Page 159 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
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 Iknowyou 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 thatthiscat 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.”
