Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox (Amaranthine Saga Book 1)

by Forthright

  “A protection program?” Argent asked lightly. “So she can testify against her attacker?”

  Stewart nodded. “They also don’t want word to leak out. If the details were made public, it might cause a panic. People need to believe the inhuman races are all safe and nice.”

  Tsumiko said, “Most are.”

  “Yes. Most,” Stewart murmured. “So we are being hidden from the exception. Because he hasn’t been caught, and if he finds out about Kyoko …. I’ve been warned that he might try to take her back.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “She’s carrying his child.”

  . . .

  When the car finally bumped to a stop alongside an empty stretch of land, Argent stiffened. This time, there was menace underlying the rumble that vibrated through the car.

  “What?” whispered Tsumiko.

  Argent muttered several oaths before pinning Stewart with an accusatory glare. “Nobody mentioned there would be wolves.”

  FORTY EIGHT

  Cold Case

  Tsumiko leaned forward, trying to see. Would an Amaranthine from the wolf clans be very different from Argent? But her curiosity wavered toward concern when she remembered some of the things Gingko had said. About his dad being mocked for his dutiful role. Reaching for Argent, she firmly said, “You’re still in charge.”

  He quickly leaned across and flicked Stewart’s nose. “If he questions my presence, I am employed as Miss Hajime’s bodyguard. Understood?”

  “Yes, Argent.” Stewart exited the vehicle and joined Cedric.

  “Follow my lead.” Argent’s hand closed around her wrist. “Hold your power close, and keep these hidden. And for pity’s sake, do not offer to tend anyone.”

  “He has a tail!” she whispered.

  Argent rolled his eyes and preceded her out of the vehicle.

  Three Amaranthine stood in the snow by the roadside. One wore knee-length pants and a fur-trimmed vest; the other two were actual wolves. Kith, she supposed, for intelligence glinted in their yellow eyes.

  Argent scanned their surroundings with an attitude of supreme boredom, but she was fascinated. This clansman was nothing like Argent—in dress, in build, or in manner. He stood with one big hand propped at his hip, listening attentively to Lord Cedric, and he didn’t appear to mind the cold. His tanned chest was bare under the open vest, as were his feet. She could see a string of beads decorating one ankle. Or were they bones?

  The tail she’d noted earlier hung so still, Tsumiko began to think it was part of the Amaranthine’s attire. But then Cedric gestured their way, and the wolf’s tail wagged.

  “Miss Hajime,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “You must be brave to range so far. I am sorry your cousin was wronged. May she find better peace among her packmates.”

  It took a moment for Tsumiko to realize that he’d addressed her in her own language. She stepped forward. “If it weren’t for your skill in tracking, she’d still be far from home.”

  His tail swept back and forth in a wider arc.

  Remembering Michael’s lessons in diplomacy, she found the crest he wore on an armband and gasped. “You’re an Elderbough?”

  “True, lady. I am called Naroo-soh.”

  “May I ask about your name?”

  He loomed over her, but then he dropped into a crouch and offered his palms. Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he said, “You are kind to ask. In our language, Naroo-soh means ‘winter beams.’”

  “As in … strong timber?” she asked.

  He gave a rasp-edged chuckle. “Moonbeams, lady. Most wolves are given names that honor the moon. Mother says I was born on a bitter night, under the slanting beams of a waxing moon.”

  Tsumiko found herself smiling back. Now that he was so close, she could tell that his short, dark hair was tipped by silver, just like the fur of his wolf companions.

  “Your clan is famous,” she ventured.

  “Not by my doing. Mother upholds the prestige of our pack.” Confirming her suspicion, he added, “I am Adoona-soh’s firstborn.”

  Adoona-soh Elderbough, one of the Five. And her son was speaking her language. She quietly asked, “You are from my homeland?”

  “Not originally.” Naroo-soh didn’t release her hands as he sat—rather unceremoniously—in the snow at her feet. “But we have made a second home for ourselves there, to be near Mother. Where did you say you were from?”

