Page 61 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Mounds of fragrant branches had been gathered, bunched, and bound—pine, juniper, magnolia, spruce. The greenery was being tacked up and tucked into niches by chatting women and the handful of teenagers who’d been bribed into cooperation with cookies. White and gold ribbons trailed everywhere. Clusters of cones and gilded nuts took prominent place in twisting wreathes. Pomegranates and pears lent splashes of red, and Tsumiko wondered idly if mistletoe had been included anywhere. Wasn’t that an English tradition?
Argent said, “He wants you to know that all the Smythe weddings are held here.”
Tsumiko hummed in polite interest.
“And in a wholly predictable segue, he wishes to know if you would like to be married here.”
She asked, “Is this a good time to tell him I was raised by a sisterhood that foreswears marriage?”
Argent smirked and spoke. Boniface frowned and made a beeline for his mother, who’d developed a sudden fascination for pew books in order to give Bon-Bon space.
Tsumiko pretended not to notice in favor of studying Saint George Chapel’s stained glass windows. Each depicted various stages of its patron saint’s famous story—quest and confrontation, battle and victory, rescue and reward. Tsumiko was familiar with the romantic fable of the courageous young man who rode out against a dragon in order to rescue a princess.
She’d always viewed the dragon as a symbol of the enemy of God, but now that she knew there were dragon clans, the tale made her uneasy. Was it possible that ancient knights had hunted and killed Amaranthine?
Before she could ask Argent for clarification, Jacques swooped in. His smile was a bit bleary, suggesting he rarely saw this side of noon. He didn’t bother with stilted Japanese, though Tsumiko had noticed that, like his brother, Jacques made frequent asides in French.
“Hey, pretty lady,” he greeted. “Don’t let Mom sway you. Bon-Bon’s always been her favorite, but I’m loads more fun. Tell her, Argent.”
With a haughty inclination of his head, Argent said, “Since the elder son is a mama’s boy, the younger offers manly debauchery.”
Tsumiko’s lips pursed. “I don’t think these boys are half as bad as you make them out to be.”
“They are on their best behavior at the moment. It will not last.”
Jacques looked between them with an expectant air, and Tsumiko searched for a suitably childish remark. Gesturing at the nearest window, she suggested, “Ask him if there are really dragons in England.”
Argent relayed her question, and the effect was immediate. Jacques blanched, mumbled an excuse, and bolted out the nearest door.
“What did yousay?” Tsumiko asked.
“Only what you asked.” At her skeptical look, he added, “Truly.”
Yvette returned, babbling more words at Argent, who paraphrased her latest rant. “She wants me removed to the servants’ quarters.”
“Our suite is spacious enough for two,” Tsumiko said.
Her butler weathered a blur of protest, which he translated with a bland expression. “You should not take a beast—even a tame beast—into your bed. When you are older, you will understand.”
“Would this be a bad time to bring up the nestling?”
“Atrocious.” Argent smiled serenely. “In fact,neverbring it up.”
“Then tell her that Amaranthine need next to no sleep.”
It took several minutes more to convince Yvette that Tsumiko would not be parted from her guardian. At that, the woman only left off because a stoop-shouldered vicar invited her to join the rest of the volunteers for refreshments in the neighboring hall.
When the last of the decorating committee filed out, a hush descended on the newly festooned sanctuary. Everything smelled of forests and flowers, and candlelight added luster to gold and linen alike.
The whole ambiance was sweetly familiar, so Tsumiko sat in the first pew and lifted her face. Saint Midori’s might be larger and grander, but this chapel was the same in an essential way. With the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips, Tsumiko closed her eyes and opened her soul.
Minutes later, a careful voice interrupted. “What are you doing?”
She hadn’t heard Argent’s approach and was mildly surprised to find him kneeling before her. “I was praying. Don’t the Amaranthine know about God?”
He slowly inclined his head. “Our stories diverge, but they have the same beginning.”
Tsumiko’s entire childhood had been steeped in scriptures, and her curiosity flared. “You were in Eden?”
