Page 35 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Obedient.”
“That’s not what I meant. Aunt Eimi made you a butler. What other roles were you given?”
Argent studied her warily. “Are you looking for ideas on how to put me to use?”
“I was hoping to get to know you better.”
“Guard, thief, hunter, tutor, entertainer, assassin,” he rattled off without expression.
Tsumiko drummed her fingers on arm of her chair. “Did youlikeany of your jobs?”
“I endured them.”
“What would you do if you could do anything?” she asked.
“Fly far from here, high and fast and free, with sea spray in my coat, foxsong rising to the stars, and the wind in my tails.”
And no wonder. Freedom to choose might be a nice change of pace, but he was still trapped. Tsumiko said, “We’ll find a way to give that back to you.”
“So you say.”
Tsumiko tentatively touched his shoulder. “It’s a promise.”
Argent eased closer. “So you say.”
“Are you here for … more?”
“Would you prefer I beg?”
Really. How did one deal with someone who was all push, pull, and prickles? He fended her off with words, yet he vibrated with yearning and trembled at the edge of touch. Needing, yet hating the need.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. And since they may as well get straight to where they’d end up, Tsumiko slid her arms around Argent’s shoulders and tugged. His forehead bumped her chin, but he quickly settled against her with an ear over her skipping heart.
“Are you trying to be brave?” he muttered thickly.
“Yes. I’m trying.”
His arm encircled her waist, and his nose grazed her throat. “I still hate you.”
Tsumiko wasn’t surprised. All they’d changed were the trappings.
. . .
Mere minutes later, Argent tore himself away and brusquely excused himself, pulling the door shut with the barestclick. In the next moment, the latch on one of Tsumiko’s windows lifted with a stealthysnick.
Gingko poised on the sill, an upraised finger at his lips pleading for secrecy.
“You missed supper,” she whispered.
“Couldn’t be helped. I was scouting.” He dropped into the room, easing the swinging panel shut behind him. “I usually eat between-times anyhow. Dad’s grim silences don’t do much for my appetite.”
“Did you find anything out there?”
Gingko sat on the floor in the very spot where his father had knelt. But he had none of Argent’s aloof bearing. “Oh, you know,” he said vaguely. “Traces.”
“Of what?”
“Mostly old tracks and fading scents. I’ll fill in Sansa and Michael tomorrow.”