  “I grew up in Keishi.”

  “At Ingress, then?”

  “No.”

  “No?” His grasp remained light, but his eyes narrowed. “That is difficult to believe.”

  And Naroo-soh’s thumb slid up her palm to the pulse point at her wrist. Her heart leapt when he grazed the beads binding her power.

  Immediately, a pale hand locked around the wolf’s wrist. “Down, boy,” Argent said softly.

  Naroo-soh’s expression registered little, but his tail puffed and his canine companions began to growl. Had they only now noticed Argent’s presence?

  “My bodyguard,” Tsumiko said.

  “A strong ward and a wily fox.” Naroo-soh withdrew his hand and slowly stood. His tail had developed a twitch. “My I ask your name, Kindred?”

  “I would rather you did not.” Argent flicked a speck from his sleeve, as if the wolf had him outweighed and outnumbered, but not outclassed. “I am nobody.”

  . . .

  Upon learning that visiting the crime scene would require a long tramp through the rough, Cedric volunteered to remain with the driver.

  “I’d like to see for myself,” Stewart said. “I haven’t been before this.”

  Naroo-soh studied the low clouds, the deep snow, and the man before him. “Would your dignity permit my carrying you? It would speed things along.”

  Stewart smiled crookedly. “I know enough to be honored by the offer. By all means.”

  Tsumiko half expected their guide to scoop him up; she was already tucked in Argent’s arms. But power rushed, and Stewart gawked at the towering form of a wolf. The animal crouched beside him; when the man didn’t move, Naroo-soh used his muzzle to prod Stewart to his side.

  “Climb on, boy,” Argent said. “He is offering you a ride.”

  Stewart clambered up, and the wolf loped away, gradually increased his speed until he bounded across an increasingly empty landscape. Tsumiko could feel his delight, as if she was catching his mood. Was this, too, part of being a reaver?

  Argent kept pace with Naroo-soh as if streaking across snowfields and vaulting gullies was a leisurely stroll. Tsumiko asked, “What do you think we’ll find?”

  “Nothing.” He scowled faintly. “This trail is long cold. Hardly worth the time of the Elderbough clan’s best tracker.”

  “Then why bother?”

  “When wolves take an interest in someone, they will often bring them in. Consider them packmates. If Naroo-soh rescued Kyoko, he would help Stewie for her sake.”

  “That’s nice of him.”

  “Not necessarily.” Argent’s gaze never strayed from their leader. “He is a wolf, but he is also an emissary of the In-between. If he is acting on orders, potential motives multiply.”

  “Aren’t they all trying to stop the kidnapper?”

  “Certainly.”

  Tsumiko tried to put herself in a reaver’s place. Yes, these crimes threatened the peace. Catching the rogue had to be their first priority. But why cater to Lord Cedric’s whims? To hush up the affair? To protect a witness so she could testify? Maybe. But why was Adoona-soh’s eldest son the one keeping an eye on things?

  “It has to be personal,” she whispered.

  Argent quietly said, “That would be best.”

  Before Tsumiko could ask what would be worst, Naroo-soh drew up before a jumble of stones surrounding the black maw of a pit. Stewart slid awkward
ly to the ground, and Naroo-soh transformed.

  “She was in this den,” the wolf said. “Along with two others. There is nothing left to see, but this is the place.”

  “Can I look inside?” Stewart asked.

  Naroo-soh supported the man down a steep slope; Argent followed, still carrying Tsumiko. She was first struck by the absence of wind. An earthen floor muffled their footfalls and stirred up the scent of soil. Their descent ended in a breathless, lightless space. Tsumiko leaned her head against Argent’s shoulder and closed her eyes to keep the darkness out.

  “A moment,” said Naroo-soh.

  Light bloomed against Tsumiko’s eyelids, and they watched Naroo-soh use the torch he lit to ignite those in brackets around the space. Six grottoes the size of horse stalls opened onto the central cave.

