Sealed Boy

 

To Eloquence’s relief, Tenma seemed more awed then scared by the clinging dragon. Unless Quen missed his guess, Lapis was playacting. Too much star wine certainly left him maudlin, but any actual inebriation never lingered for long. No. He was after what any dragon was after on a winter’s night.

“He shouldn’t be outside.” Shifting into an apologetic posture, Quen added, “Help me bring him in.”

Tenma’s eyes were wide behind his glasses, but he radiated concern. “Lean on me, sir.”

“Such generosity. Such hospitality.” Lapis wilted against the high school boy. “I cannot care for this city of yours. There may be stars in your wine, but they are missing from your sky.”

“We’re a long way from the heights.” Eloquence nudged Rise out of the way and opened his door. Inside was hushed and dim, meaning Ever was still with Mum. “Keishi’s lights do muddle our view of the sky, but they cannot touch the stars in their intensity. Only distract from it.”

“If you miss the stars so much, go and see them,” suggested Tenma.

“Obligations confine me. It will be weeks before Twineshaft permits me to return to my home in the heights. Months, even. Whole seasons without jeweled nights and unfettered winds.”

“But they’re just above the clouds.” Tenma staggered up the steps and fumbled out of his shoes. “I thought Rivven could fly.”

Quen grimaced as Lapis shed his drunken pretense and turned Tenma’s face. For a long moment, the dragon peered into his eyes. Voice deepening with shades of accusation, the dragon asked a question that wasn’t one. “You are not a reaver?”

“No, sir.”

Eloquence tried to intervene. “Tenma doesn’t know anything about …”

Lapis lifted a hand to silence him. “I am a dragon.”

“Yes, sir. I figured that out, sir. Lord Lapis Mossberne. You’re one of the Five.” He ducked his head and mumbled, “It’s an honor.”

The Spokesperson stroked Tenma cheek. “You know little of dragons?”

“Next to nothing. Sorry.” As if wanting to be helpful, he added, “I do like all the colors.”

Dragons were indeed showy. And they tended to hold the attention they received for all their gaudy coloration. Some felt they deserved the captivation, for the Maker had made them beautiful. Others were wary. Really, there were as many warnings about dragons as there were for trees. But Lapis was as good as pack, and Tenma could find no kinder teacher when it came to the dangers of dragons.

He was probably already being drawn in.

“Bring him into the inner room,” Quen directed. “I’ll get the fires going.”

“Sure,” said Tenma. “Do you need help with your shoes, sir?”

Eloquence, who had been speaking to Lapis, wondered if he looked half as surprised as the dragon. Tenma wasn’t affected?

Lapis stepped out of bejeweled slippers with upturned tips, revealing azure painted claws and delicate rings on his toes. “Due to a tragic confluence of circumstances and consequences, I am unable to reach the sky. But my heart stirs at the promise of fire. January is such an inhospitable month.”

“Close the screens behind you.” Eloquence crossed to the first of two fireplaces. Uncle Laud must be back in town, for the firewood was already arranged on the hearth. All Quen had to do was strike a match and touch it to the kindling. Then he turned to a discreet wall panel and fiddled with temperature settings.

Tenma guided Lapis to a cushioned bench and peered around the room. The dragon pulled him down to sit at his side and continued his sly scrutiny, but Tenma hardly seemed to notice the predator at his side. Instead, he pointed to the control panel. “I thought Rivven were against technology and things.”

“Usually, but an exception was made for this building.” Quen knelt in front of their seat and touched the matting. “Radiant heating under the floor. For Ever. He’s sensitive to cold in the same way humans are, so Dad had it installed.”

Lapis stretched his feet toward the fire, wiggled his toes, and hummed appreciatively.

Eloquence huffed. “Certain clans—including the dragon clans—are picky about temperatures. They’re good at finding hot spots, so Lord Mossberne has been sneaking into our den every chance he gets. He usually attaches himself to Uncle Laud.”

Tenma seemed to be having trouble reclaiming his hand from Lapis. “Oh. Umm. You live with your uncle?”

“Yes. He should return soon since we oversee Ever’s bedtime together.”

“Will he mind that I’m here?”

