by Forthright
Tsumiko leaned forward. “What are the words?”
“Do not sleep under trees who sing sweet lullabies, who drip with honey and scatter petals upon a mossy bed.” His lips twitched. “Beware trees who press the flesh of their fruit past your lips with the sweetness of their kisses. But if you succumb, be gentle with the blessing of their child.”
She blinked several times. “Child?”
Stewart said, “I’m not sure I follow.”
With a sly smile, Argent kept up a lilting translation, letting the song speak for itself. “Take the golden seed from the babe’s hand and plant it beside your front door. Teach the child to watch and water, to tend to their twin, and they shall know a tree’s age and be a blessing to their home.”
“How is that possible?” asked Tsumiko.
“It shouldn’t be.” But Stewart sounded anything but sure.
“There is an element of truth in the songs and stories,” said Argent. “Take, for instance, Huddlebud nectar.”
Tsumiko noticed Stewart’s confusion. “Amaranthine medicine,” she whispered.
“My mother kept a pot on the high shelf in her herbiary. She revered the stuff, and more than once, I caught her opening the jar, enjoying the scent.” Argent’s eyebrows arched. “She said it brought back good memories.”
He was drawing out the suspense. Tsumiko finally prompted, “Why?”
Argent smirked. “Most people assume that Huddlebud refers to an Amaranthine house, which it does. They are one of the smaller deer clans. Herbalists.”
“They produce this medicine?” guessed Stewart.
“It is their stock and trade,” Argent confirmed. “What few realize is that the huddlebud are one of our Ephemera. They are reminiscent of butterflies, and they gather the pollen from which the herbalists concoct their nectar.”
Stewart’s expression brightened. “Are they in your collection?”
This time, Tsumiko was at a loss.
The doctor smiled sheepishly. “When I was little, I wanted to know more, but Argent ignored my questions. So Aunt Eimi made a rule. One answer a day. One time, I asked about collections.”
Argent looked away, and Tsumiko ached inside. Despite his fondness for Stewart, the taint of obligation shadowed the memories they shared. She quietly said, “Thank goodness Argent is no longer under any obligation to divulge his secrets on a daily basis.”
“Tsk.” But gratitude flashed in Argent’s eyes. “While the butterflies are beautiful, I find moths easier to please. I don’t keep what a huddlebud craves, what they will fly leagues to find.”
“What do they eat?” asked Tsumiko.
“What else?” Argent rolled his wrist, fanning his fingers wide. “The pollen of Amaranthine trees.”
At that point, Tsumiko realized that the singing had stopped. Shuffling footsteps approached the kitchen, accompanied by the encouraging murmur of a lady’s voice. Stewart and Argent rose to their feet as two females entered.
The one who must have been Brynn Fallowfield was quite tall, with a complexion like warm toast and a long mane of straight hair the color of butter. She quietly dominated those in the room, and not only by height. Tsumiko smiled at the sudden flash of familiarity. Sister Mary Celeste was equally as formidable when herding her flock of little ones from their nursery to the library or playground. Nurse Fallowfield had similarly set herself between Kyoko and the world. Tsumiko couldn’t see anything of her cousin except the flash of a dark eye and the flutter of a red hem.
“Here you are!” Stewart hurried forward. “The parlor is ready, darling. We’ll be more comfortable there.”
“I will bring a tea tray,” Brynn announced. As the couple retreated, the lady of the horse clans gave Argent an assessing look. “Gloves, dear.”
To Tsumiko’s surprise, he wordlessly ducked through an archway, presumably into the room reserved for linens and tea services. She found the nurse’s pale-lashed eyes fixed upon her and waited to see if this Amaranthine had orders for her as well.
“Bracelet, dear.” Brynn Fallowfield shook her hair back, tucking strands behind a pointed ear. “Take it off.”
