by Forthright
She was glad for them, but growing distracted. And not simply because she was an outsider to their memories. Argent had entered and watched over her from the far end of the room. And for lack of a better word, he was experimenting.
A bump. A nudge. A slide. His whisper-light touches might not have been physical, but the flutter of contact was as real as her reaver heritage. She could feel his tentative intrusions and left herself wide to them. Wouldn’t it be for the best if he explored the ties that bound him? The key to unlocking their lives might be hidden somewhere in her soul. Surely this was more constructive than waiting for Michael to uncover a pertinent passage in one of his dusty tomes.
In any case, Tsumiko yielded as his cautious rummaging gained confidence.
She had no reason to resist. He had no reason to fear.
They were so close. And closer to finding equal footing.
. . .
Argent had strained at the end of a leash for so long, he hardly knew what to do with the slack. Respite—even release—from commands had been gratifying enough, but Tsumiko went further. This was not an absence of command; this was an invitation to seize control. How far would it take him? How much could he take?
Latching on, he mingled and meddled with increasing audacity. Tsumiko let him press, guide, and funnel her resources. He reveled in his newfound command. No longer a beggar, he laid claim to greater portions. No longer drowning in her ocean, he swam in it, sailed across it, bridged it, and channeled portions into his own deepening reserves.
All without a thought to consequences.
. . .
Restlessness drove Argent into the midnight sky. He’d delved heedlessly, imbibed deeply, and taken so much, his wilder impulses brimmed over. Leaping higher, he strove to outrun the prickle under his skin. Tingles burned along his spine, setting every hair on end. He sprang higher, until his breath came in steaming gasps, crystalizing in thin air, falling toward the moonwashed landscape far below.
What was this sensation? Argent grappled with memories long buried. What had she done to him?
Biting clarity slammed him to a standstill. Suspended in the silent expanse, he took stock until he was certain, then went limp. How had he missed something so obvious? How could he have forgotten? Argent somersaulted out of control, tumbling muzzle over tails.
He halted the giddying plunge, righting himself and surging toward Smythe land. Like tides to the shore, like stars in their courses, like the moon silvering the tips of his seven tails, his path was fixed. And its end was her.
. . .
Tsumiko knew it was silly to wait up for Argent. Still, she was dozing in an armchair when the click of the balcony doors drew her from the edge of sleep. Rubbing at tired eyes, she mumbled, “How far did you fly?”
“Not far.” Argent knelt before her chair. “I needed to return.”
She caught a whiff of winter as Argent slid his arms around her waist and bowed his head upon her knees. Slipping her fingers through windblown hair, she asked, “Did something happen?”
“Something has begun.” He lifted his face. “You have quite an effect on me.”
“What did I do?”
A shudder wracked his body, and his tails writhed together.
“Argent,” she whispered. “Are you in pain?”
“Discomfort,” he allowed. “It burns.”
“What?” Tsumiko couldn’t figure out what was going on. “What can I do?”
He stretched up to nuzzle her throat, her jaw. “At such times … those with close ties … a kiss is traditional.”
When he made no further advances, Tsumiko asked, “You mean me? I should kiss you?”
“That would be best, since you forbade me.”
Had she? Oh, yes. She hadn’t realized her former restriction would still stand. Really, she needed to be more careful with her words. But for now, the initiative must be hers.
Well, then.
Kisses took on different meanings in an Amaranthine context. Argent spoke of tradition, but for Tsumiko, kisses would always be an expression of love.
She bent and pressed her lips to his. A simple declaration.
“More,” he whispered.
Tilting his face upward, Tsumiko made her affection clear in a single slow kiss. Argent might not have been able to initiate, but he reciprocated with an appreciative hum. Which turned to a grumble when she drew back.
“More,” he repeated. “Nearly there.”
“Nearly where? What’s happening?”
A rumble built in Argent’s chest, and he pushed up on the arms of her chair, pressing her back into the cushions. Looming over her, he surrounded her chair, hiding them behind his tails. He bumped her nose with his own. “Once more, my lady, and you will see for yourself.”
Reaching up to stroke his cheek, she trailed a finger along his eartip. His elation rang through their connection, clear as the bells of Saint Midori’s. This felt like celebration, so she rejoiced with one who was rejoicing.
When their lips parted, he shivered and sighed, then bent low, hiding his face in her lap. Hands slid to her hips, and he took anchor there.
Tsumiko waited, but he seemed to be asleep. “Argent?”
He hummed.
“What happened?”
Argent huffed, and his answer was muffled by her night clothes. “Only what comes naturally at such times.”
Which was either evasion or entendre. She drummed her fingers on his head. “Are you going to tell me?”
He looked up with a hazy smile. “Not in any great detail.”
Tsumiko smiled bemusedly, but one thing was obvious. “You’re happy.”
“Blissful.”
“You said I would see …?”
“Yes.” Argent lay his cheek against her knees, eyes shut, smirk apparent. “Tell me what you see.”
