Page 73 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Ah. Argent’scollection. Hisoka hadn’t been talking about slips or seedlings, trees or topiaries. A glimsleek skittered across a vine-draped arbor, and a pair of midivar flitted daringly close, bound for the waxy blossoms on a squat lemon tree. “Ephemera,” he whispered.
Hisoka’s hands closed around Michael’s, and with the tip of a claw, he coaxed open the catch holding the beads at his wrist. Deece watched intently while his uncle removed the bracelet … and the buffer it provided.
Michael asked, “Are you sure that’s wise, Sensei?”
“Are you accusing me of foolishness?”
He swallowed against the sudden sting in his eyes. “Only if your folly can help.”
“Are you asking for my help, Michael?”
An invitation. He closed his eyes, but not fast enough to prevent a tear slipping free. He’d talked so easily of bringing their case to Hisoka Twineshaft, of exposing a lifetime of secrets in order to set Argent free. But Nona Hightip was one of the Five, a collaborator in the Emergence. Would Hisoka honor a fellow clan leader’s demands in the interest of peace? What if this was the moment Michael betrayed his oldest friend?
He couldn’t speak.
“Like Dimityblest to moonbeams,” Hisoka murmured. “You are attracting attention.”
Something brushed Michael’s face and he opened his eyes. The Ephemera looped and swirled around them—insects, avians, and an iridescent drift of gossameer, which wove ribbon-like through the air. An immature pirouelle whispered past, wings alight with luminescent spots. And a young dusket tumbled out of a stand of curling ferns.
Deece scooped up the small bird with its shock of sapphire plumage, carrying it closer.
Hisoka brushed his fingertips over the flightless bird’s feathery crown. “Where did you smuggle this one from? He’s not local.”
“They’re native to the British Isles.” Michael tried for a normal tone. “Lady Eimi must have taken a fancy. She liked that shade of blue.”
When Deece edged closer, Hisoka stopped him with a warning rumble. The younger feline silently retreated two paces and sat. Michael held no illusions about who was in charge. Even graduated and grown, he would always defer to this person. His favorite teacher. His friend.
“Michael.” Hisoka tugged him closer. “Tend to me.”
A demonstration for Deece’s benefit?
“Michael,” he repeated. “What is at the very foundation of tending?”
“Trust.”
“Yes. Tending is an act of trust.” With a small smile, Hisoka rested his forehead against Michael’s. “Do you trust me?”
“Everyone does.” Michael looked into his sensei’s eyes. He could still recall the triumph he’d felt when he matched his teacher’s height as a weedy fifteen year old.
“You always excelled at diplomacy … and evasion.”
“Thank you?”
Hisoka sighed. “I know the cats’ secrets, and I’m privy to those of other Amaranthine clans. Reavers of the In-between have taken me into their confidence, as have countless human governments and agencies. I carry enough secrets to understand their worth.” He waited for Michael’s soft hum of acknowledgement before continuing. “I can boast about quantity, but few of those secrets have any quality. However,yoursare infinitely more personal and precious.”
Tears threatened again, and Michael’s desperate hopes welled up, spilling outward, causing a storm among the Ephemera.
Hisoka rocked back on his heels and laughed shakily. “Gently, friend. I know. Idoknow.” Then he caught Michael’s hand, guiding it around his waist, under his tunic. Pressing and holding Michael’s palm against the small of his back. Against warm skin. Against his blaze. “Tend to me and reassure yourself that I am ever as I was. And ever will be.”
All the while Michael bared his soul, Hisoka whispered secrets and promises. This is how it had always been with Sensei. No matter how much Michael gave out, Hisoka poured back, reciprocating. Really, it was hard to recall who was tending to whom.
Finally, Hisoka murmured, “If you need more to hold onto, I will part with a whisker.”
Michael choked back a sob and sagged into the cat’s superior strength with considerable relief. Hushed and held. Hopeful.
“Do you trust me, Michael?”
“Yes, Sensei.”
