Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox (Amaranthine Saga Book 1)

by Forthright

They must be there.

  They?

  Stewart and his new wife.

  Kyoko Hajime-Smythe

  FORTY TWO

  Change of Scenery

  Despite Michael’s dire warnings, several days passed without consequence. The Smythe household kept up appearances with crackling logs, sparkling ciders, and the promise of a dinner party for a few close friends. The estate seemed in no danger of siege by anything more insidious than snowflakes.

  “I don’t understand,” Tsumiko murmured.

  Argent, who led her by the hand along one of the house’s upper galleries, paused before a painting and pretended to remark upon it. “If you hope for elucidation, you will need to be more specific.”

  “I thought the Amaranthine were pacifists—no weapons, no wars.”

  “You have seen blood on my muzzle. You bind and dress my wounds every evening.” Argent’s thin smile held no humor. “Nona would kill me if she could.”

  “But she’s one of the Five. A supporter of the alliance. A proponent of peace.”

  He arched a brow. “Foxes are famed for their duplicity.”

  “What about dragons? Are they dangerous?”

  Argent led her to the next painting, then bent to murmur, “Beware of generalizations.”

  She tugged at his arm. “You just used one yourself, saying foxes are duplicitous.”

  His gaze shifted, and annoyance flickered across his face. Which could only mean they’d been followed. Again.

  “This way, mistress,” Argent murmured, firmly guiding her in the direction of their room.

  Tsumiko cringed for his sake, for Jacques was coming that way. Their paths would cross, and they’d have to endure an hour-long array of posturing, pleas, and propositions.

  Only they didn’t. Jacques strolled by without a flicker of recognition.

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Argent inquired.

  “We walked right past Jacques, and he didn’t bat an eye.”

  “I hardly noticed.”

  Tsumiko frowned. “He always bats his eyes. Especially when you’re around.”

  Argent was serenity itself. “I cannot be bothered to concern myself with his ocular difficulties.”

  “I think you did something.” Tsumiko could almost feel it, a ticklish sensation she’d learned to associate with Argent’s traps. “He was probably looking for us.”

  Leading her into an obscure stairwell, Argent said, “I was in no mood to dally.”

  Tsumiko inspected her hand. “Are we invisible?”

  “No.” Argent spared her an amused glance. “However, the lamentable fool cannot see us if he is lost in a daydream.”

  “What sort of daydream?”

  Argent shrugged carelessly. “Something more engaging than the waylaying of young girls in hallways.”

  Tsumiko asked, “Are you discouraging him or encouraging him?”

  The smirk was there, then gone; but it had been there. “It may be more accurate to say that I frustrate him.”

  “Won’t your teasing make him more determined?”

  “Do you plan to entertain his wishes?”

  “No.”

  “Then there is no danger.” Argent drew her into a different hallway. “I am more concerned about Boniface. He is the sort to announce your engagement and issue a thousand wedding invitations before consulting you.”

  “That’s absurd!”

  Argent coolly asked, “You would not take pity when Cedric and Yvette beg you to spare poor Bon-Bon the scandal of a public rejection?”

  Tsumiko frowned. “I wouldn’t accept his proposal.”

  Argent stopped and bent so they were eye-to-eye. “That is why he will not ask.”

  . . .

  Too trusting. Too sympathetic. Too quick to forgive. Argent appreciated these gaping flaws in his mistress’s guard when he was the one taking advantage. But this was maddening. How was he supposed to protect someone so guileless? She was too simple, though not shallow; he could barely begin to fathom the depth and breadth of her soul. But this girl was so uncomplicated.

  And yielding.

  If he applied himself, Argent could undercut the cousins’ blundering efforts. He could think of six ways to corner her into an obligation. No, seven. Then, instead of dreading the machinations of whatever dolt became her husband, he could be his own master. In a sense. For a while.

  Wait. Was that a viable strategy?

  Surely not.

  “I’m so restless,” said Tsumiko, who pressed against the balcony doors like a prisoner. “We haven’t explored outside yet. Do we have time for a walk?”

