Page 109 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Argent’s tails battered her gently about the ankles. “To spite the vixens. To snub death. To see what would happen.”
Tsumiko felt like crying. “You carried them home?”
“Straight into captivity.” He grimaced. “I went willingly, you know. As much for her sake as to reassure her kinsmen. She was my first taste, and I would have done anything to remain beside her. If she had grown up ….” He left the thought unfinished.
“She didn’t grow up?”
He shook his head once. “Only then did the truth of my predicament become clear. The bond next passed to an aunt. Her daughter. A granddaughter.”
Tsumiko gazed around the firefly forest overlooking a village still aflame. Every detail was vivid, as if this memory was revisited often. As if it were treasured.
“Do you regret saving that little girl’s life?”
“Never.” He bent so close, the tip of his nose touched hers. “My proving journey brought nothing but devastation and degradation. But it still served its purpose. Here, I proved myself. Here, I can still hold my head high.”
FIFTY THREE
Survival Rate
The following morning, Tsumiko lingered in the bathroom, mulling over the previous night’s dream. Fire and screams, fear and death—she couldn’t un-see the lurid scenes Argent had painted for her. Times had certainly changed. Most news outlets lifted up the peace-loving Amaranthine as a pattern for human unification and tolerance. And she couldn’t argue that the various clans respected one another. But how did theyreallyfeel about humans?
Long ago, the Amaranthine were a threat. And in Argent’s memories, reavers were prey. But the Hightip sisters’ attitudes and actions were mercifully outdated. Nona must have changed if she’d helped pave the way for peace.
But the lady fox’s gaze had been so hungry. And there was a rogue killing and kidnapping unsuspecting humans. Yet Naroo-soh’s outrage against the offender had been as clear as his sorrow for those who’d suffered. Brynn Fallowfield treated Kyoko with obvious affection. And Argent remembered Nona and Senna with obvious disdain.
And another thing. The deaths Tsumiko had seen still lingered in Argent’s memory. They’d only affected her deeply because they’d affected him deeply. And he’d suffered for centuries because he’d obeyed a compassionate impulse.
More than ever, she was determined to set things right. To set him free.
Her prayers to that affect were interrupted by a soft rap on the door.
“There is a message,” Argent called. “It could be from Michael.”
“Coming!” she answered, hurrying to splash cold water on her face.
Tsumiko had never been self-conscious about prayer until Argent began stalking hers. A basic pattern had been established at Saint Midori’s—morning and evening prayers, meals and chapel. But private devotion wasn’t quite so structured. Expressions of gratitude, pleas for guidance or protection. These came as easily as breathing, but they lured him in, locked his focus, and left her at a loss. Argent’s ill-concealed voyeurism troubled her enough to make him the topic of the prayers he found so fascinating.
She cracked the door. Sure enough, Argent loitered on the other side looking vaguely guilty. “Well?” she asked. “What is it?”
“A text.”
She exited her makeshift prayer closet and crossed to the bedside table, where her cell phone blinked insistently. “Didn’t you check?”
Argent hung back, tense. “Well?”
“Amessage,” she exclaimed. “This must have been dinging like crazy.”
“I may have been distracted.”
“There are at least a dozen texts. All from Michael.” Tsumiko quickly opened her messages … and smiled. “He’s been spamming us with pictures. Of his new baby girl.”
. . .
Tsumiko studied the sky as she and Argent crossed the estate, aiming for the hunting lodge. Barely up, the sun shone weakly in a milky sky that promised more snow. She asked, “Do you know what birth attendants have to do?”
“Follow orders.” Argent blandly added, “This is Mare Fallowfield’s area of expertise.”
“Didn’t you help when Gingko was born?”
