Page 36 of Kimiko and the Accidental Proposal
Tenma seemed to be having trouble reclaiming his hand from Lapis. “Oh. Umm. You live with your uncle?”
“Yes. He should return soon since we oversee Ever’s bedtime together.”
“Will he mind that I’m here?”
“Not at all.” Quen reached out to touch Tenma’s knee, then flicked Lapis, who finally let go. “Uncle Laud trusts my choices.”
“May I beg a formal introduction to your sealed boy?” Lapis offered a tight little smile. “I am also interested in your choices.”
Eloquence patiently observed the formalities, amused when the dragon curtailed his usual poetic effusion in favor of illumination. At the first opportunity, Lapis asked, “Why would our dear Eloquence seal away a star with no shine?”
Tenma flushed. “I was afraid. Quen rescued me.”
“May I see this seal that banishes fear?” inquired the dragon lord. “I have made a detailed study of sigilcraft.”
Tenma slipped a hand into his pocket but hesitated. “What will happen if I let it go?”
The dragon offered a sultry smile. “Let us find out.”
Tenma trusted Quen, who was watching closely, so he relinquished the slip of paper that had given him so much peace of mind. Nothing much happened. At first.
Since he was expecting it this time, he wasn’t surprised when a nagging uncertainty asserted itself. A little at a time, as if someone were turning up the volume on his anxiety. He was extremely conscious of both Quen and Lord Mossberne, and those impressions were clamoring for his attention. It was the strangest thing. Like an instinct. Or the sudden insight. A eureka moment of clarity. Only this time, there wasn’t any push toward panic.
“Tenma?” prompted Quen. “Everything okay?”
He searched for a helpful answer. “I’m not exactly afraid, but … I feel strange.”
Quen offered his hands, and Tenma grabbed hold.
“I have always envied the easy trust that dogs inspire. Such friendly relations. Quite cuddly.” Lapis studied the slip of paper held between two upraised fingers. “El-o-quence. This is as inspired as it is impetuous. What possessed you to contain him?”
“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just a simple barrier.”
Lapis responded with a whiffling vocalization that Tenma felt certain was patronizing. He had no idea why he’d gained that impression. Unless it was attached to this creeping awareness.
“The intent of most barriers is focused outward. Repelling notice, ingress, attack.” The dragon’s deep voice turned teasing. “This does not growl and snap at intruders. You have used a portion of your strength to hide him away. Even from himself. A unique—albeit effective—approach to the problem at hand.”
“If it works, then no harm’s done,” grumbled Quen.
Tenma quickly said, “Ithasworked. I mean, I can barely tell you’re here.”
Lapis’ jewel-like eyes swung back to Tenma—glittering in the firelight, smoldering with interest. “Me? Are you saying you have some sense of my soul? Impossible.”
“S-sorry, sir. I don’t understand these things very well yet.” Tenma must have insulted him somehow. “Maybe it’s only because you’re holding Quen’s sigil.”
“Possible,” murmured the dragon. “Remotely possible. What is it you think you can ‘barely tell’ about me, sealed boy?”
Tenma didn’t like to say. Because if he put it into words, it would sound foolish.
Quen frowned. “Don’t put it to him that way. You know it’s not impossible for him to carry a bit of talent. Noteveryreaver bloodline is under my grandsire’s watchful eye.”
“Granted.” Lapis made a gesture Tenma understood from class—no offense intended. Then he lifted both wrists. “The source of my skepticism lies in these, not with you.”
The dragon wore two heavy bracelets that must have been carved from black stone. Each bangle had deep grooves carved into them, creating patterns similar to those Quen had drawn for him. Sigils. For a barrier? Curiosity prompted Tenma’s touch. As his fingertips trailed along cool stone, his impressions grew even clearer. “I don’t think I’m imagining things.”
“Dragons like compliments.” Quen nudged him and nodded. “Even if you find him frightening, it would probably please him.”
He would rather have described Quen, whose presence curled around him with languid confidence, a sort of luminous warmth—settled, strong, reliable. Beside him, Lapis was all brittle edges, like shattered glass. “It’s like you’re broken.” Tenma struggled for a more sensible description. “You’re all blues and echoes and longing.”
