Gifts that Keep on Giving

Jacques woke to a soft warble and lisping French. Gilen or Arnaud must have tattled on him, for he was back to being Papa Zha-Zha, which was fine. Better than fine. Indeed, it was splendid. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know who’d led Etienne to his naproom nesting place. “Hey, Nonny nonny. Is that coffee for me?”

“Might be. Might even be enough for your friend there.”

“That’s welcome news,” Harrison said in a sleepy mumble. “Merry Christmas, Nonny.”

“You, too. Glad you could make it. Now get some of this in you, and get downstairs,” he ordered, sounding supremely happy. “Sonnet wants the two of you fed before the festivities begin.”

“We will be there anon.”

“Faster than anon, or I’ll send Anan to drizzle on you.” A hoof gently prodded his hip, and Nonny wheedled, “C’mon, Jacques. It’s Christmas.”

Jacques propped up on elbows and peered around the hushed naproom. “Dressing gowns and hearth slippers okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Same as always.”

When Jacques sat up fully, Etienne clambered onto his lap. Nonny passed along one steaming mug, and Harrison wrestled free of his blankets in order to accept the other. The man looked rather dapper in his candy cane print pajamas.

Pausing with his coffee cup halfway to his lips, Harrison lowered his voice to ask, “How are the children still asleep?”

“A masterful combination of barriers, illusions, and visions of sugarplums,” said Jacques. “Argent will turn them loose once the rest of us are in place.”

“Want me to take Etienne back to Sonnet?”

“Non. My bonny wee boy and I will face the festal morning together.” He took a sip of excellent coffee and thought to check. “Is Sibley with Anjou?”

“Nah. Bon-Bon collared him.” And with a saucy salute, the goat-crosser hurried to his next task.

Jacques took in the bare minimum of coffee, angled his chin at Harrison, and pushed to his feet. They wove through the room, Harrison pausing here and there, tweaking blankets into place. Jacques noticed that Vanya and Perse had Gregor tucked between them. And Sonnet’s granddaughter Linnea had stolen in at some point, probably to get close to Ever. In his turn, Ever had his arms around Pact, who’d been understandably smitten with his Starmark cousin. But Kyrie’s usual place beside Lilya was empty.

Out in the hallway, he grumbled, “The sun’s not even up.”

Harrison patted his shoulder and reminded, “It’s Christmas.”

Reason enough to soldier on.

By the time they reached the kitchen, Harrison had donned a long-tailed Santa hat, and Jacques wore one in the same style, only green.

Anjou swooped in for a kiss and twirled away with Etienne in his arms, crooning promises of breakfast. Sonnet came over, touched Jacques’ freshly-shaved cheek, trailed fingertips along his shoulder, and then moved back to the stove.

Harrison watched the interplay with a little half-smile on his face.

“Something to say?” Jacques inquired.

Harrison, who was probably the kindest, most generous friend Jacques would ever have, said, “No wonder.”

“Let’s see if you’ll say the same once you meet dear Bon-Bon.”

“Oh, my, yes. Where is your brother?”

He pointed the way, but before they’d fully left the kitchen, the back door swung wide as Ginkgo entered. Heads turned, and he received a flurry of greetings that implied that the half-fox hadn’t simply been out shoveling paths. He’d been out all night. Jacques took a longer look. And perhaps due to his impish legacy, he saw through the trick.

Relying on the trickster’s sharp ears, Jacques softly said, “You can’t fool me.”

Ginkgo touched a finger to his lips and winked.

Harrison, who was waiting on Jacques, took an inquisitive posture.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Jacques said breezily. “Christmas is filled with secrets and surprises.”

Not the least of which was Ginkgo, who was now swinging two tails.

They found Boniface in the Rosewood Parlor, the entrance to which was being guarded by Anan and Dima. They let them pass with comment. Bon-Bon had accumulated an interesting cortege, considering how often he complained about children. Sibley and Kyrie. Twosies and Trinity. The five of them were assembling gifts, pushing small boxes into festive paper bags, then affixing tags with ribbons.

