Compound

 

Tenma stumbled to a stop.

Quen turned. “Are you all right?”

“Tripped on something under the snow.” He waved his hands, fending off his classmate’s concern. “I’m fine.”

Backtracking, Quen came to stand directly in front of him. “Can you see at all?”

“Not really,” he mumbled. With nightfall, the world had been reduced to white and dark. It was enough to avoid walking into the trees in the forest behind the school, but he seemed to be stumbling over every clump and clod in between.

“Wait a moment. Help is on the way.” Quen’s soft grumble was disapproval. “Where are your gloves?”

“Not sure.” Tenma started but quickly relaxed when large hands closed around his, warm and comforting. He definitely felt safer with Quen than any of the other Rivven he’d met. It wasn’t that the others were frightening or anything, not since he’d begun carrying the sigil everywhere. But he’d looked up stuff about the dog clans. Promises of protection were serious. And now he’d been invited to Quen’s den. Jittery and anxious not to botch things up, he mumbled, “Sorry.”

A muffled gallop came from beyond them, deeper in the woods. At a low wuff, Quen turned to greet a dog as big as a horse, though stockier and shaggier. Tenma couldn’t see much else in the dark.

“This is Rise. He’ll give us a ride back.”

Tenma hesitated. “Is that okay? Ms. Reeves said it was offensive to ask for rides.”

“Asking Rise to carry us isn’t a problem. Asking me … well, that’s another matter.”

“You’re a dog.”

Quen chuckled. “Why do you keep going back to that? Yes, in my truest form, I look a whole lot like Rise. If a bit bigger.”

“Can I see?”

“Rise is here because you can’t see. Come on. You can sit in front.”

Tenma had no clue how to board a dog without yanking fur or jabbing potentially sensitive areas with his boots. But before he could ask, Quen was lifting him, which made two things glaringly obvious. Quen was ridiculously strong. And Quen wasn’t touching the ground.

“Allow me,” he said, all composure.

Rise took off at a lope that drove Tenma back against Quen’s chest. Why did everything end up so awkward? It was like … the harder he tried not to offend, the worse things came out. “Sorry.”

“Grab on with both hands and grip with your knees,” said Quen. “And I would be pleased to show you my truest form sometime. But let’s wait for daylight, shall we?”

“Makes sense.” Tenma gingerly tangled his fingers in a thick ruff of fur. He mumbled, “Was it rude to ask?”

Quen hummed. “Not exactly rude, but neither is it something to spring on a passing acquaintance. But with someone you already know, they’d probably take it as a compliment.”

“Really?”

“How can I put this delicately?” Amusement seeped into his tone. “You’re inviting me to change into the form of a predator, presumably in close quarters. If my savagery matched my size and strength, nothing could save you. Yet you trust me. And I like that.”

“I do trust you.” It felt good to say it.

“Here we are.”

The forest transitioned into a garden, beyond which stood several buildings. The style was old-fashioned—scalloped tiles and ornamental ridgepoles climbing by tiers, long porches, and covered breezeways. They passed through four different courtyards before Rise came to a halt before a modest pavilion.

Sliding off, Tenma paused to thank the Kith.

“No need for goodbyes. He lives with me,” said Quen. “It’ll be us and Rise and …”

“Runt!”

Tenma turned at the barked call. Two figures strolled along the wide porch across the garden. Lantern light glinted on copper cloth, so he assumed this was one of Quen’s relatives. A flash of movement behind his companion looked to be a tail. So they were both Amaranthine—dog and wolf.

Quen sighed. “Not the brother I intended to introduce you to, but he’ll want a whiff. Merit’s firstborn and exceedingly protective.”

“Are you in trouble for bringing me here?” Tenma whispered.

“No. It’s okay.” Quen hooked his arm and guided him along. “But you know how it is. Greetings are an important part of being good hosts.”

Tenma’s hand stole into the pocket that held the sigil. His heart was hammering, but he was pretty sure his queasiness wasn’t a recurrence. Just plain old nerves. When they mounted the stairs at the end of the porch, it became increasingly clear that Quen’s brother was huge, and the wolf was even bigger. Without much in the way of dignity, he clung to his companion’s arm with his free hand.

Quen made a soft little tutting noise, then lifted his voice. “Good evening, Brother. And to you, Boon. What brings you here?”

“What else? A trail.” He offered his hands to Quen, but in a perfunctory way. Keen yellow eyes remained fixed on Tenma. “I’ve been hunting. But who’s this?” 

For the first time, Tenma could appreciate the fact that for all their impressive physique, Hanoo, Yoota, and Ploom were adolescents. Adult wolves carried more muscle, and this one radiated a more primal quality of wildness. Maybe because the Nightspangles were city boys, and this wolf had none of their ability to blend in.

