Page 82 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
“Antigone says that the fresher the pollen, the more potent it is.”
“True enough.”
“This batch must be really fresh, because I already explained all this to Colt. And Sinder. And Hallow. You’ll forget, too.”
Akira’s expression made Juuyu’s heart sink.
“Antigone says that the only reason everyone here isn’t loopy on Zuzu’s pollen is because of Portia’s barriers. Filters and dampeners and things. Plus, if you’re around one type of pollen for long enough, you can build up a resistance to its effects.”
Juuyu knew these things. It was one of the reasons he felt so at home here. “Zuzu’s pollen should not affect the memory.”
“I know. It’s not her pollen.”
“Was there pollen?”
“Oh, man.” Akira ruffled his hair, then gave it a frustrated tug. “Look, I promise I’ll call for help. But first, I’m going to hear him out.”
“Have you told me this before?”
“Yeah. Parts, at least. But it’s no good.” He took a pleading posture. “I’m sorry for being selfish.”
Juuyu’s attention jumped to Fumiko, who hummed tunelessly to herself as she embellished his forearm with dainty clues. He remembered now. Red flowers. A mysterious Amaranthine tree. Kikusawa shrine.
But even as he made the connection, his focus strayed to Fumiko. The wind kept stealing strands of hair from her braid. His fingers twitched to put them back where they belonged. To preen.
He could justify the adorning. She hadn’t singled him out, and her artistry wasn’t any sort of claim. But preening would be taking matters a step too far.
All at once, he realized that Akira was watching him with a thoughtful expression. Cocking his head to one side, Juuyu asked, “Are you well?”
“I am. Don’t worry.” Akira caught his hand and held it. “Thanks for bringing me along. Turns out, I’m really glad I came.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Little by Little
Fumiko caught parts of what Akira was saying. The unfamiliar words mixed up with familiar ones. The concern in his tone. The respect in his attitude. She let their words flow by, enjoying Juuyu’s richly accented responses, which were pitched to soothe. At least at first. He’d descended into vague hums and warbles by the time Akira gave up.
He sounded distracted. By what?
She glanced up, only to find his gaze on her.
“Are you quite comfortable?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she assured, and went back to adorning his kneecap with dainty red flowers. She recalled red flowers. Not well, but enough to know these were correct. But hers smelled of paint instead of a beckoning sweetness she could almost remember.
Sinder came over then, trading words in yet another language. The dragon and the phoenix. If she hadn’t seen for herself, she might not have believed that these two were a fabled bird and a legendary beast. Each beautiful in their own way. Both patient beneath her brush.
They could have spoken freely. Even if she overheard, who would she tell? Secrets stayed safe in this place. Or maybe they became trapped. Some days, Fumiko thought the sands in which she knelt were actually a graveyard for secrets.
A hand touched the top of her head.
Sinder had wandered off, and Juuyu now seemed the concerned one. “You need not continue,” he murmured.
She wrapped her hand around his ankle. “I was not finished. Unless … you want to go?”
“I will stay.” He frowned and clarified, “For this. You may finish your painting.”
“You make a good canvas.” She smoothed her hand up the back of his calf to demonstrate.
