Page 31 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Don’t praise the boy for eluding the ignorant.” Argent glared after his son. “His illusions won’t protect him against any fox worth their tails.”
NINETEEN
Left Wanting
The turning seasons left the veranda inhospitable for mealtimes, so Argent served his mistress’s meals in the formal dining room. At the appointed hour, Tsumiko slid into her usual chair and waited in silence for him to bring the first course.
“Why are we doing this?” she asked.
He shook out a napkin for her lap. “Humans require sustenance.”
“But whyhere?”
“This is the dining room. Peopledinehere.”
“No,peopledo not. I do,” she said. “Alone.”
“You are the lady of the house.”
She shook her head. “I’m an orphan who inherited another lady’s cast-offs.”
Argent deftly ladled carrot bisque into a bowl. “Most would consider this an enviable acquisition.”
Tsumiko’s gaze roamed the elegantly appointed room. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“How quickly humans tire of their playthings.” Mockery edged his pretense at sympathy. How dare she complain? This was both hell and home, and her criticism bit into his pride. “Alas, you cannot give it back, mistress.”
But his fury didn’t touch her. Tsumiko only picked up her spoon and toyed with it. “This isn’t right,” she murmured.
“You have not tasted it.”
“I’m not talking about the soup.”
To his relief, the girl finally ate, and he was able to bring her next course. When he arrayed the serving dishes before her, she barely seemed to notice. Instead, she ran her finger along the edge of her plate.
“I remember this pattern,” she said. “From my first night here.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Every night, the china is different. And I’ve been here for …” The girl did a little mental calculation. “That’s more thanfortysets of china.”
Noting her dismay, he smiled. “An embarrassment of riches? And these are only the autumn patterns.”
Tsumiko gazed at him in bewildered misery and repeated, “This isn’t what I want.”
“You have never turned away Sansa’s cooking before.”
And like the dutiful girl she was, Tsumiko picked up her fork. But Argent’s triumph was short-lived. She only poked unhappily at the evening’s vegetable course.
“I don’t like beets,” she whispered.
Over the years, Argent had learned how to circumvent weaker wills than his own. He might be little more than a caged beast, but his wits still worked. Although obedience was his only option, humans had an aggravating way of asking for things without making themselves plain. And in their politeness and diplomacy, they gave him loopholes.
“I don’t like this” and “I don’t want that”—these were mere statements of fact. He was well aware that his mistresses made their preferences known under the assumption that he would change his behavior to accommodate them. But assumptions weren’t commands.
Argent was under no obligation to cater to petty whims or indulge creature comforts. Not without a direct order. He didn’t care if his mistresses were happy or comfortable. So when they informed him of their likes and dislikes, they only provided him with ammunition.
When past mistresses alerted him to fears, dislikes, secrets, and peeves, he turned them into embarrassing moments, inopportune discoveries, bitter humiliation, or in one memorable case, an allergic reaction. He delighted in subtly ruining important days for people who thought nothing of ruining his very existence.