The wolf’s tail swayed the way Hanoo’s did when pleased, which Tenma took for a good sign. He touched palms with the wolf, but words failed him.

Eloquence smoothly handled things. “Boon, this is my classmate from New Saga, Tenma Subaru. Tenma, this is Boonmar-fen Elderbough, a formidable tracker and a friend of our clan.”

“M-may I ask about your name?”

“Sure, kid. That’s real nice and proper of you. And I don’t mind going through the formalities if Merit don’t.”

“Doesn’t,” sighed Merit. “Who taught you Japanese?”

The wolf reeled vaguely with his hands. “Island enclave. South Pacific. I’ll admit he was sketchy, but it was all he had to trade.”

“You traded language lessons for …?” prompted Quen.

Boon crouched, arms outspread. “More like surfing lessons, but he liked to talk, so I picked things up pretty quick.”

Quen huffed. “So you traded surfing lessons for …?”

“Oooh, you know how it is.” Boon waved off the question. “The less said about some things, the better.”

Merit cleared his throat.

Boon grinned and elbowed him. “Wait your turn, Penny. He asked me first.”

Quen’s elder brother growled, but Tenma couldn’t tell if it meant get on with it or your doom is sure. Either way, he got the impression that Merit and Boon got along all right.

The wolf thumped his bare chest—his fur vest hung open, revealing tanned skin, beaded accessories, and what looked suspiciously like the edge of a tattoo at his hip—and repeated, “I’m Boonmar-fen, third son of Adoona-soh Elderbough. My name means ‘song circle,’ because I was born during a festival.”

Tenma searched for something to say. “What are you hunting?”

Boon’s smile was no longer the happy sort. “Trouble. And the less said about that, the better.”

A second set of palms was presented, and Tenma quickly touched hands with Quen’s older brother. Again, Eloquence guided the introduction. “Merit is firstborn and heir to the Starmark clan.”

Loose auburn waves, glinting copper eyes, stern gaze—this Starmark towered without actually looming. Oddly, Tenma’s insides didn’t dance skittishly because Merit was near. Only Boon made him nervous, as if his gadabout manner was simply a veneer.

“Subaru-kun, if Father was not occupied by urgent matters, he would bless your coming and bid you stay. Do not think less of us because the honor falls to me.” Merit took him by the shoulders and bent to kiss his forehead. With a searching look, he said, “Friend of my brother, fear not.”

So startled was he by the gentle treatment, Tenma lost his chance to ask Merit about his name, for the two adults were already moving along. Meetings to attend. Reports to discuss. He was a little fuzzy on the details.

But before they rounded the corner, Boon called back, “Fear not, but beware of dragons!”

Dragons. Tenma shook his head and looked to Quen. “He’s exaggerating again, right?”

“I don’t think he was lying.” His classmate’s brow furrowed. “But I think his words split onto two trails.”

“Like a double meaning?”

Quen hummed and turned back toward the pavilion where Rise sat patiently. But he snapped to a halt and muttered something in a language Tenma didn’t recognize. Even so, the tone was clear. He glanced around the snowy garden warily. What was bad enough to inspire rude words?

And all of the sudden, out of absolutely nowhere, Quen was tangled up with another person. Only it was more of a hug than an attack. Probably. Caught between needing to get away from this unknown source of oaths and trying to help a friend, Tenma stood frozen.

“El-o-quence,” crooned the newcomer, his voice deep and rich. “Hide me. I cannot bear another question.”

“Was there another inquiry?”

“Suspicions multiply, even though I am innocent as a breeze over open meadows.” Winding slender arms more firmly around Quen’s shoulders, he sagged disconsolately. “Have pity and offer us sanctuary.”

Although Tenma wasn’t clear on particulars, he felt certain that Quen was in no danger. But in the dim light, details were slow to come together. Male. Rivven. And … drunk.

“You’ve had too much star wine, Lord Mossberne.”

“I know.” He exhaled on a fluttering note that definitely wasn’t human. “It did not help. It never does.”

Mossberne? As in Lapis Mossberne? Tenma stopped breathing. Could this person really be one of the Five? Catching Quen’s eye, he pointed and mouthed dragon.

Rolled eyes and a nod.

But the exchange may have been a mistake, for the dragon lord’s head turned, and light fell upon a lean face, putting fire into half-lidded sapphire eyes. “El-o-quence,” he drawled. “Why is that boy sealed?”

He slithered out of Quen’s grasp, and an instant later, Tenma was holding up a bleary Rivven who smelled strongly of flowers, spice, and liquor.

“Hello, sealed boy.”