Page 65 of Mikoto and the Reaver Village
Bent branches and bare roots made it obvious that the areawas freshly cleared. Little breezes stank of bare earth, bruised leaves, treesap, and blood. And in the center of the wreckage huddled Sinder, head low,sides heaving. Glittering green eyes roved along the line of battlers, who rangedaround the boundaries.
Sinder could not escape.
Not because Salali’s barrier was strong. Only because Sinderwas holding himself back. Keeping to a form that posed less of a threat, shouldhe falter. Kyrie was impressed by Sinder’s resolve—to accept pain rather thandeal it.
Behind him, Timur was saying, “I’m glad you learnedsomething of value from this, because you aren’t going to have another chance. Thiscannot continue.”
Ginkgo said, “Dad’ll bust chops if anyone gets stubborn.”
Mikoto spoke up. “I will file a formal protest. Allow us tofind other means of training while Sinder recovers.”
“This can’t continue!” Timur repeated.
Kyrie glanced back, still intrigued. Lilya’s brother alwayslaughed and smiled at home. But that was far away and full of children. Thiswas a face Timur didn’t usually show. But Kyrie approved of his fury. If he wasentirely honest, he shared it.
Sinder’s claws raked the ground. Blood matted his mane, andthere were splinters the size of pikes in uncomfortable places. Kyrie’s patiencefor the adult’s conversation faded entirely. Talking things throughcouldbe important. Mother liked to say that patience was a virtue. But so was mercy.
He trotted along the line, paying more heed to the barrierthan the battlers. It was good and strong, but one of the anchors had a lovelylavender hue. Just what he needed.
Kyrie could have dismantled the whole assemblage with atouch, but that wouldn’t be safe for the humans. Instead, he found a littleripple and pressed his fingers through. Nudging and leaning, he whisperedencouragement. Potent words. He didn’t often need them, but this was averygood barrier. Its clashing layers scraped, but he whispered and teased andwiggled past the first layer … only to find no further impediments.
Disappointing, really. If Dad had been in charge, therewould have been a series of failsafes and fallbacks. That’s the way foxes were,always making certain they accounted for the unexpected. Then again, this was arush job, and it worked to keep Sinder in. But whoever made this barrier hadn’tknown about Kyrie.
They’d know better next time.
Fiddling with a sigil, Kyrie worked his way across batteredground. Unseen. Ginkgo had taught him this one for sneaking into the pantry,which wasn’t exactly against the rules since Aunt Sansa was generous witheverything, even snacks. Sharing cookies at midnight was one of the best waysto help skittish new orphans feel like part of the family. And sometimes …well, sometimes little kids were afraid of Kyrie.
Mother asked him to be gentle and kind and patient. Givenewcomers a chance to see past the red eyes and horns and scales, to see howmuch his other denmates liked and trusted him. And mother was wise, becausethat’s how it always worked out. Even the worst crybaby—which was Be’el-garva,a little half-cobra—would trail after Kyrie, wanting to hold hands.
The youngsters were cute. Kyrie liked being a big brother.
For now, at least, he was the only half-dragon at StatelyHouse, but Kyrie often wondered if Dad might someday bring home a littlecousin. Maybe they would be like Sinder, who looked like new shoots in springtime.Or they might be like Lapis, whose blues shimmered like deep water. And hecould be their big brother. But right now, he needed to be a goodlittlebrother. Or a good cousin, at least.
With a series of trills, he let Sinder know he was coming.That was only polite.
When the injured dragon’s near eye rolled his way, Kyrieoffered a small wave, but he wasn’t sure Sinder recognized him.
Foam dripped from his jaws, flecked with blood, and therewas an unhealthy slick upon his scales. With each blink of his eyes, theyrolled a little, and their pupils wavered between thin slits and black pits. Couldhe even see?
Kyrie said, “Hold on, Sinder. I am here.”
Scales shifted, and the dragon dragged his chin, trying tosee.
“I am not alone. You are not alone.”
Sinder’s wail made Kyrie’s stomach plunge, but he didn’tstop.
“Let me see.” He used a bossy tone that would have suitedLilya just fine. Words that could compel. “Show me where.”
The answering whine ended in a sob.
Kyrie wrapped his arms around Sinder’s muzzle as far as theywould go. He warbled a lullaby that Lapis had taught him, a silly rhyme aboutthe winds in each season. All lovely. All loving.
With a creaky warble, Sinder tried to sing along. But he wasstill suffering.
“Let me take it from you.” And when Sinder widened his eyesand squeaked alarm, Kyrie said, “I know, but I am only half. And sometimes,that is a very useful thing to be.”
Sinder gave him a direction with a small jerk of his head.
