Page 49 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Before returning to Argent’s side, Sansa insisted that Tsumiko take a little time for herself—to stretch, to bathe, to eat. Hair still damp from washing, she submitted to Sansa’s brisk mothering, accepting a steaming bowl of soup while the woman rummaged through her store of restorative teas.
Gingko shuffled into the kitchen with a book under his arm. “Dad kicked me out. Michael’s cleaning him up.”
“His timing is good.” Sansa filled an earthen teapot with boiling water and two heaping spoonfuls of a concoction of dried leaves and twigs. Adding a squat metal tin and a green glass bottle to the tea tray, she excused herself. “I will allow him one last dose of the Huddlebud.”
Serving himself from the pot simmering on the back burner, Gingko retreated to the far end of the room, where a sofa tucked into the bow of a bay window. Sprawled across worn cushions with mug in hand, he flipped though pages.
Tsumiko finished her meal and rinsed her bowl before interrupting his quietude. “Are these plants yours?”
Gingko swung his feet to the floor and patted the spot beside him. “Welcome to my winter garden.” He set his empty cup on the floor and waved to the jungle of hanging baskets overhead. “Since Dad doesn’t let anyone inside the big conservatory, I claimed this space.”
“Why wouldn’t he let you in?” she asked. “Aren’t you Stately House’s gardener?”
“It’s his spot, I guess.” Gingko kept his eyes fixed on the book across his lap. “Eimi used to make him let her inside, but I don’t think he liked that. But she wasn’t immune to his tricks. People tend to forget the conservatory’s there unless they happen to see it from outside.”
“Does he grow things inside?”
“Probably. I know Sansa requests some of the stuff she puts in her teas.” Gingko drummed his fingers on the edge of the book. “I have a feeling it’s full of things he loves. That’s why I’ve never been inside.”
Tsumiko peered up through sunlit greenery. “I can understand wanting a haven, and I can understand wanting to be welcomed there.”
He leaned into her. “You’re always welcome in my garden.”
“Thank you.” Her attention tugged toward his book, which must have been from Michael’s collection. The paper had the luster of Dimityblest workmanship, but instead of writing, the page was covered in neat rows of drawings. “What are you reading?”
Gingko sighed. “This book’s full of obscure clan crests and family emblems. Reavers keep records of stuff like this.”
“How beautiful!” Tsumiko touched a six-sided emblem with a cherry blossom at its center. “Is your clan in here?”
“Not this one, but I found the Mettlebright crest in the last book. Like I said, these are more obscure—branch families, enclaves, and cooperatives. But there’s a dozen pages of foxes. See?”
He flipped to a section near the back under thevulpineheading. One of the insignias showed a leaping fox, and another was a wreath of nine white-tipped tails. Tsumiko found more foxy references among the crests, but most families chose natural elements—leaves, buds, flowers, berries, and mushrooms. She picked out constellations, paper lanterns, and even a few with insects. One showed an especially detailed moth, and she remarked, “This doesn’t seem very foxlike.”
“That’s probably a cooperative. From what I’ve read, Amaranthine with complementary specialties will share an enclave. Like potters in the monkey clans teaming up with the salamanders who fire their kilns.”
“So the different Amaranthine clans get along?”
“Well, yeah. They don’t fight each other because they’re all Amaranthine.”
“That’s hard to imagine.”
Gingko smirked. “It’s notallpeaceful, or the reavers wouldn’t exist. Amaranthine don’t prey on each other, but humans are fair game. Or used to be.”
“They want peace now.”
“Seems so,” he said, flipping to the section he’d been studying earlier.
“So what are you looking for?” Tsumiko asked.
“The crest for the wolf pack that took me in.” Gingko glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “I don’t ask questions I’m not willing to answer, so I don’t know what family they belong to. But last time I was there, they held this festival thing, so my friend and his kin were wearing the family crest. Only I can’t find it among the branch families.”
“What did it look like?”
“A full moon with a flowering twig bending across it.” Gingko drew a curve in the air. “Just that one crest. Nothing else.”
They paged through the section together, and although nearly every pack had some reference to the moon in their insignia, none of them were a match for Gingko’s memory.
“Could they be new?” Tsumiko asked.