  “The women we found were cared for on the most basic level—food, water, and shelter. Now that we’ve learned what to look for, we’ve uncovered several more of these hideaways. The scents are always the same—old earth, fresh straw, wool blankets, blood, and pregnant women.” Disgust laced Naroo-soh’s voice. “He gathers them up, stables them in remote hovels, and breeds them.”

  As her eyes slowly adjusted to the erratic dance of flames, Tsumiko noticed that Naroo-soh’s two Kith companions crouched at Argent’s feet.

  “What do they want?”

  “What else?” Argent muttered. “A taste.”

  She reached down, and both wolves jumped to their feet, nuzzling her palm. “Why?”

  “Call it what you like—instinct, intelligence, discerning taste.” His brow quirked. “You are under no obligation to tend every Kith and Kindred who crosses your path.”

  “Is it all right, though?”

  “You have no restraint.” Argent lowered himself to one knee, keeping her in the circle of his arms, encouraging her to sit on his bent leg. “You might harm them.”

  Tsumiko stroked the closest wolf’s thick ruff of winter fur. “Can you help me control the flow? Is that possible, since we’re connected?”

  “I … do not know.”

  He sounded intrigued. Did he always rise to meet challenges? She asked, “Would you like to try?”

  With a soft hum to the affirmative, his hand covered hers. Lacing their fingers, he turned her palm upward, supporting it with his own. “Only a little. Concentrate on bringing power to your hand.”

  She imagined the little trickle that Michael’s amethyst beads allowed. Only instead of opening herself up to Argent, she envisioned the brightness of her soul pooling in her palm.

  “Do not push, do not flow.” He spoke directly into her ear. “Let it well up, seeping slowly.”

  Tsumiko was conscious of his hold on her. Not so much his arms; something more intangible had clamped around her—irresistible in its dominance, sure in its guidance. It was the strangest sensation, as if strong hands had wrapped around her soul and held it safe.

  The wolves whined and licked her fingers, and she stifled a giggle. “Tickles.”

  Argent hooked his chin over her shoulder, his breathing slow and steady. Very different from past tendings, which often left him shuddering.

  A throat cleared.

  Both Naroo-soh and Stewart were staring at them.

  Argent’s voice was low and calm. “Miss Hajime is newly apprenticed. She is untrained, but shows promise. She wished to try tending your Kith.”

  “Some lessons cannot be learned from books,” Naroo-soh said, his tone approving. “My two beggars are better for the attention.”

  Tsumiko laughed at the wolves’ wildly wagging tails. “What are their names?”

  “The male is Risk; the female is Dare.” His gaze turned speculative. “It is fortunate that your soul is so bright. Your cousin will need such tending.”

  She shook her head. “My teacher told me that a reaver can’t lend their power to another reaver.”

  “Not Stewart’s lady.” Naroo-soh’s yellow eyes glinted eerily in the torchlight. “You must tend the life she carries.”

  FORTY NINE

  Fallowfield

  The following morning, Stewart made good on Tsumiko’s fourth condition.

  Distraction dogged Argent’s heels as he escorted her under the netted boughs of the beech trees lining the lodge road. He’d given himself some distance from Tsumiko overnight, standing at the window, seeing nothing, weighing everything.

  What had changed?

  He remembered the startled delight of his first taste, the bright soul who’d unwittingly lured him into captivity. He’d survived a lifetime of dribs and drabs, often tainted by suspicion or made lurid by lust. And now Tsumiko’s fathomless wellspring. Always, always, always, his connection with her left him quaking, awash in elation, driven to new heights. He hid it as best he could, but his mortifyingly needy response was there. Always.

  Yet yesterday, he had been in control—of their bond, of himself.

  What had changed?

  “Will the horses come this way again?” Tsumiko asked.

  “I think not. We are expected.” He turned his attention to the house. A familiar tang reached his senses. “And she is here.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “You could say I have developed a taste for Hajime women through the centuries. I would know a member of your clan anywhere.”

  Tsumiko’s mulling yielded an unexpected turn. “Who would know you anywhere?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Before you were bound to the first Hajime, who knew you?” She added, “Naroo-soh didn’t recognize you.”

