.” With a decidedly sulky expression, Fend asked, “Should I be worried that he made a point of telling me that he’s not getting up to anything with the east wind?”

“He favors the east wind.”

“I know. And he’s singing for her.”

Timur thought he was missing something. “He’s wooing a wind imp?”

“Wooing may be too strong a term, but I do think he wants to impress her. She’s one of the set Kyrie brought back from Keishi. And I’m no happier about it than you are.”

“Sinder is trying to woo an eldermost storm?” Jealousy warred with incredulity. “Should we go get him?”

With a gusty sigh that was half-hiss, Fend said, “No. He’s in awe, not in love. And she’s spoken for. He’s dueting over some sort of impish bonding. Opal roped him into it, or so he says. All that really matters to me is that our Damsel is safe.”

“So … we should move along.”

Rolling his eyes, Fend re-shifted so Timur could mount.

“I can tell, you know,” Timur said softly. “I can feel that he’s singing.”

Fend added a playful little jounce to his step.

Timur smiled. “We’ll give him more reasons to sing, yeah?”

He was probably a little too focused on possibilities, because he had no idea how a man simply appeared in their path. Fend sprang sideways, skidding to a stop with claws gouging at snow, hair puffed, and spitting feline expletives. He shifted so fast, Timur was dumped on his ass in soft snow.

“Be more careful!” Fend exclaimed. “I could have hurt you!”

Picking himself up, Timur tried to understand his partner’s reaction. “You know him?”

Fend looked his way, eyes still wide. “You don’t? I suppose you wouldn’t. This is Hajime.”

“Hello, Fend. Hello, Timur.”

“You know my name?”

“We have met. You are a difficult one to get to know. I think because you are warded against pollen.”

“It protects him when we’re away, but it does seem to be slowing his acclimation at home.” Fend patiently announced, “Hajime is an imp. The scent of his flowers and the taste of his pollen are protections for trees of his variety. People forget meeting him.”

“Are Kith immune?”

“No, but with Kyrie’s help, I’ve been systematically inuring myself.” And turning to the tree imp, he groused, “What are you doing way out here? This is far from home.”

“Almost too far.” Hajime tried to take a step forward but flinched back. “I am at my limit.”

Fend dragged his heel in the snow. “Where is Kyrie?”

“There.” The imp took a step back before raising his arm to point.

“All right, old man. Don’t strain yourself.” With gentle pushes and pulls, Fend forced the tree into retreat. “Wait at a safer distance. Kyrie will do his part.”

“Yes.” And with a tremulous smile in Timur’s direction, Hajime showed off the small blue marble resting on his palm. “I am ready.”

“That’s an unusual stone,” remarked Timur.

“Kyrie asked me to hold it for him. Until it is needed.”

Timur took his time sorting out his impressions of the sigilcraft lacing the remnant stone. It was definitely Kyrie’s handiwork. The complexity didn’t surprise him, but he wasn’t sure what to make of the power that crackled behind its etchings. He found he didn’t like looking away from it … in the same way you didn’t turn your back on an opponent.

“What’s it for?” Timur asked.

Hajime clasped it between both hands, hiding it from view. With a grim nod, he said, “An anchor.”

“Sibley, no.”

With a guilty start, Sibley eased out of striking range. Not that it would have done any good, since his claws were warded. And he was pretty sure this guy would be immune to his poison. “I was just making sure he didn’t try anything, you know?”

“Come here.” Kyrie beckoned for him.

He circled around to his brother’s side and slipped his hand into Kyrie’s. There was a crystal waiting there. That was so smart.

“We will wait. Otherwise, Fend will be unhappy with us.”

“Guess so.” As soon as they were walking again, he mumbled, “Are you done with him yet?”

“No,” he whispered back. “One more thing.”

Sibley dared to meet the Rogue’s gaze.

He eyed them with actual interest. “Getting children this way makes for more in the way of variety. With seeds it’s just more of the same.”

Kyrie gave Sibley’s hand a squeeze, then left the crystal with him. “We each have inheritances from our mothers.”

“But you’re obviously mine.” Shisoku asked, “How many of you are there?”

