Page 66 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“We did expect an investigation.” Sansa’s eyes flashed. “Let them come! We were thorough enough to fool any number of foxes.”
Ever since Argent’s departure with Tsumiko, they’d cleaned house, using every trick in their arsenal to remove evidence of his presence. Gingko had helped for the first week, but they’d sent him packing two days ago. Just in time.
With a sly smile, Michael said, “Let them come, and make them welcome. Thesearen’tfoxes.”
She paused in the act of strapping on a sword so weighty, shereallyshouldn’t be swinging it at this stage. “Wolves, then?” she asked.
“Unless my senses deceive me, we’re facing a small herd of horses … and their escorts.”
Her patience for little games was wearing thin. “Plain words, husband. If not foxes or wolves, who accompanies my birth attendants?”
He kissed her cheek. “Cats, love.”
. . .
“Sensei!” Sansa called, lumbering down the path and into Rilka Withershanks’ waiting arms.
Their former teacher was from one of the horse clans, an imposing personage who had shaped Michael’s appreciation for strong beauties.
Rilka taught herbs and healing at Ingress Academy, and she’d been the first to notice that their most gifted battler had a gentle touch. The matriarch of the Withershanks clan had passed on much of her lore to Sansa. At Michael’s request, Mare Withershanks had attended the births of all their children.
Lean brown hands cupped Sansa’s face as Rilka quietly quizzed her former student. While they enjoyed a rather weepy reunion, Michael took it upon himself to welcome their other guests. “To what do we owe the honor, Spokesperson?”
“I’d be more comfortable with Sensei, if you don’t mind. For old times’ sake.”
“As you wish, Hisoka-sensei.”
Hisoka Twineshaft was the same as Michael remembered, an unassuming person of middling height and mild manner. As always, he favored clothes in a shadowy range of grays. Unremarkable. Only Hisoka-sensei’s cloak was out of the ordinary, and only on closer inspection. Michael knew from past experience that if you happened to catch an errant flutter, you’d glimpse a lavish floral pattern that was undeniably—and unaccountably—feminine.
Hisoka’s cloak lining was an official school mystery. Many stories were whispered in the halls of Ingress Academy, but no one knew why the otherwise sedate teacher kept an extravagance of flowers close to his heart. Michael had asked once. He’d been eight at the time, and Hisoka-sensei had praised him for his courage and forthrightness. Even so, the cat hadn’t explained himself. He never did.
The orchestrator of the Emergence accepted his host’s offer of peace with all due formality, then pulled him into a fond embrace. “Congratulations on your coming child, Michael. How is Sansa?”
“Moody. She cries over every little thing these days.” Michael rested his cheek against Hisoka’s and smiled at the faint rumble that vibrated between them. “Your visit will lighten the weight of her waiting. How long can you stay?”
“If my presence is no inconvenience, I’d welcome the chance to linger.”
“Please do.”
Hisoka leaned back, his distinctively flared eyebrows lifting somewhat. “Can you speak for your employer?”
“She’s away. More importantly, she’s like kin to us. I know she’d insist you make yourself at home.”
“Speaking of kin, allow me to introduce my nephew.” Hisoka beckoned to an Amaranthine with ruddy hair who stood with the three powerful horses who’d undoubtedly carried them at least part of the way. “Deece is one of my sister’s sons. He has recently come into his own, and she entrusted his future to me.”
Deece slipped to his uncle’s side, and Michael offered his palms. Aside from a fleeting glimpse of orange eyes and a similar shape to their brows, he bore little resemblance to Hisoka. A full head taller, Deece stood silent, eyes downcast, fists clenched at his sides.
“Go ahead, kit,” Hisoka said gently. “You can trust these people.”
Michael went through the formalities again, hoping to set this guest at ease. “I am Michael Ward, formerly of Ingress Academy, where I learned from your uncle. Currently of Stately House, where I was raised and where all of my children have been born. This is a place of peace, and you are welcome.”
The palms that touched Michael’s were large and callused. “Deece Evernhold.”
“May I ask about your name?”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, casting a pleading look in Hisoka’s direction.
His uncle slipped an arm around his nephew’s back, perhaps to keep him from retreating. “Ithoughtyou would pick up on that, since my sister bequeathed a traditional name. Deece is her tenth child.”
