Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox

by Forthright

  Surrounded as he was by people taller than he, Argent couldn’t see Tsumiko. Worse, he couldn’t feel her. Not a trace. Which should have been a herald of success, but Argent’s stomach plunged. Pushing past the rest, he stumbled in his urgency to reach Tsumiko. She was alive, but anxious. Pale and patient in her vow of silence. Unfettered, yet bound by an unchanging desire.

  “Did it work?” Gingko repeated.

  Argent put the matter to the test in an act of flagrant disobedience; he kissed her.

  SIXTY FIVE

  Gingko Grove

  Argent glanced up when Gingko slammed into their chamber and formed a hasty sigil to camouflage the door behind him. A flimsy attempt. Subtly reinforcing the ward, Argent ensured his son’s barricade would hold. He looked as if he needed a little room to breathe.

  Gingko’s hair had been trimmed and brushed to glossy perfection, and he was dressed with a delicate extravagance that suited the Mettlebright clan’s ancestral home. But his tail was puffed to twice its usual size, and his ears were nearly flat against his skull. He looked for all the world like a kitten in need of escape from a doting mistress. The only thing lacking was a satin bow around his neck.

  Keeping his tone light, Argent remarked, “Your grandmother has taken a liking to you.”

  Swearing softly, Gingko turned and went very still. “Dad?”

  “Tsk. You sound uncertain.”

  His son edged closer, gaze wandering from top to toe and back again. “What happened to you?”

  “Tradition.” Argent turned the question around. “What happened to you?”

  Gingko grimaced.

  “Come.” Even though he may have been little more than a last resort, Argent was gratified that his son stepped so quickly into the offered refuge of his arms. Gingko had come along to claim his place as Argent’s son and heir. Their household would be entered into the family registry during tonight’s grand celebration.

  Argent smoothed his thumb over the embroidered crest proudly displayed on Gingko’s finery—a nested pair of golden leaves on a field of Mettlebright blue, their fanning edges silvered by frost. “Well?” he prompted.

  “I want my jeans back. And a long, empty beach. And my garden.”

  “And Lilya?”

  “Her and little bro, too.” Gingko barely kept the whine from his voice. “How much longer are they gonna drag this out?”

  “I was gone for a very long time, and I have returned with a son. Such things tend to cause a stir.” Argent sighed. “Before I could advance, I needed to return here, to conclude my proving journey, to be recognized, to claim a place.”

  “This isn’t our place,” whispered Gingko.

  “Indeed, no.” Argent allowed a little of his own restlessness past the serene face he’d shown to those of his home den. “Our clan will have us for a little while longer, but they cannot hold us.”

  “Nice for a change.”

  Freedom was. But Argent was a little surprised at the undercurrent of urgency keeping him on edge. Surely this was irony. Finally free to go wherever he wished, he yearned only to return to Stately House. Or at least to those waiting there. Though strictly speaking, the stir in his instincts had more to do with Tsumiko, who had asked him to wait. Until everything was settled. Until he could stay and stoke and savor and … and so on.

  Gingko was smirking.

  “Tsk. What?”

  “You want your beacon back. And a long weekend.”

  “A week at least.” Argent stifled a sigh. “And my garden.”

  “Good place to hide. Everyone’ll probably forget you’re even home.” Gingko’s ears quivered, and his voice turned sly. “If I sneak you food and help with Kyrie, I’ll bet you could hold out in there for a month.”

  Argent rather hoped he was serious.

  Gingko said, “Your mom was fishing for information again.”

  “Tell me you deflected her curiosity.”

  “Like I’d blab,” he scoffed. “But won’t all this secrecy make things worse? She’s gonna snoop until she’s satisfied.”

  Argent knew very well how much influence Lady Estrella Mettlebright held, both with the clan an in the In-between. But if all those connections hadn’t helped her locate her missing son, she was ill-equipped to unearth the past he preferred to bury.