  “He is from a different place, a different generation.” Argent threw facts into the face of his discomfort. “The Emergence has fostered exceptional alliances. Left to themselves, foxes and wolves would not normally socialize.”

  The distraction failed.

  “If all Amaranthine are so long-lived, why has no one come looking for you?” she asked. “Where are your parents, siblings, cousins?”

  “In a state of blissful ignorance,” he said. “I have no wish to bring attention to my humiliation.”

  Tsumiko frowned. “You’re embarrassed?”

  He sighed. “What would you do if someone put Akira in chains?”

  “Rescue him.”

  “Even if you lacked the strength to break his bonds?”

  “Of course! He’s my brother.” She mumbled, “I’d have to try.”

  Argent nodded. “And what if those bonds compelled your brother to fight his rescuers? What if he was unable to resist the order to kill them?”

  She stopped, head down. “You’re protecting them?”

  “They are my kin,” he said softly. “Of course I am.”

  . . .

  “Is that singing?” Tsumiko asked.

  Stewart toyed with the heavy ceramic mug that held his cooled tea. “That’s the midwife, Brynn Fallowfield. She’s always singing Rivven songs. They seem to have a calming effect on Kyoko.”

  Although they’d arrived promptly, Stewart’s wife had yet to put in an appearance. They’d been waiting for the better part of an hour, huddled awkwardly around a small table in an artistically rustic kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” Stewart repeated.

  Argent merely hummed, lost in his own thoughts.

  The song’s lilting lines reminded Tsumiko of a lullaby, an appropriate choice for a birth attendant. Words flowed soothingly, but Tsumiko couldn’t understand them. “What language is that?” she asked.

  “The old one,” Argent said.

  She shook her head in confusion.

  He tilted his head to one side, listening now. “She knows the songs of trees.”

  Tsumiko asked, “A song about trees?”

  “A song sung by trees.” He cast a sidelong look at Stewart, then shrugged. “They are our oldest songs, handed down
beside every child’s cradle. You would call them nursery rhymes, bedtime stories, or even fairy tales.”

  “The Amaranthine have fairy tales?” Tsumiko asked.

  Stewart chuckled. “You are fairy tales.”

  Argent smiled faintly. “Then these are the fairy tales of fairy tales.”

  “Tell us?” Tsumiko begged.

  “Please,” Stewart urged. “Unless it’s a secret. Though you can count on me to keep it.”

  He left them in suspense for the length of time it took to set a fresh pot of tea to steep, then rejoin them at the table.

  “Amaranthine clans are aligned with the creatures of this world—land animals, reptiles, birds, and all manner of creeping things. We are their kindred, their caretakers. But in our oldest stories, we share this world with the kin to trees, to mountains, to the sky, and to the sea.”

  Tsumiko brightened as she made a connection to passages she’d studied since childhood. “Trees clap, stones cry out, and stars sing.”

  Argent nodded. “They are the lingering Impressions of the divine upon our universe. Imps.”

  “So are there Amaranthine who change into trees?” Stewart asked.

  “Wouldn’t it be the other way around?” Tsumiko countered. “A tree who can take human form?”

  “The latter,” said Argent. “Or so the stories go.”

  “They’re not real?” She would have liked to meet a tree person.

  “Truth hides itself in tales such as these.” Argent poured more tea into their mugs. “The trees may have been lost, but I suspect they were also found. That is why we still know their songs.”

  Stewart asked, “So they exist, but they’re hidden? In the same way your people remained hidden until this past year.”

  Argent leaned back in his chair, a faraway look in his eyes. “High valleys, walled gardens, remote islands—our trees hide from the axes of men in secret groves. According to some stories, they rain passersby with leaves or pods or unripe fruit, tripping them with their roots and generally making a nuisance of themselves. In others, they are tempters who waylay the unsuspecting.” Indicating the ceiling, he said, “This song is a lesson for any who stumble into such a grove.”