Page 72 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“There are exceptions.”
“Since when?”
“Since the beginning.” Hisoka said, “Deece is the Evernhold tribute. For the sake of his clan, he will fulfill one or more of the ten roles reserved for a tenth child.”
“This isalsonot in the textbooks.”
“It is not.” Hisoka signaled to his nephew, who shouldered his staff and hurried their way. “We keep certain details close to the hearth. Or under its stones.”
“You wouldn’t be telling me secrets if I didn’t need to know them.”
“True.” Hisoka chose a new direction, heading back toward the house, and Deece fell in step behind them.
Michael ventured, “Sensei?”
“I plan on leaving Deece with you. He would benefit greatly from a ward’s tending and a battler’s training.” With a sidelong look that was far too sly, Hisoka added, “My nephew can be useful to your family, as well. Especially while Sansa nurtures a new life.”
“I … didn’t realize,” Michael murmured, mind racing. Was this the inroad they’d been waiting for or a catastrophic twist of fate? They’d banished all signs of Argent’s presence from the house, but the enslaved fox would be returning in a month’s time. As would Gingko. Argent needed Hisoka’s advocacy, but the fox had expressly forbidden Michael from exposing his son’s existence. Move forward? Hold back? Michael had no idea which course would best serve his friend.
“Is there a problem?” Hisoka inquired.
“How could there be?” Michael set aside his qualms in order to reassure Deece. “A friend is always welcome.”
Hisoka was practically purring. “Then I suggest we proceed with his first tending.”
Michael blinked. “Now?”
“You are willing, are you not, Deece?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. And I found theperfectsetting for his first taste.” Hisoka waved casually toward Stately House. “I was in the conservatory all morning.”
Michael’s smile fell away as Hisoka left his side and strolled to a set of glass doors. Had there always been exterior doors on the conservatory?
“The ambiance is perfect, and privacy is assured.” Hisoka swung the door wide. “Your collection is impressive!”
“I … can’t take all the credit.”
“No surprise. This must have taken several of your lifetimes to collect.”
Michael managed a mute nod. How had Hisoka found a place so wreathed in illusions, he and Sansa usually forgot it existed? They’d takennoprecautions here, where signs of Argent’s existence hung as thick as the humid scents of sedge and soil.
Argent’s haven flourished under a thousand delicate sigils. Alone, the illusions were flimsy things, the product of a starved, stilted existence. Woven together, they stood as testimony to their maker’s creativity and cunning. Meticulous and mercenary. Surreptitiously stubborn. Alive.
On reverent tiptoe, Michael entered Argent’s conservatory for the first time in his life. His heart quaked, less from dread now, more from awe.
Under an intricate dome of wrought iron and beveled glass, daylight shattered into a thousand rainbows. They dappled slender trees, mossy stone, and sun-drenched stands of bonsai. Without turning to look, Michael knew that the sounds of trickling water came from a fountain, that the heady sweetness on the air came from the flowering vines clambering over latticed arches, that the moon and stars changed colors when they danced far overhead.
An old ache eased in Michael’s heart. Because heknewthis place. Perhaps his old friend hadn’t barred him entirely. Argent’s sanctuary had the familiarity of someplace you’ve visited in dreams. Fox dreams.
“This system for irrigation is ingenious,” Hisoka was saying. “Every green and growing thing is sustained and can flourish without constant fussing. Although the rest seem a bit peaky. A little tending wouldn’t go amiss.”
Michael dragged his gaze from the profusion of starry blue flowers that had always been Lady Eimi’s favorite. “You, Sensei?”
The feline rolled his eyes upward. “Them.”
He looked up.