  “She will be satisfied.” Argent turned his son, steering him to a cushioned seat before a silvered mirror.

  “How much are you going to tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  Gingko met his father’s gaze in the mirror. “How are you gonna pull that off?”

  “I have retained the services of a mediator.”

  “Uh-huh. And what’ll they say?”

  Argent busied himself selecting pots and brushes. “Whatever they wish.”

  With a wary scowl for the silver paint, Gingko asked, “Who do you trust that much?”

  “Twineshaft.” Argent circled his son. Tilting his face upward, he murmured, “Close your eyes.”

  Leaning out of reach, Gingko eyed the makeup suspiciously. “Why?”

  “Tradition.” He smiled serenely. “As I endured my father’s attentions, so you shall endure mine. Now close your eyes.”

  Gingko swore but submitted. “Wolves don’t go in for this kind of thing,” he muttered.

  “They do not.” Argent dabbed and smoothed, rimming his son’s eyes. “This particular tradition belongs to foxes.”

  “Why?”

  “Tsk. Have you forgotten your bedtime stories?” He admired his handiwork. “There. See?”

  Gingko stared at himself in the mirror. “This is embarrassing.”

  “Most young males find it so.”

  “Did you?”

  “Naturally. But my father grew adept at finding my hiding places.” Argent added a neat diamond in the center of Gingko’s forehead. “Not all of our clan’s traditions are so theatric. If the centuries have been kind, the most appalling ones have fallen into disuse. At the very least, I can promise that tonight’s feast will be excellent.”

  A light rap sounded on the door; they both turned.

  Gingko blinked. “That was fast. I didn’t think we’d be found for a while yet.”

  “You are very confident in your sigil-craft.” Argent couldn’t keep all the taunt out of his tone.

  His son snorted. “How are your confidence levels? Because I know you added wards.”

  Argent set aside his brushes. “I am more than a match for any fox in any den, but there are more than foxes in this world.” All wryness and respect, he murmured, “Let the nice kitty in.”

  . . .

  During the portion of the evening’s celebration when Argent should have spun the account of his proving journey into a worthy tale, he simply smiled and bowed, yielding the floor. And Hisoka Twineshaft strolled in.

  The cat among foxes was dressed as always in his favorite grays, though Argent detected a little more luster to the fabric. Hisoka’s only ornamentation was a lavish tasseled sash that jingled faintly as he moved. His only other accessory was a braided staff that looked as harmless as its bearer. No visible sigils, no mounted stones. Only the warm golden-brown of well-seasoned wood, polished to a fine gloss by long centuries of handling.

  But foxes knew that looks could deceive. And they were quick to take measure when it came to power. None could deny Hisoka’s. It lapped gently outward, a peaceful pool that served as both introduction and verification that this cat bore watching.

  Every fox in the skulk leaned forward to hear what the most famous of felines might have to say about their prodigal.

  Argent was curious himself.

  With all the craft of a storyteller, Hisoka wove a tale that told the truth without betraying its entirety. He implied without stating that Argent had been living among humans for the sake of a pledge.
That the arrangement had been mutually binding, necessarily secret, and thrice fruitful. “Does he not now boast a grown son, his cherished heir? Has he not made a den among reavers, working closely with wards and battlers of the highest pedigree? Is he not possessed of an exceptional bondmate, a lady of considerable resource and unstinting devotion?”

  Gingko shifted in his seat and raised a subtle ward to cover his grumble. “I don’t like it.”

  Argent slid a hand around his son’s wrist, a plea for restraint. “Which part?”

  “The hellish part he’s leaving out.”

  “Twineshaft cannot diminish my suffering, but he can preserve my dignity. And protect my kin.” His gaze drifted to the side, where Lady Estrella presided over a clan that was two siblings and three generations richer than the day Argent left home. “They would grieve. I would rather they rejoice.”

  Gingko shot him a raw look. “I won’t forget.”

  “Holding grudges?” he murmured lightly. “There is no one left to hate.”