Sibley asked, “Don’t you know?”

“Why would I?”

It was a little interesting and a lot scary that this dragon—his real dad—looked like a younger version of Dr. Kodoku. With Futari, it’d been harder to tell that they had the same face, probably because she was a girl. But that resemblance meant that Sibley could read Shisoku’s expressions real good. He was annoyed, impatient, and simmering close to the meanness that usually meant a cage, a bruise, or worse.

Trying for a friendlier tone, Sibley asked, “We were just thinkin’ it’d be nice if we were all together.”

Kyrie backed him up. “That is my hope.”

He also stepped a little in front of Sibley, which made him feel a tiny bit safer. He wished he and his brother had that resonance thing, so he could pass along the kinds of warnings he might need. He thought at Kyrie real hard.

Watch his eyebrows. If the left one goes up, it’s bad. See how he’s rubbing his thumb and finger together? There’ll be poison in his next touch. And that’s not a happy smile. If he goes back to pouting—good. If that smile widens—run.

It wasn’t words. It was mostly bad memories and fears.

To Sibley’s surprise, Kyrie looked away from a dangerous dragon, which was against the rules, and touched their shared crystal. “I know. I do. Not long now. Try not to rile Dima.”

“You heard me?”

“Sort of. I am trying not to worry Anan.” And returning his attention back to their sire, Kyrie changed things up. “I am grateful to be alive, and I love my siblings. I have resolved to become our clan’s tribute.”

“If that means you’ll be more useful to me, go ahead. I don’t really care.”

Sibley searched his brother’s face, and for the first time, he saw a little of Kodoku and Shisoku there. Because Kyrie’s left eyebrow had risen slightly. Sibley rubbed his thumb and finger together. Papa Anjou’s seals meant he couldn’t bring out any poison, but he did it anyhow. Maybe it was resemblance. Maybe it was resonance. Either way, it would be bad for the Rogue.

“May I know the name of my clan? Nobody will say, so I have not heard.”

“I don’t see why.” Shisoku puffed up with pride. “It’s a good name. The best of all clans. Special.”

“May I know it?” Kyrie asked, all good manners on the outside.

The dragon smugly declared, “Celestoria.”

“I know that name. That is a star’s name.”

“Yes. My breeding is exceptional. Dragon and star and tree.”

Kyrie stopped walking. “I met a star. Celestoria Novi. Oh, I think … yes. Oh, I see. That is sad.” Wind ruffled through his hair, and Sibley thought it must have been whispering to him, because he asked, “Is your father’s mother Celestoria Nemi?”

“That’s right. Nemi. I never met her. I used to watch her, a beautiful lady trapped inside a jewel.” Resentment flashed in his eyes. “Cradling a child. I hated that child.”

“Why would you hate them?” asked Kyrie.

Shisoku’s jaw worked, and Sibley didn’t think he was going to answer. Bu then he spat out, “They were safe.”

“And you were not?” Kyrie asked quietly.

Confusion turned to exasperation. “Are you stupid? I’m strong. They were safe from me. Even my poison couldn’t scratch their chrysalis. It was annoying.”

Even softer, Kyrie asked, “You hated them because you could not hurt them?”

“Now you see. Yes. That was it exactly.”

“This way.” Kyrie indicated the way forward, his tone gone flat. “Only a little further.”

Nobody had been near enough to tell Sibley that he shouldn’t follow a fox into captivity. Maybe it made Sibley a bad person to be glad, but he wasn’t going to tell the Rogue that he was just as stupid to be following Kyrie.

As they went along, Sibley spotted something and ran ahead. Tracks and a long furrow marred the snow, which was strewn with tiny red petals. That was good. It looked like Fend’s plan would work.

Kyrie had kept to a slower pace, listening to their sire rant.

“A star in our lineage makes us special. It’s in our blood to be truly splendid.”

“That is something your father told you,” Kyrie answered.

“And I am telling you. Because I am the father now.”

“Legacies can be important.” And turning so he walked backward, Kyrie lured the Rogue ever closer to that line in the snow. “I have taken many things from you. My hair. My eyes. My scales. My longing for the sky. I will also take your name for our clan. Celestoria, for the brave star who was lost. Celestoria for the brave star who searched.”