  “An hour at most before you must dress for tonight’s party,” he replied.

  “Can we get out without anyone noticing?”

  Argent quirked a brow. “You stand at a door.”

  “On the third floor.” But her eyes took on a shine, and she asked, “Could we?”

  Too bright. Too willing. Too much to consider. He shelved his strategizing in favor of a much needed escape.

  . . .

  Argent would have preferred to replace Tsumiko’s new winter coat with something more … shapeless. Sansa’s selection was both classic and tasteful, but the tailored lines flattered Tsumiko’s figure. Was it too late to bury her modest curves under the fur-trimmed cape she’d worn to the chapel?

  But the grounds were empty. And it was only for an hour. He would simply have to deflect notice if their paths crossed another’s.

  So he scooped her up and stepped off the balcony, sinking slowly to the frozen ground in the garden below. There was very little to see—empty arbors, drained reflecting pools, ungainly lumps of burlap and twine. But Tsumiko wandered along drifted paths, apparently satisfied to be out and about.

  They passed small outbuildings—a summerhouse, a stable, the kennels, and a quaint building that had once been the carriage house. Beyond these, she discovered a long lane flanked by copper beeches. The snow had been removed from the road, so she took a quicker pace, gaze fixed ahead.

  “Where does this lead?”

  “A hunting lodge,” he replied.

  He remembered when it was built, some forty years ago now. Cedric used to give over the place to Percival and Eimi during their longer stays. That way their unusual butler wouldn’t cause a buzz among the rest of the staff.

  Eimi had always asked him to make himself scarce. Something easily managed, even for a fox existing under strict limits. At times, she and Percival even forgot he was there. In that sense, these annual visits to England had offered an interesting respite. Far from enjoyable, but a break in the routine. A change in scenery.

  “How far is it?” Tsumiko asked.

  “Around the bend.”

  The road curved away into a wood where pheasants, grouse, rabbits, and deer were allowed to proliferate. Fodder for hunts. Meat for the table.

  She asked, “Have you been to this part of their estate before?”

  “Many times.”

  “Is it nice?”

  Argent was fully prepared to assure her that nice was no longer a defining quality of any part of his life. But his step faltered, and he snagged the back of her coat with one hand.

  Tsumiko turned. “What’s wrong?”

  Pulling her close, he muttered, “Can you feel it?”

  She looked between him and the winter-bare trees, a frown tugging at her lips. With a cautious nod, she said, “There is something. It’s a little like Michael’s boundaries. Is the way warded?”

  “It is.”

  “Why would a reaver’s wards be here?” Tsumiko’s brows drew together in concentration. “Oh. There are Amaranthine here. But … they don’t feel like foxes.”

  “Not foxes.” Argent slipped an arm around her shoulde
rs at the sound of hoofbeats on gravel, dull but deafening in his mistress’s breathless silence. He blandly added, “Nor dragons.”

  Two horses cantered into view, sorrel stallions with pale manes whose snorts billowed in the chill air.

  “Are they …?” Tsumiko whispered.

  “The equivalent of guard dogs.” His gaze narrowed, and the Kith shifted restlessly. But they didn’t back down.

  “What are they protecting?”

  “An excellent question.” Argent growled softly. He should have noticed their presence much sooner, but these wards were set to dampen impressions. The reaver who set them up may not have been as powerful as Michael, but the camouflage deflected notice, influencing perception. If he hadn’t been following Tsumiko, would he have even found the lane?

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Argent casually signaled for peace and turned Tsumiko back toward the house.

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “This is not cause for curiosity. This is confirmation.”

  Tsumiko slipped her arm through his. “You think we’ve found Kyoko Hajime-Smythe?”

  “Undoubtedly.” Argent threw one last look over his shoulder. “Her and her birth attendants.”