“What new mischief is this?” Jacques asked.

“Do you need help?” offered Harrison.

Boniface glanced up, took in every detail of their attire, and refrained from comment. Instead, he asked, “Can you help with ribbons? Kyrie’s trying to teach the others, but it’s slow going.”

Harrison grinned. “Tying bows is something of a specialty of mine!”

“That’s true,” said Kyrie. “Give us a lesson, Harrison-sensei?”

Soon the man was kneeling with the rest, and Kyrie had handled all the necessary introductions. So Jacques set aside his coffee cup and lowered himself to the floor beside his brother. He missed a beat when he realized that under his plush dressing gown, Bon-Bon was wearing pajamas with a pattern of tiny hedgehogs.

“Good lord. You kept them?”

“What? Oh. Well … why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I was twitting you …?”

“Well aware.” Boniface passed him one of the little bags and a red satin ribbon.

Jacques recognized the swooping calligraphy on the tag as his brother’s. “Wait a tick. Who’s Twila?”

“One of your new colonists. A filly, or so I’m told.” Boniface cut another length of the wide ribbon. “With this lot, I needed my selections approved, and then I needed help matching them to recipients. This lad was more than up to the task. He’s a bloody oracle.”

“Language,” Jacques said mildly.

“Right. Frightfully sorry.”

“You brought gifts for the everyone?”

Boniface rolled his eyes. “For the children anyhow. I mean, it’s Christmas.”

“So who approved your gifts?” Jacques had always enjoyed asking roundabout questions, since Boniface was easily frustrated by non-linear explanations.

“Argent brought in Juuyu and then Naoki. And I asked Hajime, of course.”

With that, another person joined them at the table.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Harrison. “Well, hello!”

Kyrie introduced his grandfather, and the children talked over one another as they gave Harrison a largely anecdotal explanation of family trees and the nature of pollen. It was slapdash at best, but Jacques guessed it wouldn’t really matter, since Harrison would soon forget it all. Maybe when he returned for his usual round of summer courses, he’d have enough time to acclimate to Hajime’s presence.

Jacques snugged a cheery bow onto the bag and reached for another. “What did you find for them? May I see?”

“If you must.”

Jacques carefully slid the small box out of the next bag and lifted the lid. He frowned in confusion. “A pocket watch?”

“More of a locket,” said Boniface. “There’s no inner workings.”

“It is neither,” countered Kyrie. “These are like the reliquaries at Kikusawa shrine.”

Jacques was familiar enough. Akira had one. “What possessed you?”

Boniface shrugged. “Sylphon suggested it, and Ginkgo liked the idea. He said some of your tree-kin are keeping their golden seeds in pouches. These will be more secure, since Argent and Juuyu added sigils. And they can hold onto them as a keepsake, even after they plant their seeds.

It was surreal, hearing Bon-Bon talking calmly about long-held Betweener secrets. Jacques asked, “How do you even know …?”

“Suuzu’s a tribute. So’s Sylphon. And … well, I suppose it’s poor form to rattle on. Does your bowtie savant know about you?”

“Harrison? Yes. We were up half the night spilling the tea. Bondmates and rock imps and babies, oh my.”

“All very fascinating,” Harrison assured.

“Would you like to be sprigged?” Hajime suddenly asked.

Harrison startled and exclaimed, “Gosh! Well, hello!”

Which required a whole new round of introductions, which Kyrie patiently made before moving on to Boniface’s gifts. “Different styles are designed to fit a seed, acorn, or cone, depending on the variety of Amaranthine tree that will sprout when planted.”

Boniface pushed another package his way.

The attendant label stunned Jacques. “Lilya?” he whispered.

Twosies finished adding a lopsided bow to another gift and pointedly passed it along.

“Lord. And Tenma, too. Is he here?”

