Page 134 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Messages had begun arriving from the Farroost clan, demanding assurances and offering supplemental security for Akira’s and Suuzu’s impending visit. The week leading up to the Emergence’s first anniversary had been declared an international holiday, and the boys would have a break from school.
At the same time, two of Michael’s and Sansa’s daughters were expected. Darya, their eldest, would be escorting four-year-old Annika home to meet their new baby sister. Tsumiko couldn’t wait to meet them.
Much trickier was the casually officious letter from England informing them of Jacques Smythe’s intention to visit. Despite Michael’s increasingly brusque attempts to dissuade the man, Uncle Jackie’s correspondence was full of frivolous—and often flirtatious—enthusiasm for his upcoming adventure. Nothing would hold him back.
None of these would have been much of a problem if they weren’t still in limbo about Argent’s bondage. Good intentions weren’t enough to set her slave free, and no one at Stately House was eager to broadcast Argent’s predicament. Michael had been losing sleep in order to press on with his research, so Tsumiko offered her services. She might not understand everything about reaver culture, but she was no stranger to academia. Research was well within her abilities. Which was why she was in Michael’s office when Gingko charged in, breathless and shaky.
Setting aside a thick folio on the subtle differences between seals and wards, she asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, maybe. Or definitely.” Gingko stalked across the room and took her by the shoulders. “Tsumiko, I need … just a little more? It’s the only thing that helps!”
His grip was harder than necessary, but she tried not to show it. “I’m not sure that’s wise. Maybe you should ask Michael this time.”
Gingko’s eyes slammed shut, and he swayed in place. Swearing under his breath, he loosened his grip. “Sorry, sorry. It might be good to get Michael. He can make sure nothing gets out of hand. But please, Tsumiko. It’s gotta be you.”
Desperation clipped his words, and she could feel the panic underlying his plea. “What are you feeling?” she asked. “Help me understand what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he moaned. “There’s a fire in my belly and in my bones.”
“Argent!” she cried.
Gingko hissed his protest, but his father was already there.
“Explain,” Argent’s voice was dangerously soft.
“He’s not feeling well.” Tsumiko helped lead Gingko across the hall, into a side parlor. “Would tending help?”
“Symptoms?”
Tsumiko shared what she knew.
Argent took hold of Gingko’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “How long have you been in pain?”
“A while,” he hedged. “A few days.”
“Idiot. How many times have I told you to go to Michael for tending? He knows how to control his output.”
“Stingy,” Gingko muttered. “Tsumiko doesn’t scrimp, and I like feeling full.”
“Well, you have taken too much.”
“Feels like I’m dying.”
Argent snorted. “You are not.”
“So … what?” asked Tsumiko. “I’ve given him the equivalent of a tummy ache?”
“How many times have you tended this beggar since we returned?” Argent asked.
“Not very much!” Gingko tried to hide behind her. “Don’t be mad. It’s not her fault.”
At Argent’s arched brow, Tsumiko answered honestly. “Seven times.”
She felt awful that her willingness to fill his aching soul with light had led to pain. She didn’t regret the sessions themselves. She’d missed Gingko’s casual camaraderie, an intimacy she didn’t need to resist. He always acted like he was taking, but she treasured the trust they’d found. Her first friend. And it felt as if she was losing him.
“Tsk.” Argent cupped her cheek. “He is not dying. You did well to call for me, since I am the one he needs.”
“He needs you?” she echoed just as Michael came through the door at a jog.