  FORTY THREE

  The Good Doctor

  Tsumiko was wholly taken aback by Yvette’s extravagance. Her simple dinner party for a few close friends seemed to include most of the population of Uppington, with a few outlying gentry tossed in for additional luster. The doors to a modest ballroom were thrown wide to accommodate the crush of strangers, and Tsumiko was passed around and petted.

  She didn’t understand half the remarks being traded over the top of her head. Gossipy tones and gleeful titters. Wide smiles and waxen eloquence. She might not know French, but Tsumiko didn’t like how often she caught the whisper of fiancée.

  “Argent,” she said softly. “I’ve had enough.”

  He appeared at her side as if by magic, murmuring apologies to their hostess and her fluttering guests before firmly guiding Tsumiko away. He deposited her in a curtained recess, ordering, “Sit. Drink.”

  Tsumiko didn’t think she could face one more glass of the sugary pink punch everyone kept pressing on her, but Argent proffered a steaming ceramic mug.

  “Compliments of Mrs. Draper,” he said.

  “Bless her!” Tsumiko sighed as her first swallow of hot tea washed away the cloy of sugar coating her tongue. “So, am I in trouble?”

  “On the contrary. Your future happiness is secured. Congratulations.”

  Tsumiko’s grip on the mug tightened. “I think so, too. But I seriously doubt Yvette knows what might make me happy.”

  “Eat.” Argent indicated a small tray of fruits and nuts. “And do not worry about Yvette’s little boasts. She is rallying support among the females, not posting banns. Meanwhile, the males are placing wagers in the billiard parlor. Current odds favor Boniface.”

  “There’s a betting pool?”

  “Jacques knows how to make the most of a situation.”

  “That’s … absurd. He’s tricking his friends into backing lies with money?”

  “Do not sound so shocked. The best deceptions have little to do with lying and everything to do with misleading impressions.” Argent’s eyebrows arched. “Or do you prefer we call them strategies, poppet?”

  Tsumiko’s cheeks burned. “You’re right. I’m in no position to cast stones.”

  “Leave such things to me, mistress. My aim is true, and I know how much force to employ.” He casually scanned the room, fending off the curious with an aloof stare.

  “I’m not asking you to throw rocks at anyone,” she said.

  “Alas.” Argent pushed a dish of spiced nuts closer and repeated, “Eat.”

  She obediently nibbled at a spear of pear, mentally picking through the complexities that surrounded the Smythe family. They’d been keeping secrets for years, craving closer ties with an inhuman society. Foxes and dragons. Quests and cousins. Wards and horses. Were these strategies or lies?

  “Argent, are you misleading me?”

  “Presently?”

  “I mean in general.” Tsumiko chewed thoughtfully. “Are you false?”

  “Do I seem so?”

  “No. But I’ve always thought that you know more than you’re telling.”

  Argent’s lips quirked. “I am old, and I am wily. Humans are wise to be wary of foxes.”

  Perhaps in general, but she knew one fox in particular. And in the most intimate of ways. She knew the touch of his soul, the ache of his need, the wildness of a nature so different from her own. Yet they’d been fitted together, knit and joined. Tsumiko reclaimed her tea. “I trust you.”

  His answering silence was telling. Was there such a thing as unrequited trust?

  “Is it secrets you are after? I have many, though most have passed their expiration date.”

  Tsumiko accepted the change in subject. “Like what?”

  Argent knelt beside her chair, leaning close to whisper. “My fifth mistress craved plums despite the fact that they did not agree with her. She commanded I bring them, even though they only grew in another daimyo’s territory, guarded by tigers and dragons of impressive ferocity.”

  “Forbidden fruit?”

  Mischief glinted in Argent’s eyes, and Tsumiko suspected that he’d enjoyed the challenge. She said, “I hope she appreciated the risks you took for her sake.”

  “Only if she remembered to specify ripe, sweet plums.” His nose wrinkled. “Even then, my only reward was her flatulence.”

  Tsumiko bit her lip, trying to contain the urge to giggle. This kind of thing shouldn’t be funny.

