A True Son

 

The following morning, Michael Ward arrived at the Miyabe’s front door in time for breakfast. Kimiko assumed—quite naturally—that he’d come in order to spend time with his daughter before a return trip to Stately House. But a secondary purpose presented itself mere minutes later, when someone else knocked at the front door.

“Amaranthine,” said Michael.

“Dove clan,” chimed in Isla.

Michael innocently remarked, “Small world! Our usual herald is also a dove.”

A significant look passed between Mama and Grandma, and Sakiko flew to answer. That’s when a knowing smile flitted across Michael’s face. Noticing Kimiko’s gaze, he favored her with a wink and a single hand sign—wait.

“One came!” Kimiko’s younger sister returned, cheeks flushed, waving a thick packet with an official seal.

Daddy went to her, but only to retrieve the reaver communique under her arm. His bland smile gave Kimiko the distinct impression that he also knew what was coming.

Mama bustled forward, wringing her apron. “A contract? Is it a contract for Noriko?”

“We were promised one.” Grandma’s calm was almost convincing. “Well, then? Is the offer worth the paper it’s written on?”

Kimiko poked Suuzu’s leg under the table.

His eyebrows lifted, and he pleaded ignorance.

Akira leaned across him to whisper, “Kinda like requesting a marriage meeting.”

She nodded.

Meanwhile, Mama had seized the envelope and broken its seal. Even from across the table, Kimiko could see the difference between this set of papers and those they’d received up until now. Handmade paper. Elegant brushwork. Multiple crests.

“What does this mean?” Mama exclaimed, confusion snarling her brows. “This part here. Son of a what, now? Is it a foreigner?”

“Let me see, Mama,” Sakiko wheedled.  

Kimiko was impressed that Noriko showed no particular interest in the contract. She walked right past the others to fetch the rest of the breakfast things from the kitchen. Kimiko left the table to help serve their guests, eavesdropping the whole while.

“Where is the six-digit number?” Mama asked peevishly. “Is this the wrong form? How are we to know if his numbers are good?”

Kimiko blushed and glanced sheepishly in Michael’s direction. That they usually entertained six-digit offers betrayed the depths to which they’d sunk.

But his gaze spoke only kindness, and his tone was a study in casual interest. “Has a contract arrived for Noriko? How felicitous!”

Reminded of their audience, Grandma waved an impatient hand. “Give it to me, Kikuko. How many of these have we received, and still you cannot make sense of them? I will tell you if this boy has a chance with our Noriko.”

Grumbling the whole while, she perched a pair of reading glasses on the end of her nose and scanned the initial page. And stopped. And began again from the top.

“Well?” Mama demanded. “Is he any good?”

The old woman set aside the papers and her glasses and stood, then moved down to Kimiko’s place at the table.

“Grandma?” she asked.

A soft, wrinkled hand cupped her cheek for several moments, her eyes shining. Then the old woman moved along to Noriko and kissed her forehead. Without a single word, she left the room.

Michael took charge. “Perhaps I can be of assistance? I have daughters, you know. I’m familiar with the whole process.”

No one protested, and the man declared, “Miss Noriko has indeed received a fine offer. The supplicant is a son of Waaseyaa.”

Suuzu asked, “True son or descendent?”

“True son.” For the benefit of the rest, Michael explained, “By old reaver custom, it’s permissible to claim sonship for up to three generations. However, this man is a true son. Waaseyaa is his biological father.”

Mama asked, “Who is this man with the unpronounceable name? You speak as if he’s famous, but I’ve never heard of such a person.”

“Ah, he’s something of a recluse. Never makes the news these days.” Glossing over her other questions, Michael pointed to the top corner of the page. “I believe I’ve solved your little mystery. The reason there’s no six-digit number is because of the applicant’s level. See this copper ribbon? That’s Glint’s mark, which is necessary to confirm a double-digit rank.”

Kimiko glanced at her sisters, then looked to Daddy, who had an odd little smile on his face. Michael was downplaying everything even as he dropped names of vast historical significance. Glint and Waaseyaa had founded the In-between.