“No, it’s my name. Mine.”

“And mine. That is how legacy works. But that is not all I will take from you.”

Kyrie was using sway now. Sibley could tell, and he liked the sound of it. It was nice. Ohhh, nope. Sibley recognized that good feeling, should have realized sooner. Hadn’t he seen red petals in the snow? His grandfather tree was nearby, and the scent of him was one of the best parts of home.

Grandfather’s scent.

Lady’s shine.

Uncle Jackie’s smile.

Sonnet’s gruel.

Argent’s fierceness.

Papa Anjou’s … mmm. Maybe his accent? Or his purr. And the way he always smelled like … oh. Sibley snapped to attention. But then the wind shifted, and the scents were gone.

Kyrie raised a hand. Sibley was still learning tracker signals, which were a whole lot easier than Japanese. He was pretty sure this one meant wait.

“I will also be taking your inheritance.”

Shisoku laughed. “Not so fast. It is my turn. Your time will come. Eventually. If you are a good boy.”

“You are not listening. You must listen. I want you to understand what is happening.”

The sway held Sibley’s attention in a way that was new and unsettling. Had Kyrie always been able to do this?

“The Celestoria clan is founded, and I will serve as their tribute.”

“Yes, yes. You said so before. But I am the leader. This is my clan.”

“You are founder, which is too generous a term, given your crimes. And so you will be removed.” With a small sigh, he went on. “You did not ask, but I will tell you anyhow. My name is Kyrie Hajime-Mettlebright. And as the Celestoria tribute, I will do what I must to protect our clan. From you.”

In the instant his sire looked away, dismissing him as a threat, Kyrie wanted to prove himself superior. Which alerted him to the fact that he felt superior. To a dragon who was too busy feeling superior to realize that his young guide was contemplating his death.

The Rogue was too proud.

He had done terrible things.

Was Kyrie similarly prideful?

Would he be terrible in his turn?

It was a little frightening that if he wanted … if he tried … Kyrie felt quite sure he could put an end to this threat. And this time, he didn’t hear any stars singing. Or telling him to stop.

Instead, he heard a long, low note and knew that Anan had unleashed the Bamboo Stave. Grateful for the reminder that his part in this plan was nearly at an end, Kyrie urged the surrounding trees to tune themselves to that sustained note.

Beside him, Sibley said, “This feels like foxes.”

Which was almost true. “One and a half foxes. Father has returned.”

The Rogue was the only one who didn’t realize that it was over. His time would end. Indeed, the only reason it hadn’t was Kyrie himself. Because he’d asked Fend for this chance. To meet his father face-to-face. To learn the sound of his voice and his scent. To be able to answer any questions that his siblings might one day have about their sire.

This had been a duty. And curiosity. And disappointment.

Having nothing more to say, Kyrie let his hand drop to his side.

Immediately, arms wrapped around Kyrie’s shoulders from behind, and Dad—his true father—softly said, “You did well.”

Turning in his embrace, Kyrie hid his face and whispered, “I do not like him. At all.”

“Why mince words? He is vile.”

Ginkgo spoke then. “You did good, little bro. Satisfied?”

He shook his head, then raised it to meet his older brother’s searching gaze. “No. Not until it is over.”

“That is best,” said Dad. “We will not have long to wait.”

“Bear witness,” said Anjou in solemn tones.

Kyrie pulled away enough to see that Sibley was similarly safe in the crouching feline’s arms. And that there was a particularly wicked blade in one of Anjou’s hands. It was easy to forget that Sibley’s new Papa was a very capable tribute.

Sibley offered a shy smile, and they both turned to watch.

Timur scanned the gathering of allies. Even if forced to fight Shisoku in truest form, they were more than enough to bring down a dragon. Especially since Juuyu Farroost stood poised on the fringes. He was speaking into a phone, but his eyes never strayed from the Rogue.

Wolves ringed the area, a handful with riders. Battlers. Trackers. Some were survivors from past encounters with the Rogue. Any of them would gladly use their strength and their skills against this enemy.

