Page 87 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Once in a great while.”
Tsumiko repaid him for his reticence, far more richly than he deserved. For she slipped the bracelet from her wrist. Power flowed around them in ribbons, sliding against him as if she had not five or seven or nine tails, but a hundred. Tsumiko might withhold kisses, but in all else, she was generosity itself.
Argent made a frantic bid to contain his beacon’s brilliance, lest she lure in every Ephemera from the surrounding countryside. Or attract the attention of any nearby Kith and Kindred. Veiling their room in illusory distractions, he gathering up the overflow. It was like trying to cup the sea in one’s palms.
For centuries, he’d learned to get by on dribbles and sips from tainted puddles, but this girl had him drowning, and the only way to survive was to drink the ocean dry.
FORTY SIX
Representations
The following morning found Argent at Eimi’s graveside, a folded newspaper tucked under his arm. Standing calf-deep in snow, he sifted through a lifetime of chaff, seeking the scant handful of kernels he’d hoarded as precious.
A son. A friend. A home. And now a beacon. And hope.
Unfolding the newsprint, Argent knelt to lay the battered remains of Tsumiko’s bouquet on the cold marble marker bearing Percival’s and Eimi’s names. Vivid petals slipped between his fingers, scattering in the breathless silence, catching on grainy snow.
“I liked you, Eimi.” His voice puffed in the air. “You were silly and harmless. The lesser of all evils.”
He stood, jaw working. Of all his mistresses, Eimi was the first he’d dreaded losing. The first he’d missed. The first whose passing he’d met with grief.
“You were kind to my son, and for that, I will always be grateful. He loved you, loved being a part of the family you created.”
Argent lowered his head and his voice. Honesty could not hurt her now.
“But he hated you for the same reason I did. You kept me.”
Eimi had loved him too much to let him go. Not with the lust-ridden greed of Gingko’s mother or the passion for power that put him at the mercy of so many. But the essence and the end had been the same. Her will over his. She had perpetuated his enslavement.
“Michael never told me the lengths to which you went in order to find a successor.”
He had already begun brooding by then. Hadn’t wanted to think what might happen to his son, to his friend, to their home.
“You were not perfect, Eimi. But she is.” Argent’s voice cracked. “So I will choose to believe thatsheis a better representation of your regard for my existence. You found her for me. You gave her to me. And I am going to keep her.”
What an empty promise. In a handful of decades, he would strew petals on Tsumiko’s grave. He muffled a bitter laugh in the collar of his coat. “Inasmuch as anything so ephemeral can be kept.”
. . .
Tsumiko sat up in bed and held her breath, listening for some sign of Argent. But their rooms only held the soft hush of a dawning day, and she knew she was alone. Not a single flower petal littered the floor. Had she dreamed the whole thing?
No.
She curled back under her blanket, hugging her pillow. Argent had proposed … sort of. While there had been no stirring declaration of love, she had felt his need for her during tending. Different than the starved state in which she’d first found him, but equally urgent. And honest.
But he was Amaranthine. And he’d changed his tune seemingly out of nowhere. Could such an impetuous turnabout lead to something that would last?
Tsumiko searched her memory for hints.
When had he changed? Were there clues she’d missed? She was in close contact with him on a daily basis. Connected so deeply, their souls brushed. Maybe that’s why she’d assumed little had changed. People could be blind to what was closest.
Argent hadn’t been able to resist the pull of her soul. Early on, he’d touched her with such reluctance. Gingko had suggested that his father hated his inability to quell the need to touch her, to hold her. But … the nestling was different. And the peaceful expression that overtook his face when brushing her hair. And the sway of his tails.
Wait. Suuzu had been concerned for her, but when Argent said that she knew the number of his tails, the other Amaranthine understood the import. More than she did. Had Argent’s display been some kind of unspoken declaration? One she’d completely missed.
Tsumiko had never truly believed Argent hated her. But it was equally difficult to understand why he might love her. Gingko had hinted at his dad’s possessiveness, and Sansa had advised her to believe a fox’s tails over his words.
If only she could ask.