Michael continued to explain the form. “Here is his overall rank. Sometimes, there will also be a class rating as well, but this particular symbol indicates … ah.” And turning to the corner where their silent security guard stood, he said, “Thank you for your service to the community. Are you looking forward to settling down, Reaver Denholme?”

Every eye swung to Dickon.

He inclined his head. “This is a good place.”

Every eye swung to Noriko, only to find she’d set another place at the table. With a patient smile, she said, “Come and sit. You must be hungry.”

Dickon accepted, sitting right across from Mama.

No one could fault that Radish-man’s courage.

Into the stunned silence, Michael nattered on. “I can’t say I’m surprised to find such excellent references and highest recommendations. After all, Dickon is the son of a beacon.”

Mama shot her husband a pleading look. “Isn’t that really very good?”

“Yes, my dear.” Daddy smiled softly and promised, “Only the best for our girls.”
 

After breakfast, Daddy and Mr. Ward spread the local paper and the newly arrived reaver communique on the cleared table. Their expressions brought Kimiko closer. Head tilted to read sideways, she scanned the headlines. Keishi’s top story was cause for concern—RUNNING OF THE WOLVES.

“Is it because of the trackers?” asked Mr. Miyabe. “Looking for those missing girls?”

“Their movements have been attracting more attention.” Michael touched the communique, which was open to a terse report under a bold heading—UNREGISTERED RISK. “The most recent victim was from a bloodline that lapsed four generations back. The case has crossed over into the public sector.”

Kimiko asked, “Why is that a problem?”

“The suspect isn’t human.” Michael grimaced. “Allegedly.”

Both she and her father made the sign for silence. Kimiko added one for support.

Michael’s gaze turned inward for a moment. “There go the wards. You have company.”

Kimiko hurried to open the door and quickly stepped back to admit Hisoka Twineshaft. Storm clouds had crept in overnight, slicking the city in icy rain. “Come in!”

He signaled for a compromise. “Get your coat?” he suggested.

She joined him under his umbrella, and he escorted her to one of their house’s few blind spots. No matter which window someone might be snooping through, they wouldn’t catch sight of the esteemed personage in their garden and insist he come in for tea.

Speaking above the rattle of rain on their umbrella, Hisoka said, “Your betrothed asked me to carry a message. He cannot come in person, since he must abide by his father’s wishes. But every courting couple is expected to pass messages. Harmonious cannot criticize.”

Kimiko blinked. “Is that your way of telling me I should be sending messages?”

“You’re quick.” He inclined his head. “The Starmark pack would consider the regular comings and goings of assorted couriers a sure sign of increasing attachment.”

“I’ll work on that.” She adopted a quizzical air. “But you can’t have come over just to offer courting tips.”

“A go-between’s duties may be small and sundry.” Hisoka took an offhand tone. “However, I might mention in passing that it’s a fine day for a stroll through the azalea garden.”

Kimiko flatly stated, “The weather is terrible.”

He took her hand, pressed the curved handle of the umbrella against her palm, and smiled benignly. “Then I suggest taking shelter with someone willing to keep you warm.”

“Matchmaking games and passing notes and having secrets. I think you’re enjoying your role a little too much,” she accused. 

“May the same be said of your role.”

He was practically purring, and that made her suspicious.

“The azalea garden,” he repeated, giving her a gentle push in the right direction.

When she turned to give back his umbrella, he was already gone.
 

Kimiko passed between two stone lanterns onto the narrow path that was an alternative route to the azalea garden. It was her habit to take the back ways, leaving the wider paths with their serene views for guests. Not that she needed to bother. Kikusawa had been effectively cut off from the neighborhood while the In-between secured the site.

But this was a neighborhood shrine. The Miyabe family was united in their insistence that they were a necessary part of their community. All Hisoka would say, though, was soon.