  “My seventh mistress never lost her fear for me,” he continued. “To impress her, her new husband would subdue me in her presence. The nightly beatings left him riled and her relieved. They were especially prolific.”

  Her heart clenched. “Argent.”

  He continued in the same careless tone. “I took especial pleasure in giving their odious brood nightmares. In fear and trembling, their only surviving daughter let the honor of my attendance pass to a cousin whose constitution was stronger. And in her, all my petty vengeances were repaid.”

  His words bit the air, burning between them. And Tsumiko simply knew. “She became Gingko’s mother?”

  Teeth bared in silent ferocity.

  “Did she love you?”

  “She believed many lies, all of which she told herself.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Nothing could have bound me to her side but the leash you now hold.”

  Tsumiko said, “You hated her, too.”

  He blinked. And his gaze tripled in intensity. “No.”

  “You didn’t hate her?”

  “Tsk. She was vile. You are … not.”

  Tsumiko touched his sleeve. “Thanks.”

  A sudden uptick in noise caught their attention, and one voice in particular carried. “I don’t know what happened to them, but you know how tricky he is.” Jacques took a sing-song tone. “Argent! Guess who turned up fashionably late?”

  Argent jolted to his feet, poised to run, but he first pressed a hand to Tsumiko’s shoulder. “Wait here,” he ordered. And then he was gone.

  Jacques stepped into the sudden vacancy at Tsumiko’s side, all but laughing. “Knew that would roust him out. They always got on best.”

  She had no idea what he was saying, so she stood up on tiptoe, searching the crowded room for a flash of silver hair.

  “There they come!” Jacques pointed toward a side entrance.

  That translated just fine.

  Sure enough, Argent strode their way, hauling a flustered man by the suede-patched elbow of his corduroy coat. The newcomer clutched a tissue-wrapped bouquet that bumped against his thigh with every step, scatt
ering blue petals in his wake.

  “Who …?” she murmured.

  Jacques tapped her shoulder, asking for her attention. Grinning down at her, he spoke two words, enunciating carefully in English. “Uncle Stewie.”

  FORTY FOUR

  Flurry of Flower Petals

  Argent proceeded with narrowed eyes and clipped courtesy. Some of his annoyance was a direct result of the alteration in Stewart Smythe. He had aged too much in the four years since Argent last saw him. Cedric had always met Eimi’s inquiries with vague excuses about an overseas residency and the demands of setting up a private practice. Covering up his grandfather’s mammoth blunder. Burying the evidence in the tender heart of his heir.

  The doctor smiled. Accepted Argent’s manhandling with an oddly abashed sort of contrition—all apologies and pleading glances. Weariness lingered in the creases framing Stewart’s eyes. Sadness swamped his scent, and the deep current of desperation further unsettled Argent. How could the boy have come to this?

  Then Tsumiko bowed and greeted him as Uncle Stewie.

  Surprise flickered across Stewart’s face, only to be replaced by a warm smile. He bowed and placed a bouquet of forget-me-nots in her hands and addressed her in excellent—if accented—Japanese. “Miss Hajime, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My apologies for not presenting myself sooner. How are you and Argent getting on?” Stewart looked up at the butler. “Well, I hope?”

  Argent watched Tsumiko’s face light up in obvious delight, as if she hadn’t heard her own language spoken in weeks. As if he counted for nothing.

  She cradled Stewart’s flowers to her heart, thanking him profusely.

  As if the gift wasn’t inappropriately intimate. Argent found cause to seethe.

  Didn’t she realize that this rapport might be a ruse? That this man had a wife? One he’d certainly chosen in order to get at him.

  Under his grandfather’s direction, Stewart had taken a Hajime bride. He’d intended to present her to Lady Eimi. He would have offered himself as the best candidate for the inheritance. Even if Stewart had been operating with the best of intentions, his plans would have robbed Argent of his chance at freedom. Of his son, for Argent would never have allowed this lot to get their hooks into Gingko. Of his home with Michael and Sansa. And of Tsumiko.