FIFTY
Unnatural
Not the customary sequence of greetings she’d been expecting. Tsumiko’s hand crept up to cover her wrist. “That would be …”
“Unwise.” Argent returned, tugging the final loop over a row of tiny buttons at his wrist. Flexing his hands, he presented pristine white cotton for Brynn’s inspection. “My claws are velveted.”
“I appreciate the consideration.” She met his palms, likely upholding some kind of Amaranthine etiquette.
Tsumiko was intrigued to note that the lady’s fingers bore no claws. Would she also lack fangs?
Brynn went on. “Mrs. Hajime-Smythe only suffers your presence because this family vouches for your docility.”
Argent snorted.
So did Brynn. Looking to Tsumiko, the nurse asked, “You do realize this is a fox?”
“Yes.” Only then did she realize that Brynn had been speaking Japanese. But that made sense. Kyoko needed the same consideration. Tsumiko eased from her chair and moved to Argent’s side. “The uniform puts most people off guard, but we know better. He is certainly a fox.”
Brynn addressed Argent. “She is a beacon.”
“I am aware.”
“I have need of her.”
“She is mine.”
Tsumiko interrupted the burgeoning stand-off with a hand on Argent’s sleeve. “Why do you need a beacon?”
Brynn gathered up a tray. “Come, see for yourself.”
In the parlor, Stewart stood before a crackling fire, his arm around a woman in a wine-colored dress, her unbound black hair hanging well past her waist. He murmured encouragement and turned her in order to make a proper introduction.
Kyoko Hajime-Smythe briefly raised her eyes and dipped her head. Filmy layers of delicate fabric flowed in modest folds over the unmistakable curves of pregnancy. But the young woman’s face was too thin, and her eyes held a brightness that wasn’t from health. Rather, Kyoko seemed fevered, fragile.
Was it any wonder? Kyoko’s introduction to the Amaranthine had left her in the clutches of a monster. She may have watched her colleagues die. She’d been taken by their murderer and violated. She’d been lost without a trace, left for dead, kept in a lightless, hopeless burrow—buried alive.
Even though they must be distantly related, Tsumiko found nothing familiar in the other woman’s face. But she recognized beauty when she saw it. And fear. All of the woman’s glances stole in Argent’s direction.
Tsumiko quickly stepped forward, taking Kyoko’s icy hands. “First an aunt, and now a cousin. This past year has brought many surprises and blessings, not the least of which is a family.”
Her gaze slid past Tsumiko. “We are little better than strangers.”
“We can be as close as we wish to be,” she countered. “Please, call me Tsumiko.”
Kyoko’s gaze locked with Tsumiko’s, and the taller woman’s shoulders curled inward. Pulling Tsumiko closer, she whispered, “Is it true? He is in your thrall? He obeys you?”
“Argent?”
“Don’t let him touch me! Don’t let him hurt me,” she whispered urgently. “Keep him away!”
“Argent won’t hurt you, Mrs. Smythe. He never would.”
“Never?” Kyoko muttered, “I’ve seen things that never should have been, little cousin. This world swarms with them, and they are stronger than we.”
Tsumiko quietly repeated, “Argent won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Kyoko nodded once and pulled her hands free, drawing herself up and wrapping too-slender arms around her own shoulders. Tsumiko had only met one other expectant mother, and Sansa was in the habit of cradling her belly, as if to hold her baby even closer. But Kyoko held herself apart f
rom the swell of her abdomen, almost as if this, too, was a source of fear.
Falling back on small talk, Tsumiko asked, “When are you due?”
With a bitter twist of lips, Kyoko said, “I have lost hope of seeing the end to my captivity.”
Stewart took a pleading tone. “I’m assured by Naroo-soh and others that the progression of this pregnancy is … within expected parameters.”
A tear trickled down Kyoko’s cheek.
“It is only natural,” Brynn interjected. “Amaranthine age slowly, mature slowly, heal slowly. Gestate slowly.”
The math. Hadn’t Kyoko been rescued by wolves more than a year ago? Tsumiko grappled with the timeline of the expeditionary team’s disappearance.