  Ears flattened. “And no one else who remembers.”

  Argent thought he understood then and smiled. Sliding his hand into his son’s sturdy grip, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  In Hisoka’s version of events, Argent had received a calling, like that of Glint and Radiance Starmark. His long absence was not neglect, but self-sacrifice. For the sake of a pledge before the Maker. A pledge now fulfilled, to the benefit Kith, Kindred, and Crosser alike.

  The cat’s crafty tale reached its pinnacle, and he poised there. “What seemed lost is now found. And he who has returned is found ready.”

  A murmur rippled through the great hall, where representatives of every fox clan had been invited. For this was more than a welcoming feast.

  “Nona Hightip has stepped down, and I have need of an emissary.” Hisoka’s question carried to every corner of the room. “Honor my choice. Will you give Argent your blessing?”

  Every Mettlebright was on their feet, leading the cry that reverberated with approval.

  Hisoka Twineshaft, orchestrator of the Emergence and leader of the Five, turned and offered his hand.

  Argent Mettlebright, who had considered refusing the role simply because he could, followed the whim of his wishes. Rising smoothly, he met Hisoka’s fingertips, yielding when the cat drew him into his embrace.

  Amidst ongoing cheers, Twineshaft spoke low against his ear. “Three hours.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You and your son have three hours to make your excuses. Then we make our escape.”

  “To Keishi?”

  “To Stately House.” With a coy smile, Hisoka added, “I have a promise to keep to your lady.”

  . . .

  They reached home at considerable speed, setting down on Stately House’s lawn just after sunrise. Snow slumped in shady corners, and the air held a premature softness, hinting at springtime. Argent knew the thaw wouldn’t last, but neither would winter.

  Gingko slid to the ground with a two-footed thump, his arms taken up by a burlap bundle, a parting gift from Lady Estrella. Something from the Mettlebright grounds to honor the new branch family. Something to please her gardener grandson.

  Shifting from foot to foot, Gingko waited for Argent to resume his speaking form before cautiously saying, “I’m not sure my cold frames will be warm enough for these guys.”

  Argent made a point of studying the sky. “A cold snap could be disastrous.”

  Ears dipping, his son tucked his chin. “I want to plant them along the front walk.”

  “A tasteful and appropriate choice.”

  Hisoka, who had also transformed, eyed the young trees. “Nurturing your own gingko grove?”

  With obvious pride, Gingko explained, “Grandma gave me these from her greenhouses. Sort of a namesake thing.”

  “A fine gift.” Hisoka bowed and said, “If you will excuse me, I wish to greet my nephew before presenting myself to the household.”

  The cat strolled off, leaving Argent with his fidgeting son. He could have forced the boy to ask outright, but he relented. “Your hand.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tsk. Give me your hand.” Argent traced a sigil onto his palm and quietly explained, “Be discreet. You will find what you need in the easternmost corner. Mind you do not release the midivar.”

  “Really?”

  It was patently obvious how much this gesture meant to his son. He gave the boy a small push in the right direction. “Even false spring will make the gossameer frisky. Are you still ticklish?”

  Gingko’s ears quavered and pricked. Then with a swift brush of lips and gruff, “Thanks,” he sprang away across the lawn.

  Rubbing his cheek, Argent continued along the walk. While he normally would have gone in through the kitchen—the servant’s entrance—a whim drew him up the broad path leading to Stately House’s front door. Already envisioning the grove Gingko would plant, Argent was mildly surprised when the door opened before he reached it. He’d kept his presence very much under wraps, and he was as adept as Twineshaft at slipping past Michael’s defenses. But the one at the door had no reaver sense.

  Argent seriously doubted he had any sense at all.

  Jacques Smythe executed a precise little bow. “Welcome home, honored master.”

  “Still here?”

  “Well spotted, sir.” The young man’s gaze swept over his attire, his face. Admiration seemed at war with simple awe. “Is that the Amaranthine equivalent of formal wear?”