In the shelter of a gazebo, Eloquence waited beside the Kith who lived with him and Ever. Rise’s tail, which had been swaying contentedly, went still. Was that a bad sign? She motioned welcome and peace, joking, “What a strange coincidence, finding you here.”

Quen beckoned her into the covered seating area. “Thank you for coming. I wanted you to meet Rise.”

“But we’ve met,” she reminded, looking between them.

“Not properly.” Eloquence moved to the drooping Kith’s side, reaching his arms as far as they’d go around his neck. The big dog’s tail gave a tentative wag, then went still again. “Sorry. He’s nervous. I guess we both are.”

Kimiko gave them a moment by shaking off the umbrella and propping it against a pillar.

Eloquence spoke in low tones. “I count Rise as my brother. We were rarely apart until I started classes at New Saga. If it weren’t for Ever, he’d probably have followed me to school every morning.”

To her surprise, Rise butted Eloquence with his broad forehead, knocking him flat on his back before flopping on top of him, his broad muzzle covering most of Eloquence’s midriff.

He submitted with a low chuckle. “See how he treats me?”

“It’s clear who’s boss.” Kimiko sat on the closest bench. “After all, you belong to the Kith.”

“Yes. He says I’m telling things all out of order. And that it’s debatable which of us needs minding more—Ever or me.” Eloquence stroked Rise’s fur. “I’m older than you, you know.”

Rise huffed.

“He says, ‘Not in dog years.’ Which I’ll concede is a valid point.” Eloquence tipped his head back to search Kimiko’s face. “Kith do not go through a lengthy adolescent phase.”

“Does Rise have a family, then?”

Eloquence’s expression wavered. “No. He could, but he’s made a pact to never leave my side.”

“Because you and Ever need him,” she guessed.

“Because we three are brothers.” Eloquence and Rise were both watching her closely.

She was missing something. “Packmates, pactmates … and denmates, for that matter.”

“Kimiko, Rise and I are true brothers.”

True brothers. Like a true son. But how did that work?

Eloquence’s hands formed a rarely-seen sign, one that asked for a pledge of secrecy.

She crossed to him and linked their hands, completing the vow.

“I am my father’s son. My parents were both High Amaranthine, and so am I. Ever is my father’s son. His mother is human, making him a crosser.”

Kimiko’s mind was leaping ahead, but she forced herself to listen quietly.

“Rise is my father’s son. His mother was a dog.” Eloquence gave her a moment to process that before continuing. “This was before I can remember, but Uncle Laud explained that we were part of the Starmark pack at Wardenclave then. Glint Starmark, my grandsire, gave her to my father to keep him from succumbing to grief after my mother’s death. Dad kept her close, and in the course of things, she bore him a son.”

“You … you’re compatible with animals?”

“In truest form, yes. We don’t talk about it with outsiders.” Again, he signaled for secrecy. “Reavers have always assumed our Kith to be lesser cousins, somewhere between the High Amaranthine and the Ephemera. But in truth, they are crossers.”

Kimiko tried to think how many Kith were attached to the Starmark compound. Dozens? Scores? And all of them had an Amaranthine father … or mother. “That’s a lot of mixed-species couples.”

“Not at all. Kith form breeding pairs, and their children are also Kith.”

She laughed at herself.

His gaze held sympathy. “In the early days, the first of our kind mingled more with the animals under their protection. My grandsire, First of Dogs, coupled with domesticated canines before settling down. His children by those bitches are the oldest Kith in the dog clans.”

“But that doesn’t happen anymore?”

Eloquence hesitated. “One of the ten duties given to a tribute is the care and continuance of strong Kith bloodlines. From time to time, a clan may decide to add Kith to their pack or fold. Directly.”

“Have you ever …?”

He quickly shook his head. “I’m not a Kith-sire, but some of my uncles are. Since I’ll have a bondmate, that particular duty will not fall to me. Honestly, it never would have, for fear I would sire other runts.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended or relieved.”

Eloquence smiled. “Either of those are better reactions than we feared.”

“Oh, I’m astonished. And trying not to think about how a dog the size of a house could manage to …” She held up a hand and shook her head. “Nope. Not thinking.”

