Page 97 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
The following morning, Stewart made good on Tsumiko’s fourth condition.
Distraction dogged Argent’s heels as he escorted her under the netted boughs of the beech trees lining the lodge road. He’d given himself some distance from Tsumiko overnight, standing at the window, seeing nothing, weighing everything.
What had changed?
He remembered the startled delight of his first taste, the bright soul who’d unwittingly lured him into captivity. He’d survived a lifetime of dribs and drabs, often tainted by suspicion or made lurid by lust. And now Tsumiko’s fathomless wellspring. Always, always, always, his connection with her left him quaking, awash in elation, driven to new heights. He hid it as best he could, but his mortifyingly needy response was there. Always.
Yet yesterday, he had been in control—of their bond, of himself.
What had changed?
“Will the horses come this way again?” Tsumiko asked.
“I think not. We are expected.” He turned his attention to the house. A familiar tang reached his senses. “And she is here.”
“How can you tell?”
“You could say I have developed a taste for Hajime women through the centuries. I would know a member of your clan anywhere.”
Tsumiko’s mulling yielded an unexpected turn. “Who would knowyouanywhere?”
“Hmm?”
“Before you were bound to the first Hajime, who knew you?” She added, “Naroo-soh didn’t recognize you.”
“He is from a different place, a different generation.” Argent threw facts into the face of his discomfort. “The Emergence has fostered exceptional alliances. Left to themselves, foxes and wolves would not normally socialize.”
The distraction failed.
“If all Amaranthine are so long-lived, why has no one come looking for you?” she asked. “Where are your parents, siblings, cousins?”
“In a state of blissful ignorance,” he said. “I have no wish to bring attention to my humiliation.”
Tsumiko frowned. “You’re embarrassed?”
He sighed. “What would you do if someone put Akira in chains?”
“Rescue him.”
“Even if you lacked the strength to break his bonds?”
“Of course! He’s my brother.” She mumbled, “I’d have totry.”
Argent nodded. “And what if those bonds compelled your brother to fight his rescuers? What if he was unable to resist the order to kill them?”
She stopped, head down. “You’re protecting them?”
“They are my kin,” he said softly. “Of course I am.”
. . .
“Is that singing?” Tsumiko asked.
Stewart toyed with the heavy ceramic mug that held his cooled tea. “That’s the midwife, Brynn Fallowfield. She’s always singing Rivven songs. They seem to have a calming effect on Kyoko.”
Although they’d arrived promptly, Stewart’s wife had yet to put in an appearance. They’d been waiting for the better part of an hour, huddled awkwardly around a small table in an artistically rustic kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Stewart repeated.
