Page 10 of Mikoto and the Reaver Village
“Wehavemet.” Sinder’s thoughts raced. “We met whenyou were a child?”
“Only once, so it’s no wonder you don’t remember.” He showedhis palms. “May I touch?”
Sinder tried to do the polite thing, only to reveal abloodied hand.
“You’reinjured.” Crowding close, the reaver ordered,“Show me.”
“Is this the part where I’m meant to assure you that it’sjust a scratch?”
He snorted. “This is the part where I check for brokenribs.”
Michaelson’s hands were blessedly warm as he probed. Sinderbit his lip to keep from whimpering. “Kith partner, sigil crafter,andfield medic? Where did Naroo-soh find you?”
“Hang on, Sinder. I need my kit, and Fend is carrying it.”
He knew his name. Said it kindly.
They’d met once. But where? Sinder didn’t know anyone elsecalled Michaelson, but reavers chose their own surnames. Oh. What a dunce.
“You’re Michael’s son.” And since the world was full ofMichaels, he added, “First of Wards.”
“Spot on.” And there. He had his father’s smile.
“Your mother’s a battler.” Sinder lifted his arms, givingthe man access to his injury.
“And a healer, fortunately for you.” Michaelson doused himwith something that stung, then began wrapping. “I spent a couple of summerswith the mares before being bundled off to Mum’s people.”
Sinder tried not to squirm. “Are you allowed to congratulateyourself for binding up wounds you’ve inflicted?”
“No.” Those dark eyes sought his. “I’m truly sorry, Sinder.I wasn’t even sure the sigil would work.”
“It works.”
“Can you describe its affects?”
“In excruciating detail.” He shivered miserably. “So I’m anexperiment?”
Michaelson removed his vest and peeled out of his tunic.“Hands up again.”
Sinder lost the urge to be snide as warm cloth settledaround him. It was just such a relief.
The man smoothed the shirt over his back, pulled free histhick braid, chafed his arms—all the fussing made Sinder miss Colt. “You have alot of scars,” he remarked.
“Old mishap with a skylight.” Sinder shrugged, then wishedhe hadn’t. “What’s the diagnosis, Healer Michaelson?”
“Bruised, but not broken.” He shrugged back into his vest,buckling it over a hairy chest, then checking his pockets. “I recommend a dosefor the pain, and you’re overdue for a long sleep. A proper tending wouldn’t goamiss. Best thing for it, really.”
Sinder was having a hard time keeping up. He shook his head,trying to clear it.
Michaelson looked away. “About the sigil.”
Tugging up one sleeve, Sinder watched the progress of thepattern across his skin. It was sort of pretty, like molten body art. But italso made him uneasy. “Weren’t you going to remove it?”
“About that.” The reaver met his gaze pleadingly. “Would youmind if we let it run its course?”
Sinder made a grab for him, claws hooking into the fabric ofhis vest. “What’s it doing to me?”
Michaelson took his hands and moved them to his face,pressing them to either side in a dragon’s show of faith. “This one’s not sobad. A trap nested within a tracer. It’s singing you a lullaby.”