Stewart gravely said, “Kyoko has entered her fortieth month. She’s been pregnant for more than three years.”
Tsumiko looked to Argent, whose expression gave nothing away. Had it been the same with Gingko’s mother?
“There is hope,” said Brynn. “This girl is not another useless reaver of middling strength. She is a beacon.”
And suddenly, fingers scrabbled at the beads around Tsumiko’s wrist. When she jerked backward, it was without her bracelet, and Kyoko held the amethyst strand aloft. Tsumiko could only stare in confusion as it swayed like a pendulum from the woman’s clenched fist.
Argent growled.
Brynn gasped.
Kyoko doubled over, pressing her belly through the cloth of her skirt. Sinking to her knees, her groan turned into a dark laugh. “The beast senses a fresh supply.”
What a thing to say. Tsumiko wasn’t sure if she should reach out to help or pull back.
Argent snagged the dropped bracelet and tugged Tsumiko backward, but he didn’t return the ward to her wrist. Really, there was no need. Argent’s presence surrounded her, curtailing the sudden upwell, shuttering her soul.
“Snuffed like a candle,” muttered Brynn, eyeing Argent with wary respect. “You can contain her?”
Tsumiko could feel Argent’s shrug as he offhandedly replied, “When she is willing.”
Stewart helped his wife to one of the sofas, and Tsumiko asked, “What just happened? Did I harm the baby?”
“Not at all, dear,” said Brynn, who unhurriedly poured tea. “The babe has been gathering strength from the mother, and the toll deepens. Kyoko must be delivered of her child before she grows too weak to survive the additional strain.”
Of course a baby borrowed its mother’s strength. It would be helpless without her, even after birth. Tsumiko knew she was missing something. “Isn’t the baby ready to come?”
“Reluctant is a better word.” Brynn shook her head. “With mixed breeding, the wee one does not long for light and breath and milk; their heart is already full.”
Stewart sat close beside his wife. “I suppose it’s because she’s a reaver. Unregistered, but still. They tell us there is a certain … allure.”
Understatement. And an understandable predicament. Especially if the mother’s resources weren’t inexhaustible. Tsumiko asked, “What happens if a reaver gives too much of themselves in tending?”
“Death,” said Brynn.
“Aren’t there ways to induce labor?” she asked. “Or could you perform a Cesarean?”
Brynn inclined her head. “The reavers are as eager to take the child as Kyoko is to give it. But with you here, we may be able to avoid all their unpleasantness. Come here, dear.”
Tsumiko came to sit on Kyoko’s other side, and Brynn knelt before them. The nurse guided Tsumiko’s hand to Kyoko’s belly. The young woman allowed it, but nothing happened. Should it have?
“Loosen your grip, fox,” said Brynn.
“Like when we’re tending Kith?” asked Tsumiko. Argent hummed, and she felt his hold gently loosen. At the same moment, the baby twitched under her hand.
“A little more,” coached Brynn, who shifted Tsumiko’s hand lower. “My, my, this should prove irresistible. Lean back, Kyoko. I think we can turn the child now.”
She paled and pressed her lips together, but obeyed.
Argent spoke up. “If you knew what was needed, why did you not take measures sooner?”
“We did try, but there was the matter of quality.” Brynn spoke in a soothing lilt, as if reciting poetry. “Can a child who wants its mother be satisfied by lesser souls? But your beacon is kin. She has the right feel.”
Flesh rippled and twisted under Tsumiko’s hand, and Brynn exclaimed softly. Stewart smiled and said, “That’s good. The child’s no longer breech.”
Kyoko grimaced, her gaze flickering to Argent, who’d remained at a polite distance. “Whatever it takes,” she ground out.
“You will soon be free,” Brynn soothed. Then she looked to Argent. “I will need you both.”
“For?” he inquired haughtily.
She smiled faintly. “Birth attendants.”