And he flaunted his tails, fanning them out so she could count. There were no longer seven; he’d somehow leapt to nine.
FIFTY TWO
Fox Dreams
Tsumiko found herself in a forest. Daylight sparkled among the leaves high overhead, but she stood in gloomy shadows. Massive tree trunks stretched as far as she could see in every direction with little more than moss for undergrowth. An old wood. Ancient and empty.
“What is this place?”
Silence gave way to a patter of footfalls, and she turned, only to shrink back against the nearest trunk. A giant animal slipped in and out of view, bounding between the trees. A second soon joined her. Vixens, though they were several times larger than any fox should be. Unless they were Amaranthine.
The females leapt and spun, frequently turning back, flipping their multiple tails. Their yips sounded like laughter, and they seemed to be calling to someone else. A third appeared, gliding gracefully through the trees. Only then did Tsumiko realize that the dimness had leached all the colors from the surroundings. The first two foxes must have been red, for their male counterpart had a ghostly glow, pale silver in the shadowlands.
Swishing their tails under his nose, the females brushed against him suggestively, inviting him into their game of chase, hoping to be caught. But he paid them little mind, fending off their flirtation with an aloofness that struck Tsumiko as familiar.
Surely, this was her fox. Or … a five-tailed version of him.
“Argent,” she whispered.
“Now that is audacity,” said a voice to her right. “Wafting stolen tails under my nose. Tsk. Insulting.”
He stood with arms tucked into the deep sleeves of a regal garment—blaze blue trimmed in silver and white. Barefoot in the moss, this Argent’s hair flowed much longer than her butler’s did, loose down his back, blending into the flow of his tails. Nine of them.
“Argent?” she repeated, needing to know that she was safe.
But the Amaranthine who turned
his face wasn’t her fox. Not really. His eyes were heavily rimmed with silver, and a similarly shimmering diamond seemed to have been painted onto the center of his forehead. Was this the person Argent would have been?
“I knew what they had done. Senna always was a glutton for gain, and her younger sister was doubly rapacious.” He waved at the pair, revealing silver-tipped claws. “That is Nona Hightip, self-styled Lady of Foxes.”
Tsumiko looked more closely, but she couldn’t tell the vixens apart. One had four tails, and the other five. Did the addition of tails come with age or ability? Or perhaps ambition? She asked, “How can a fox steal their tails?”
Argent crossed to her, looming so close he filled her view. Brows lifting, he said, “See for yourself.”
When he stepped aside, the scene had changed.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“A dream.”
“It feels so real.”
Argent’s eyebrows lifted. “Fox dreams do.”
They stood at the edge of a clearing. The woods at their back were unnaturally still, breathless on the cusp of disaster. And the source slunk forward, belly low to the grasses. This red vixen wasn’t nearly as large as the one who’d attacked the wards at Stately House, but Tsumiko felt sure that Argent was showing her pieces of the past. So that made sense. The farm was certainly an antique, just like those in historical reenactments.
A wood hut with slat windows barely hid Nona from view. Indeed, it betrayed her with an explosion of squawking and flapping from within. But the fox showed no interest in the henhouse. She crept out from behind it, stealing toward a woman who’d paused in her work, straightening and rubbing together dirty hands. A farmer’s wife with a vegetable patch.
Fear tightened in Tsumiko’s belly as the vixen stalked her. “Is that Nona?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he replied.
“What’s she doing?”
“Poaching.”
Realizing her peril, the woman shrieked and ran toward the house, only to spin and stumble back toward the fox. She froze there, trembling before the monster. Tsumiko couldn’t understand the woman’s behavior. Why turn back? Was she somehow in Nona’s thrall? Confusion cleared at the sound of a whimper coming from the garden’s edge. A baby. Her baby.
As the thin cry of an infant rose, the woman swayed forward, calling for her daughter. Yet her feet didn’t move. Green eyes alight with greedy malice, the vixen jabbed and jostled the baby’s basket with her narrow muzzle.
“Do something,” Tsumiko begged.
But Argent remained at her side. “Before reavers understood why we found their souls so delectable, predators like Nona became the monsters of human fables—robbing cradles, waylaying children, gulping down bright souls.”
“Can’t you stop her?”
“Not this time.” Anger glittered in his gaze, but his veneer of calm held. “This is an old story. Its end is already written.”
Horror slicked Tsumiko’s skin as the helpless child disappeared in one gulp. Such casual cruelty. Such careless disdain. Didn’t the Amaranthine share an understanding of life’s sacredness? Surely that girl was precious in the sight of her mother, her father, her Maker.
The blood drained from Tsumiko’s face, and a roar began inside her head.
Argent caught her. “You did ask. In these early days, humans were easy pickings. Reavers had only just begun gathering strength and making allies. Stragglers with the scent and savor of power fell prey to the greedy. We consumed body and soul, gaining glory by theft.”
“Why murder? Why not tending?”
