Mikoto and the Reaver Village (Amaranthine Saga #4) - Forthright . Page 0,2

he hated the idea of being pulled in five directions. “Am I supposed to report to all of you? Will I be assigned courses? Apprentices usually live with their mentor. How can I …?”

“No, my good noble.” Yulin’s hands sought his and supported them. “We will not add to your responsibilities. We will take them for a season, then share them for a season, then return them when the season is right, and you are ready.”

“So I am not in charge?”

“You are.” Yulin gave his hands a squeeze. “But you will delegate the majority of your duties to a staff of volunteers. Us.”

Mikoto realized something that maybe should have been obvious. “Do you speak for the Dimityblest clan?”

“Yes. Until such time as my progenitor returns.” Yulin got straight down to business. “I will be with you, and I will deal with all aspects of public relations. Your induction will undoubtedly garner the interest of the international press.”

Reflexively, Mikoto grabbed Yulin’s wrists. The moth smiled and matched the gesture in a silent pledge.

“Naturally, our first priority must be to our guests. The summer courses begin in a week, and this year’s attendees include some special cases. We need to check with Merl, who will manage the instructors, their schedules, and any supplies they require. He is the Alpenglow designate.”

Mikoto blinked and breathed easier. “Merl is one of my mentors?”

Yulin flashed a sweet smile. “At my request, since you and he have established a certain rapport.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I am here to make things easier for you.”

“Who else?”

“Salali, of course. And Bram stands by any Duntuffet, so you have your pick of the warren.” Yulin gestured back in the direction of home. “Merl has promised an array of your favorites if you are willing to break your fast with him.”

Mikoto nodded. Then hesitated. “What about the Starmark designate?”

“Ah.” Yulin went up on tiptoe to deliver a fleeting kiss to Mikoto’s cheek. An apology of sorts. One that made the answer quite plain. It would be Glint himself.

THREE

Colt Alpenglow

Wardenclave had been part of the Emergence, chosen for its historical significance. The New World village where an alliance between Amaranthine and reavers was first forged still flourished. A rustic locale where reavers sent their kids to summer camp. It made a good story. Both Hisoka Twineshaft and Harmonious Starmark made sure of that.

Mikoto had been five when the film crews first arrived. Journalists with their questions and angles and human interest. Politicians with their skepticism and their constituents and their upcoming elections. Tourists with their bravery and their bucket lists and their billfolds.

They were always so amazed when they passed through the outer wards, which hid an entire mountain range. Denholm’s unveiling was used to prove the existence—by their very absence—of whole swaths of wilderness under Amaranthine protection. So while peacemakers and lawgivers were hammering out treaties, cartographers and cryptid hunters and conspiracy theorists hunted for more hideaways.

Like it was a children’s game. Hide and seek.

Better than the alternative. Seek and destroy.

As headman of the reaver village, Mikoto’s father had welcomed every group and escorted them around the campground. It was picturesque, with quaint cabins marked by bronze nameplates. All as original as possible, updated and renovated just enough to allow each generation their modern conveniences.

The circle with its amphitheater seating. The lodge draped in clan banners. The veritable zoo occupying their Kith shelter. Pastureland that now served as training grounds. Gabe Reaver had hosted countless tours, often with Mikoto at his side. And somehow, despite the abundant evidence, it never occurred to these wide-eyed humans that barriers could exist within barriers.

They saw a quaint village but missed the city.

They saw the forest but never noticed the tree.

They saw enough, but only enough. Never all.

Again, it was different for Mikoto. The close-kept secrets of Wardenclave were his inheritance. Part of a blood-bond passed down from father to son. But also in the tuning of the many illusions and barriers maintained by sigils, wardstones, and Salali Fullstash.

So when Mikoto rounded the bend that took him and Yulin out of the forest, he plainly saw the village, the city beyond, and the tree that dwarfed it all. Maybe after breakfast, he should go see Waaseyaa.

“He is waiting,” murmured Yulin.

Mikoto needed a moment to realize that the moth was referring to Merl. Waving to his friend, Mikoto jogged across the Circle Green. Merl met him at his garden gate, forearm raised. Without a word, Mikoto crossed it with his own. Like the meeting of blades between sparring