“Not at all.” Quen reached out to touch Tenma’s knee, then flicked Lapis, who finally let go. “Uncle Laud trusts my choices.”

“May I beg a formal introduction to your sealed boy?” Lapis offered a tight little smile. “I am also interested in your choices.”

Eloquence patiently observed the formalities, amused when the dragon curtailed his usual poetic effusion in favor of illumination. At the first opportunity, Lapis asked, “Why would our dear Eloquence seal away a star with no shine?”

Tenma flushed. “I was afraid. Quen rescued me.”

“May I see this seal that banishes fear?” inquired the dragon lord. “I have made a detailed study of sigilcraft.”

Tenma slipped a hand into his pocket but hesitated. “What will happen if I let it go?”

The dragon offered a sultry smile. “Let us find out.”
 

Tenma trusted Quen, who was watching closely, so he relinquished the slip of paper that had given him so much peace of mind. Nothing much happened. At first.

Since he was expecting it this time, he wasn’t surprised when a nagging uncertainty asserted itself. A little at a time, as if someone were turning up the volume on his anxiety. He was extremely conscious of both Quen and Lord Mossberne, and those impressions were clamoring for his attention. It was the strangest thing. Like an instinct. Or the sudden insight. A eureka moment of clarity. Only this time, there wasn’t any push toward panic.

“Tenma?” prompted Quen. “Everything okay?”

He searched for a helpful answer. “I’m not exactly afraid, but … I feel strange.”

Quen offered his hands, and Tenma grabbed hold.

“I have always envied the easy trust that dogs inspire. Such friendly relations. Quite cuddly.” Lapis studied the slip of paper held between two upraised fingers. “El-o-quence. This is as inspired as it is impetuous. What possessed you to contain him?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just a simple barrier.”

Lapis responded with a whiffling vocalization that Tenma felt certain was patronizing. He had no idea why he’d gained that impression. Unless it was attached to this creeping awareness.

“The intent of most barriers is focused outward. Repelling notice, ingress, attack.” The dragon’s deep voice turned teasing. “This does not growl and snap at intruders. You have used a portion of your strength to hide him away. Even from himself. A unique—albeit effective—approach to the problem at hand.”

“If it works, then no harm’s done,” grumbled Quen. 

Tenma quickly said, “It has worked. I mean, I can barely tell you’re here.”

Lapis’ jewel-like eyes swung back to Tenma—glittering in the firelight, smoldering with interest. “Me? Are you saying you have some sense of my soul? Impossible.”

“S-sorry, sir. I don’t understand these things very well yet.” Tenma must have insulted him somehow. “Maybe it’s only because you’re holding Quen’s sigil.”

“Possible,” murmured the dragon. “Remotely possible. What is it you think you can ‘barely tell’ about me, sealed boy?”

Tenma didn’t like to say. Because if he put it into words, it would sound foolish.

Quen frowned. “Don’t put it to him that way. You know it’s not impossible for him to carry a bit of talent. Not every reaver bloodline is under my grandsire’s watchful eye.”

“Granted.” Lapis made a gesture Tenma understood from class—no offense intended. Then he lifted both wrists. “The source of my skepticism lies in these, not with you.”

The dragon wore two heavy bracelets that must have been carved from black stone. Each bangle had deep grooves carved into them, creating patterns similar to those Quen had drawn for him. Sigils. For a barrier? Curiosity prompted Tenma’s touch. As his fingertips trailed along cool stone, his impressions grew even clearer. “I don’t think I’m imagining things.”

“Dragons like compliments.” Quen nudged him and nodded. “Even if you find him frightening, it would probably please him.”

He would rather have described Quen, whose presence curled around him with languid confidence, a sort of luminous warmth—settled, strong, reliable. Beside him, Lapis was all brittle edges, like shattered glass. “It’s like you’re broken.” Tenma struggled for a more sensible description. “You’re all blues and echoes and longing.”

Quen sounded surprised. “You can see color in his darkness.”

“How very impish of you,” said Lapis. “If I am a lonely blue, what is your dear classmate? Copper I suppose?”

Tenma shook his head, not sure what to call the honeyed glow that flowed against him like syrup. But one thing was clear, and it took him by surprise. “Quen is lonely, too.”