Timur shook his head. “What was he thinking, strolling into Elderbough territory?”

“Why would he worry?” posed Fend. “He’s eluded them often enough.”

“Most of these trackers are immune to dragon sway. He can’t talk his way out of this.”

“All of us are immune, assuming the Bamboo Stave is working properly. I can only assume the thing isn’t fussy about the lack of any kind of melody line. I suppose monotone is technically music, and he certainly has the wind to maintain it.”

Timur let his loaded crossbow come to rest against his shoulder as he glanced up to the position Anan had taken. The eldermost storm had somehow procured the Orchid Saddle, and he balanced gracefully, bare feet set upon the softly-glowing crystal that held him aloft. He made an awe-inspiring picture, haloed in darkening clouds, his silver eyes flashing in time with the silent licks of lightning flirting at the storm’s edge.

The Rogue was blind to all of it. Lost in the illusions that Argent and Ginkgo had concocted so that Kyrie would have his chance. With each passing minute, new protections sprang up—barriers and blinds and battlers.

“Did we even need the Junzi?” Timur asked in a low voice.

“Maybe if he was still somewhere out there, ranging free and raging unchecked.” Fend waved a hand dismissively. “But as you pointed out, he strolled into our territory, and that simplifies everything to a ridiculous degree. It’s a wonder nobody thought of it sooner.”

“Sinder pushed for it. Last summer.”

“He’s a clever one, our dragon. I will shower him with compliments later.” Fend shook his head pityingly. “I stand by my earlier assessment. Shisoku is an idiot. He was probably doomed the moment those vixens left him to his own devices.”

“That may be, but it doesn’t diminish the danger he poses.” Timur returned his attention to the Rogue. “He’s a dragon. Take care.”

Boon ambled over, hand resting lightly on the pommel of a blade. “Any way I can make myself useful? Argent says you’re in charge.”

Fend shot a sour look in the fox’s direction. “Yes, actually. If Kyrie tries to put down his sire, intervene. It’s two centuries too early for him to take on that particular burden.”

“On it.”

While Boon positioned himself, Timur quietly asked, “He wouldn’t actually kill his own father, would he?”

“You’re giving him too much credit.”

“I think … I do think Kyrie might believe it’s his responsibility.”

“True. Hence Boon. But I meant that you’re giving Shisoku too much credit. He isn’t any kind of father.”

“Ah.” Timur cleared his throat. “I suppose that’s true. Conceiving children and leaving them to their own devices is hardly admirable.”

Fend whipped around so fast Timur jumped. “Do not ever think that what you did compares to what he’s done!”

“Until this moment, Kyrie had no idea what his father was like. Isn’t it the same for my children? They’ve never known me.”

“You kept yourself from them to spare their mothers. But you took the time to learn their names, and you love them from afar. For pity’s sake, you talk to them in your sleep.”

Timur was needled for snoring often enough. “I talk in my sleep?”

“Sometimes. I can’t prove it, but I suspect Argent’s to blame.”

Timur frowned. “I talk to them? You think he draws them into dreams?”

“It’s the sort of thing a fox can do. And definitely the sort of thing Argent would.” Fend pressed their cheeks together. “I’d wager my attainment on it. Your sons and daughters know your voice, your smile, your heart, and your hopes for them. When you meet—a feat I will see accomplished—they’ll run into your arms and feel right at home.”

“Mmm.” It was all Timur could manage. He doubted it could ever be that easy.

Fend drew back and grumbled, “So many distractions. Shall we attend to more pressing matters?”

Chastised, Timur fell back on his training and watched as stoically as he could while Kyrie’s expression slowly closed off. It broke his heart.

From his crouch nearby, Boon casually announced, “The kid’s resolved.”

Timur could feel the shift, because the chorus of tiny crystals started up again, and they’d changed their tune. This could be bad.

Fend touched his arm and softly begged, “Stay with me?”

“Aren’t we always together?”

“In everything.” And facing forward, Fend crisply ordered, “Scuttle the illusions, my good foxes. Let the Rogue face what’s left of his future were clearer eyes.”