“Tending requires time and trust. Nona is more interested in rising through the ranks of house and clan, in attaining the highest titles and the widest recognition. And in enticing a powerful mate.”
“You?”
“She would deny it.”
Tsumiko was almost afraid to ask, to face a terrible possibility. “You said we earlier—we consumed body and soul. Did you really …? Did you eat children?”
“Personally? Are you certain you wish to know?”
Did she?
The scene shifted, and again he said, “See for yourself.”
She was sorely tempted to cover her eyes. If he was going to show her more death, she didn’t want to see. Yes, she wanted to know, but she didn’t want to watch another life ruthlessly ending.
Argent moved behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, his tails curling around her feet, his voice soothing her fears. “I was fond of children, but not as a dietary supplement. Watch, Tsumiko. This is how I was captured.”
. . .
They stood on a forested slope, overlooking a rustic village. A crimson sunset stained an irregular network of flooded fields, and smoke bled upward from squat wooden houses set ablaze. Across the distance, screams and shouts reached Tsumiko’s ears—pain, dismay, defiance. And over it all, the quavering yips of two giant red foxes.
“Is it them again?” she asked.
“The Hightip sisters always did enjoy a raucous feeding frenzy.” Argent’s lip developed a disdainful curl. “But this was a poor choice in prey.”
Tsumiko felt a tremor just before the sky above the village fizzed and crackled to life. Wards flared, their sigils etched in lightning as they spread outward. One of the vixens yelped and sprang backward.
“A reaver village?” asked Tsumiko.
He inclined his head. “Here, reavers are more organized. They have learned how to defend themselves. And how to hide.”
“But the foxes found them.”
Argent hummed. “By happenstance. The village’s barrier fell when their brightest star fled. Once Nona and Senna notice she is missing, they will abandon the rest to track her down.”
Her? He must mean the strongest reaver. Perhaps their leader? Tsumiko asked, “And you were here, too?”
He turned and lifted an arm, pointing into the forest.
A figure approached through the trees. This Argent strolled toward their position with a lazy grace, silvery tails trailing. Even from a distance, Tsumiko could tell they were puffed and twitching. Irritation? Annoyance? But what struck her most was how young he appeared.
“It’s almost like looking at Gingko,” she whispered.
“I suppose there is a resemblance.”
Was that paternal pride she was detecting? If only Gingko could see his father like this, flaunting his heritage with the air of a lord, not the servility of household staff.
Argent moved behind her, almost as if hiding from whatever was to come. “And so it begins,” he murmured.
At first, Tsumiko couldn’t see anything—or anyone—who might be the beset village’s best and brightest, but then she caught the faint patter of running feet. Two children ran their way, cutting through the trees on a headlong course that would bring them straight to the younger Argent, who had paused to look out over the village in flames.
Tsumiko wasn’t entirely sure if this was a dream or a memory. Either way, she couldn’t sense power as she did in the waking world. But she knew which of the children had Argent’s attention. The girl had an aura of importance, as if she were the principle character, with spotlights swiveling to brighten the way as she stepped onto the scene. A reaver child. Tsumiko’s ancient relative. Argent’s downfall.
She couldn’t have been more than six, and she led an even smaller boy—a younger brother, perhaps—by the hand. They slowed to splash through a brook, scattering flickering fireflies. The younger version of Argent stirred at the sound, turning a wary glare from the sky.
“Hurry, Maru-chan!” the girl exclaimed. “We have to hide!”
“Where’s Da?” whined the boy, craning his neck to see behind. “Da comin’?”
“Not him,” she soothed. “We’re safe from Da and Uncle and the rest. We got away.”
�
�Comin’,” insisted the boy. “Hear ’im.”
The girl craned her neck to look behind, which is why she didn’t see the obstacle to the front. She yipped in surprise when she collided with Argent, who barred the way with hands on hips.
Tsumiko nudged her dream companion. “Why didn’t you get out of their way?”
Argent’s gaze never left the girl. “I was amusing myself.”
“Picking on children?”
“I was the least of their worries.” He held her more snugly and whispered, “Nona and Senna have noticed. They are coming.”
But Tsumiko was more interested in Argent’s encounter with the reaver village’s runaway beacon. The little girl looked up and whimpered, then threw her arms around the boy, as if she could protect him.
Argent spoke not a word, his attention on the forest through which they’d come. As the crash and scrabble of pursuit grew louder, he sidestepped the children, placing himself between them and the vixens who drew up short just beyond the brook. A four-tailed fox and her five-tailed sister.
Large eyes gleamed. The foxes weren’t nearly as large as Nona had been when she attacked Stately House, but each was easily as big as a bus.
The children shrank from sight, cringing against Argent’s legs.
Tsumiko saw his hand drift back to lightly touch the top of the girl’s head. Reassurance? Even more startling, he drew his tails around the youngsters in a manner she knew to interpret as protective … or possessive.
He spoke softly. “These are mine. Be gone.”
Nona transformed into a beauty with a seductive smile. “These are ours. Be reasonable.”
