Page 158 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Freedom was. But Argent was a little surprised at the undercurrent of urgency keeping him on edge. Surely this was irony. Finally free to go wherever he wished, he yearned only to return to Stately House. Or at least to those waiting there. Thoughstrictlyspeaking, the stir in his instincts had more to do with Tsumiko, who had asked him to wait. Until everything was settled. Until he could stay and stoke and savor and … and so on.
Gingko was smirking.
“Tsk. What?”
“You want your beacon back. And a long weekend.”
“A week at least.” Argent stifled a sigh. “And my garden.”
“Good place to hide. Everyone’ll probably forget you’re even home.” Gingko’s ears quivered, and his voice turned sly. “If I sneak you food and help with Kyrie, I’ll bet you could hold out in there for a month.”
Argent rather hoped he was serious.
Gingko said, “Your mom was fishing for information again.”
“Tell me you deflected her curiosity.”
“Like I’d blab,” he scoffed. “But won’t all this secrecy make things worse? She’s gonna snoop until she’s satisfied.”
Argent knew very well how much influence Lady Estrella Mettlebright held, both with the clan an in the In-between. But if all those connections hadn’t helped her locate her missing son, she was ill-equipped to unearth the past he preferred to bury.
“She will be satisfied.” Argent turned his son, steering him to a cushioned seat before a silvered mirror.
“How much are you going to tell them?”
“Nothing.”
Gingko met his father’s gaze in the mirror. “How are you gonna pull that off?”
“I have retained the services of a mediator.”
“Uh-huh. And what’ll they say?”
Argent busied himself selecting pots and brushes. “Whatever they wish.”
With a wary scowl for the silver paint, Gingko asked, “Who do you trust that much?”
“Twineshaft.” Argent circled his son. Tilting his face upward, he murmured, “Close your eyes.”
Leaning out of reach, Gingko eyed the makeup suspiciously. “Why?”
“Tradition.” He smiled serenely. “As I endured my father’s attentions, so you shall endure mine. Now close your eyes.”
Gingko swore but submitted. “Wolves don’t go in for this kind of thing,” he muttered.
“They do not.” Argent dabbed and smoothed, rimming his son’s eyes. “This particular tradition belongs to foxes.”
“Why?”
“Tsk. Have you forgotten your bedtime stories?” He admired his handiwork. “There. See?”
Gingko stared at himself in the mirror. “This is embarrassing.”
“Most young males find it so.”
“Did you?”
“Naturally. But my father grew adept at finding my hiding places.” Argent added a neat diamond in the center of Gingko’s forehead. “Not all of our clan’s traditions are so theatric. If the centuries have been kind, the most appalling ones have fallen into disuse. At the very least, I can promise that tonight’s feast will be excellent.”