“Yes. Da brought him when he brought Ever.” Kyrie’s smile was wistful. “Their reliquaries are empty for now, but Dad is letting them know the shape he wants their future to take.”

Any further explanation was forestalled when Harrison exclaimed, “Gosh! Well, hello!”

While Sibley made the introductions this time, Boniface rummaged in a case at his side. “Here. Have a look. I’ve a few spares. They’re rather prettyish. Sylphon’s people make them.”

The ornamental seed cases were each unique. One like an oval locket. One a perfect sphere. Another boxy and hinged, with a faceted remnant on its face. Each was tastefully embellished. And skillfully warded.

While he was fiddling with catches and sliding panels, Nonny came in with a tray. “With Sonnet’s compliments,” he said.

Twosies and Trinity moved finished gifts into a waiting basket to make room, and Nonny set out pastries, cocoa, and—bless her—a fresh pot of coffee.

“All right there, Kyrie?” Nonny asked. “You’re looking a mite peaky.”

The boy murmured something vague, but then Boniface was saying, “Here, Nonny. Since you’re here. Seems your name’s on this one.”

Jacques gasped.

Nonny shot him a puzzled look, then reached for the bowtie-bedecked bag. “I’m sure that’s very generous, Bon-Bon.”

“Open it.” Indicating Hajime, Boniface added, “Twosies says this sort is best for your sort.”

Nonny held an egg-shaped pendant on a long chain. He teased open the catch, peered inside, and snapped it shut. “Thanks …?”

“It’s for a seed,” Twosies said helpfully.

“Yes, yes.” Boniface took a beleaguered tone. “I was getting to that. Argent wanted me to say that he’ll see to any missing pieces and parts if you’ll pop by and … ah. He’s gone.”

Indeed, Nonny had fled so fast, even his hoofbeats were lost in the distance.

“That went well enough, I suppose,” Boniface said. “I don’t see why Argent has to be so sly about everything. Or put me up to it. You do these? More your thing.”

He set two boxes in front of Jacques. And wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“What have you done?” Jacques whispered.

“Don’t blame me.” Boniface pursed his lips and softly added, “And don’t thank me, either. We both know that Argent bloody Lord Mettlebright likes to spoil his man.”

There were tags. “What do they say?”

Boniface sighed. “I know you can read, Jackie. I taught you myself.”

So he pulled the boxes closer and flipped the first tag. Then the second.

Josheb.

Harrison.

Jacques just stared at his brother.

Boniface gazed back without expression. “Empty, of course. But on reserve and theirs for the asking, or so I’m told.”

From under the table, a resonating note broke into a tuneful cascade. Tattling on Jacques, but also breaking the sudden tension. “You brought our rock imp.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” muttered Boniface. “He doesn’t like to be left out.”

“Oh, blast and dash! Give me one of those tags. A blank one.”

Boniface located one and passed it along.

“A pen, love. Do try to keep up.”

He uncapped a fountain pen and extended it. “I’m not your love.”

“Non. You’re my brother.” And with as much flourish as he could manage in the space allowed, began to write. “My pompous … priggish … persevering … bird-bound … brassy … bloody well brilliant brother.”

“Language,” Boniface chided. “And don’t be unctuous. It’s unbefitting a Smythe.”

“Then when you’re giving reading lessons to your next little brother, teach him better manners.” He presented the tag with both hands.

On it he’d printed Bon-Bon’s full name—Boniface Percival Christobel Yves Smythe.

“Tiresome brat,” was all the thanks he gave. But he tucked the tag into his vest pocket. Then pulled their rock imp onto his lap, absently shushing and tutting as he patted the tuneful stone.

Sibley asked, “What if your tree’s a sister?”

Jacques suggested, “Sonnet?”

“That’s a good idea. I mean, she’ll probably want … umm … oh. Uh-oh.” Sibley leapt to his feet, spun around, and called, “Anan?”

The storm imp stepped through the doorway. A moment later, thunder rumbled ominously. “Where’s Kyrie?”