FIFTY ONE
Latch
Upon their return to the main house, Argent sequestered his mistress in her rooms and slipped back out, intending to collect a tray from the kitchen to tide them over until the dinner hour. But a detour past the library for a bit of surreptitious eavesdropping put him in Jacques’ path.
The young man did a double-take. “Gloves, Argent? That’s a good look for you. Or were you planning to test our mantelpieces for dust?”
“These are a concession, for the sake of your cousin’s wife.”
Jacques slowly straightened. “You know then?”
“That the sight of me wracks her body with tremors and sours her scent with the reek of fear? Yes.”
Jacques looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “But you know why?”
Argent had never seen Jacques so serious. An ill-suited alteration. “Yes. Her abhorrence is both understandable and unreasonable.”
Jacques frowned. “Kyoko’s been through a lot.”
“Be that as it may, I am neither her attacker nor inclined to attack.” After a calculated pause, he added, “Unless provoked.”
Eyes wide, Jacques asked, “Could you hurt us?”
“In any number of ways.” Argent slowly peeled off his gloves to flourish his claws. “Or did you think these ornamental?”
“Are you trying to scare me?”
Such pitiful bravado. Argent didn’t need to try. “You are already afraid.”
Jacques shuffled his feet. “You could slaughter every one of us.”
Argent really should have been enjoying this pest’s haunted expression more. “And why would I perpetrate such an atrocity?”
“Because you don’t like us.”
Leaning into the young man’s personal space, he purred, “I do not like you.”
Regret. Resignation. “Will you hurt me?”
Argent lifted his brows. “I will not resort to bloodshed.”
Jacques laughed weakly. “Right. That’s sorted, then.”
So Kyoko wasn’t the only one suffering from Cedric’s foolish ambitions. Fear had taken root in an unexpected quarter. Argent weighed dislike against a growing distaste for the young man’s dampened attitude. “Jacques.”
He wouldn’t look up.
“Tsk. Jacques.” Laying a hand against his face, Argent said, “You offend me, and I consider you both an idiot and an annoyance. But such things are insufficient provocation for violence. Consider your life spared.”
Jacques leaned into the touch, eyes closed. “Can you keep us safe from the dragons?”
“While I am here, no outsider will trespass on Smythe land, but I cannot stay.”
“I bet I could talk Tsumiko into it. She’s warming to me, you know.”
Argent growled.
Jacques shivered. “God, that’s sexy.”
He snatched his hand back. “My warning against provocation stands.”
&n
bsp; With a lopsided smile, Jacques asked, “Does that mean you find me provocative?”
“Provoking, surely.”
The teasing light dwindled to nothing. Jacques whispered, “When you go, take me with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I feel safest when you’re close.”
“Naroo-soh seems to have taken a personal interest in this case. His instincts will see you safe.” Argent stepped back, pocketing his gloves. “Trust the wolves.”
In an unprecedented show of good sense, Jacques murmured, “Right. If you say so.”
. . .
When Tsumiko emerged from her room late that afternoon, Yvette pounced. One of the smaller sitting rooms needed decking for yet another upcoming party. While Tsumiko helped unwrap glittering trinkets for a pair of fragrant pines, she divided her attention between her chatty hostess and Stewart, who’d been tapped as translator.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t keep up with her.”
“Argent stopped trying.” Tsumiko smiled ruefully. “You may stick to the important parts or summarize.”
He chuckled. “I have yet to hear something of true import. She has lapsed into a treatise on hats.”
Far more interesting were stories about Boniface and Jacques when they were little boys. And Yvette’s attempts to explain the meanings behind the Smythe family Christmas traditions. Tsumiko accepted these lessons with good grace, though she probably knew the truth behind the trappings far better than they.
At some point, Boniface wandered in, causing his mother’s stories to take a new theme.
Stewart sighed. “Be proud of your Uncle Bonnie, Miss Tsumiko. He is clearly our Aunt Yvette’s crowning achievement.”