Page 14 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
His tone became conspiratorial. “What clan?”
“Bear.”
Immediately brightening, Akira said, “Thank goodness! I get along pretty well with bears.”
And even though a few of his words were foreign, Fumiko understood. She really must have learned Japanese at some point. She caressed his hair, which was straight and silky.
His gaze turned quizzical. “You act more Amaranthine than human.”
“Do you think so?”
“Oh, I know so. Do I really remind you of one of your sons?”
“Yes.”
“That’s kind of cool. I wonder if we’re related?”
Fumiko searched his upturned face. “Aren’t you from Japan?”
“That’s where I grew up. But my family is kinda different. And difficult. You see, my sister and I are orphans.” Akira shifted into a receptive posture, accepting her touch, her curiosity. “She remembers our dad, but there’s nothing about our mom. And the papers are missing. No pedigree. No genealogy. So who knows? We could be distantly related.”
“You’re an unregistered reaver?”
“Sis is, but not me.” His smile turned wistful. “And as far as I know, there’s no cure for being ordinary.”
This had to be the last straw. An unendowed human? And one who might possibly be her own descendant? Not one of these males was an appropriate candidate for paternity.
But the possibilities they presented were … intriguing.
FIVE
This Might Be Bad
Akira had lived with Amaranthine for more than a decade, and he’d long ago adjusted his ideas about personal space and polite distances. Not that it’d been hard. He wasn’t especially reserved about touching. But Suuzu craved connections that would have raised eyebrows, especially back in school. Integration had been a new thing, and it was just so hard to explain why Akira let another boy run his fingers through his hair. Or why he was so used to sleeping with Suuzu, it was hard to sleep without him.
So when Fumiko played with Akira’s hair, he immediately felt more at ease. This meant good things—acceptance, welcome, even protection. Her familiarity had a familial quality that made it easy to think of her as a big sister. Mentally, he’d already attached that honorific to her name.
Fumiko turned toward the old woman walking their way, and Akira followed her lead. Right down to the respectful posture that promised undivided attention.
“Reaver Portia Groves,” the woman declared, including them all with a sweep of sharp green eyes. “I lowered a few of my barriers to let you through. We’ll need them back up. Quickly. However, once they are, you’ll be in some trouble unless the wards are tuned to you.”
Juuyu’s teammates simply lined up. Like this was standard procedure. One that probably applied to Akira, despite his lack of reaverness.
The woman continued, “I’ve already swept you and your luggage for foreign particles. All guests need to carry my tuned crystals at all times. I could track your every movement, but I won’t. If you’re concerned about your privacy, pull me aside, and we can chat. On the upside, the crystals satisfy the letter of the law with regard to reaver escorts. While you’re here, I’m yours.”
Portia distributed bracelets that had been woven with hemp and shells, like those sold in any beachside tourist shop.
“Won’t take long,” she promised.
Akira knew about tuned crystals. Back in high school, he’d helped pick a pair as a gift for Suuzu. One was knotted into the necklace that Suuzu always wore, and Akira kept its companion on a cord around his ankle. Although the magic of remnant stones was lost on Akira, Suuzu could always tell where he was because the stones were linked.
“You’re fast,” remarked Colt, admiring his new bracelet.
“Comes with experience,” Portia replied blandly.
Sinder said, “You’re a ranker. I can tell.”
Portia laughed. “I’m long past the age when digits impress. Seventy-five on my last birthday. Semi-retired.”
