Page 139 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
He was watching her.
She tried for a smile, but it fell shy of the mark. So Tsumiko did her best to simply make him welcome. As a new friend. As family, if he wanted to belong.
Deece ducked his head. “No wonder he holds you close.”
Did he mean Argent? Oh. She hadn’t even thought to hide the link that bound him. Why had Deece gathered that it was Argent doing the holding? Maybe because that’s how it had always felt to her?
Michael asked, “Well, friend. Can you trust her?”
Meeting Tsumiko’s gaze, Deece answered directly. “I trust you.”
. . .
Argent immediately knew when Michael returned to working on the whole enslavement problem. Distracted mumbling. Odd gestures. Sketched sigils. Bookmarked tomes spilled from the reaver’s office into neighboring parlors, where Tsumiko played the part of research assistant.
With her help, Michael moved from theory and hypothesis to direct experimentation. At all hours of the day, the reaver would interrupt Argent’s work in order to muddle around in his inner workings. Even at night, especially if he was up with the baby, Michael would rap lightly on Argent’s door and let himself in.
These forays were intimate and intrusive, but Argent endured them with a minimum of grousing. In part because the fiddling was a small price to pay for freedom. But also because it was only fair. Argent had done his fair share of meddling with Michael. Back before the young ward fully understood what a cornered fox was capable of.
Michael’s current focus was welcome, but worrisome. Dark circles smudged his eyes, and he’d developed a pucker from all the restorative tonics Sansa dosed him with. So when Argent caught the sound of footsteps hastening toward his door shortly after midnight, he was prepared to issue a sound scolding.
Only Michael didn’t give him the chance.
“I have it!” The reaver slid to his knees beside Argent’s chair like a supplicant before the throne. “At least, I think I do. Will you check my work?”
Argent stared mutely at the papers Michael proffered. Was it possible?
The reaver rambled on. “The largest difficulty has always been the layering of the sigils. Normally, a bond of this nature loses potency over time, but this one has been renewed and reinforced with each successive generation. Showing impressive foresight on the part of the reavers who trapped you. Both efficient and exponential!”
He hardly needed reminding. Hoping for something more than a rehearsal of his misery, Argent accepted the papers and skimmed Michael’s notes.
“The epiphany came while I was talking over a few of the finer points of sigil-crafting with Darya.”
Argent’s brows shot up. “She is a child.”
“She’s a skilled ward with full access to Ingress’s library. And she’s brilliant.”
“Like her father.”
Michael waved off the compliment. “Will you look these over? You’re more experienced with sigil-craft, and I want your opinion.”
He hummed, already scrutinizing the second page.
“And … I’d like to check one more thing.”
Michael’s tone had turned light, and Argent recognized the warning note under his customary pall of optimism. “If you must.”
“I haven’t tended you in quite some time,” Michael began.
“There has been little need.” Argent flipped a page. “None, in fact.”
“If I may?”
Argent sighed. “You have both my trust and my permission, foolish boy. Proceed.”
Michael rose up on his knees and slid his arms around Argent.
He relaxed into the old familiarity of his friend’s tending, but he soon pushed Michael back. “I won’t have you exhausting yourself. Save some for your new kitten.”