It did Timur’s heart good to see Argent and Anjou so swift to their son’s defense. The boys had been brave, but they were still just boys.

The Rogue peered around with a superior sort of annoyance. “Oh, go away. I have things to do.” And when nobody budged, he asserted himself. “Nevermind me. Turn around. Walk away.”

Fend stepped forward. Not far. Just enough to draw the dragon’s gaze. Timur was proud of his partner, who might toy with their own dragon and make snide quips at home. But in this setting, he gave proper courtesy.

“Welcome to Stately House. We are its defenders.”

The Rogue looked Fend up and down. “Are you one of Father’s mongrels?”

“I am not.”

Fend’s tail puffed and switched beneath the hem of the tunic he’d borrowed for the occasion. Timur’s stuff was far too big, but Fend hadn’t wanted anyone else’s. Belted into battler teal, he held his head high. And higher still when Deece took up a position on Fend’s other side. Timur thought Fend’s father still looked a bit dazed over the revelation that Fend was Kith-kin.

“Were you taught the ancient rotes?”

Rogue eyed Fend warily. “How would I know?”

“Mmm. Thought not. Very well. We are prepared to simplify. Do your best to keep up.”

Timur took charge. His role was a little different than Juuyu’s would have been. As a reaver, and more importantly as a member of the Order of Spomenka, he’d been vested with the necessary authority to speak for the dragon clans. And perhaps more importantly, to speak for the victims.

“Celestoria Shisoku, you stand accused and must answer for your crimes.”

“No. Stop this. I’m leaving.” But the sway didn’t work, and when he turned, he found his way barred by the ring of wolves. He next tried to fly and found he couldn’t. “What have you done?”

Harmonious Starmark spoke up. “We’re here because of what you’ve done.”

“I don’t answer to anyone. Father is dead. I can do as I please.”

Timur brought out his phone. There hadn’t been time to prepare anything more formal. Canarian Evernhold had sent what he could. “I have here the names of your known victims. Even though there are probably many missing, it’s a heartbreakingly long list. Dead men. Ravaged women. Search parties. Innocent bystanders. Abandoned children. In a more formal setting, it would be my duty to confront you with their names, but the Council has agreed that a full reading will take place at every Song Circle.”

Adoona-soh Elderbough declared, “We will sing for those lost, and the survivors will gain our support. All they need, we will be.”

It was an enormously generous promise.

Timur made a grateful gesture before extending a final courtesy. “Do you wish to speak for yourself?”

“What is this?” Shisoku demanded.

Argent butted in then. “It is a kinder end than you deserve.”

“You!” the dragon snarled, claws flexing. “I hate you.”

And then thunder rumbled, the moaning flute stopped, and Kyrie’s voice rang out. “Open your mouth.”

Timur needed several moments to pull himself together, and when he did, he realized that all of them—every person in the circle—had dropped their jaws. All of them were supposedly immune to sway, yet they’d been compelled to obey.

Fend recovered with a soft hiss. “And here I thought we’d need the Plum Cascade.”

Again, Kyrie raised his voice. “Take it, Celestoria Shisoku. Accept my parting gift.”

Timur’s fingers twitched, but he governed the impulse to take something, anything. Perhaps because Kyrie had used his sire’s name this time. And then Timur realized that there was another person in the center of the circle.

“Kyrie suggested this,” said Fend. “It’s a unique form of justice. Quite obsolete. He found it in a book and decided it was fitting.”

Timur wasn’t privy to this part of the plan. “Is that a tree imp?”

“Yes. That’s Hajime. And trees are capable of frightening things.”

The imp stood fearless before the stunned dragon, whose jaw remained slack. Shisoku didn’t resist when the tree imp placed a small sphere of crystal into his mouth. The remnant was a blue, no bigger than a marble, and Timur felt certain he’d seen it somewhere before.

Then Hajime set his hand over the dragon’s heart, and they vanished together.

“What just happened?” Timur asked.

Fend held up a finger.

A few heartbeats later, Hajime returned and knelt before Kyrie. With a grave smile, he announced, “He sleeps like a stone.”