Rise barked.

“I am not translating that.” To Kimiko he said, “I was ten when Dad gave Rise to me. He was just a puppy, and he was my responsibility. That was also the year I began training with my uncles, learning my responsibilities as a tenth child.”

“So you’ve been together almost your whole lives.” Kimiko nodded to herself. “And we’ll always be together from now on.”

Rise’s tail thumped the ground.

Still pinned beneath his half-brother, Eloquence said, “He thinks you should kiss me.”

She arched her brows at Rise. “Is he putting words in your mouth?”

The tail doubled its speed, and he wuffed.

“Let him up so I can kiss him properly,” Kimiko ordered. “We’ll call it practice for the next formal declaration.”

Rise heaved up and settled on his haunches, freeing Eloquence.

She stood, dusting absently at her breeches. “Do we need to schedule the official kisses according to the moon?”

“I think not. Dogs don’t reverence the moon.” He slipped into the neutral posture for which diplomats were famous. “Did Hisoka speak with you about recent events?”

“No, but I saw this morning’s paper. And he hinted that there was a role I’d need to play.”

Eloquence stepped closer, took her hand. “Hisoka Twineshaft is my go-between, and he will always act in our best interest. However, he carries a great responsibility to our people—yours and mine. As Spokesperson and a member of the Five, he’s making two requests of us.”

“The first?” she prompted.

“In order to distract the media from less savory events … and to appeal to the recent craving for inter-species romances, he would like to make our courtship public.”

“How public?”

“Very.” He smiled faintly. “The next time you kiss me, it would be in front of hundreds of cameras.”

Kimiko rolled her eyes toward Rise. “No, the next time I kiss you, it will be in front of your brother.”

The dog nosed their joined hands, adding a small lick.

“I’m not opposed to practice kisses,” Eloquence said, adopting his demure pose of the night before.

But when she went up on tiptoe to kiss him, he leaned away. “What’s this?” he inquired.

“A kiss …?”

“You have already kissed my lips.”

“Once,” she said, confused by his teasing tone. “One down, eleven to go.”

“My dear suitor, you have declared your intention to fulfill the famed Cycle of Moons, also known as the Lover’s Circuit or the Tour of Devotion. Each implies movement.”

“Of the moon.”

Eloquence shook his head. “I can understand your confusion, but you have misinterpreted the song. The moon bears witness, as does the tree—both are constants. It is the kisses that move. Twelve kisses in twelve places, presumably bestowed in increasingly intimate territory.”

Kimiko did a quick reconnoiter, adding up places she’d be willing to kiss during what might well be a live, worldwide broadcast. Quite the challenge. And getting the placement and pledge to match up would take a little extra creativity.

She was still tallying on her fingers when Eloquence eased closer. “Rise would like to point out that it’s not forbidden for you to touch my lips again. Unofficially.”

“Your brother is really looking out for you.”

“Pack does.” He asked, “Are you willing?”

Kimiko asked, “To kiss you, or to help Hisoka-sensei?”

“Both. Either. Anything.”

“Close your eyes,” she directed. “And bend a little, so I can reach.”

He acquiesced, tipping his head slightly to one side, as if listening for her movements. Perhaps even for the race of her blood or the song of her soul. She rose slowly, hoping to surprise him, and caught the flash of copper under his lashes.

“Peeker,” she chided.

When she pressed her lips to his forehead, he hummed encouragement. When she tried to step back, he slid his arms around her and blithely returned the gesture. As his lips lingered, then wandered, it occurred to Kimiko that Hisoka-sensei had been right about Eloquence’s willingness to keep her warm.

“Oh.” She stopped Eloquence with a finger to his lips. “All right. I can be persuaded to court you in front of cameras, but you didn’t say yet. What was Sensei’s second request?”

He kissed her finger, her wrist. She placed her hand against his cheek to stop him, and he leaned into her touch, his expression peaceful, then puzzled.

“Something about a … spokeswife?”