  “These are my clan’s colors.” Argent studied the silvered tips of his claws. There had been little time to change before their hasty departure. And Twineshaft had encouraged him to retain his finery. For Tsumiko’s sake.

  Jacques mouth worked for several moments, as if sifting past all the flippant, flirtatious things he might usually to say. Lowering his eyes, he earnestly declared, “Truly sir, you are a tribute to Stately House.”

  Someone had been coaching him in diplomacy. And Jacques was actually applying it? At this early hour? And in a very different sort of formal attire. Argent was almost afraid to ask. “What are you playing at?”

  Jacques straightened and tugged at his vest. From bowtie to tails, he was the picture of elegance. “Do you like it?”

  “I never did,” Argent said flatly. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Michael explained that you’re taking on a new job—lofty world leader—which leaves Stately House without a butler. So I applied for the position.” A playful smile eradicated any trace of subservience. “You’re a tough act to follow.”

  Argent wearily shook his head. “Go home, Jacques.”

  His smile faded. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  Jacques caught the corner of Argent’s sleeve in a wordless plea, also of Amaranthine origin. Someone had definitely been coaching him. He would have words with Michael later.

  Taking a shallow, shaky breath, Jacques whispered, “I’m willing to beg.”

  “You know how?”

  For an answer, he bowed at the waist and touched his lips to the inside of Argent’s wrist. Argent growled in annoyance, and Jacques flinched. But the fool clung desperately to his hand, properly pressing his forehead to the spot. Would he grovel next?

  But a hot tear splashed onto Argent’s palm, and then another, and his heart sank. Of all his tormentors, why was this insufferable brat the only one to come back, to bother to learn how, to give what no one else ever did? Apologies.

  Gently placing his hand atop Jacques’ head, Argent muttered, “Ridiculous boy. Raise your head.”

  Jacques’ countenance hid nothing—admiration, trust, hope.

  With a deep sigh, Argent accepted his apology and his place. But that didn’t mean he had to be nice about it. Rolling his eyes, he huffed his annoyance. “I suppose you
already have my lady’s support?”

  Relief and gratitude had their moments, but Stately House’s new butler quickly lapsed into a much more familiar lopsided smile. “I should hope so, sir. I’m her favorite uncle, after all.”

  . . .

  Lulling a sated and sleepy Kyrie, Tsumiko lingered on the fringes of the commotion surrounding Argent’s and Gingko’s homecoming. Most everyone had gravitated to the kitchen, where tea was served—by Argent. She doubted it even occurred to him that he didn’t need to do this sort of thing any longer.

  Sansa was full of questions about his family, his finery, and the reception he received from the various fox clans. For once, Argent answered candidly.

  Deece loitered by the door, nonchalantly attentive.

  Jacques made a show of polishing spoons at the table. No one remarked on the fact that he was using silver polish on stainless steel. He would learn.

  Gingko hung over the back of Isla’s seat, surreptitiously tucking flowers into the girl’s hair. She had yet to notice his attention. Eight-year-old Isla was Michael and Sansa’s second daughter. Hisoka-sensei had dropped her off at Stately House before continuing north to join Argent and Gingko.

  The girl behaved with unusual composure for one so young. And much like Michael, she showed no trace of shyness, tending instead to lecture anyone in earshot. At the moment, that was Lilya. Tsumiko was close enough to hear as Isla addressed herself with all seriousness to her new baby sister.

  “When you come to Ingress, I’ll watch over you. And I’ll be an even better teacher than Darya is to Annika. And you’ll be glad, since I’ll earn my first ranking by then. Someday, we’ll make everyone proud.”

  After only two days, Tsumiko had gained strong impressions of Isla. The girl obviously wanted to outdo her elder sister in Sansa’s eyes. And it was equally clear that she intended to outdo her father in Hisoka-sensei’s eyes. All without realizing that they were already proud of her, though perhaps for reasons Isla didn’t quite understand.