Page 113 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“No,” he repeated. “Not willingly.”
“But why not?” Tsumiko asked, frustration tightening her voice. “I can help the baby, but I can’t do anything for Kyoko. You could.”
“I will not trade intimacies with one who looks upon me with dread.” Argent leveled a haughty look at Brynn. “Trust is at the very basis of tending. Would you have me force myself upon her like the brute who left her in this state?”
Nurse Fallowfield drooped.
Argent blandly continued, “If what you say is true, you are overlooking the obvious. Any reaver can tend any Amaranthine.”
In a flash, Tsumiko realized what he meant. Beauty in symmetry. Gifts freely given. She grasped at hope and took Brynn’s hand. “She likes you. Shetrustsyou.”
“Mare Fallowfield, you are from the gentler clans—no claws to velvet, no fangs to bare. But you are not without strength. You will lend Kyoko what support she needs.” Argent leaned in, letting his voice drop. “Meanwhile, I will rob the whelp of its mother.”
FIFTY FOUR
Wolf on the Prowl
Kyoko struggled against everything—her tangled blankets, her endless contractions, her husband’s pleas, her cousin’s calm. She suffered Argent’s presence with increasingly ill ease, but she never realized what he was doing. In part, thanks to Brynn Fallowfield’s first cautious efforts at tending.
Tsumiko felt a whisper of the nurse’s essence falter and flow. And it was lovely—strong and peaceful, steady and insistent—but Kyoko shut her out. Until Brynn added a song. Her lullaby slipped past the fragile woman’s defenses, winding its way into her soul, shoring up her fading strength.
And into the lull stole a fox.
“Has she noticed?” Tsumiko whispered.
Argent’s silent laughter puffed lightly against her ear. “That I am closer than she might like? Or that I am the shutter to her meager light?”
“Both,” Tsumiko said. “I can always tell when you’re fiddling around.”
“You are wise to be wary. And generous beyond knowing.” Argent nuzzled her hair. “But no. She has lost sight of me, and the babe has lost sight of her.”
In hindsight, Argent’s solution really did seem the obvious course. While Brynn tended, he used his newfound talent for hiding a beacon’s brightness to banish all signs of Kyoko’s soul. So the infant could no longer sense their mother.
Contractions intensified. Intervals tightened. Stewart slipped into doctor mode, coaching Kyoko to breathe, to relax, to push. “Good!” he praised. “Again, darling, and you’ll be free.”
With a wild look in her eyes, Kyoko fought for freedom. And won.
Brynn’s song never wavered as she took the infant from Stewart, swabbing and swaddling the squirming child before thrusting the bundle into Tsumiko’s hands.
As doctor and nurse focused on Kyoko, Tsumiko retreated to the small sofa in front of the fireplace. Folding back the blanket, she made one discovery after another. Pointed ears and a strange roughness of skin, made more distinct by the streaking of blood. “A boy,” she whispered.
Argent joined her, bringing a towel, basin, and cloths. “There is little doubt to his provenance.”
She wetted a flannel to wipe away the mess, but some things didn’t wash away. “Oh,” she breathed. The rough patches formed a repeating pattern. “He has scales.”
“Which provide a clue.” Argent trailed the back of a finger across the lavender-edged scales at the baby’s temple. “A dragon’s coloring is hereditary.”
Tsumiko washed pale skin, finding plummy freckles. His fingers and toes were tiny and perfect. “Look, he has claws like yours,” she cooed.
Argent tucked a finger under a tiny palm. But she couldn’t be sure if his gaze lingered on the baby out of interest or because she’d commanded it.
Tucking the newborn close, she murmured, “You’re perfect. So precious.”
“You should not become attached.”
“This isn’t about me,” she argued. “He should know that he’s safe and welcome and loved.”
“I doubt his mother would agree.”
