Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox (Amaranthine Saga Book 1)

by Forthright

  “What is wrong?”

  Gingko flinched as his father’s hands closed around his shoulders. But the bite of claws never came, only firm guidance as his father aligned their bodies. Pulling him in until their chests touched. Blaze to blaze, cheek to cheek.

  His dad’s voice rumbled through him, husky with a growl that held no trace of anger. “Take pride,” he said. “You may yet show proof of the strength you carry.”

  “Proof?”

  “Display for me,” he ordered.

  Was he in trouble? Gingko gulped. “Don’t know how.”

  “Some part of you does. Here.” Argent’s hand swept down his spine, coming to rest at its base. With his other hand, he held Gingko in place against him.

  The blaze on his chest burned, and power roared in his ears. His father’s power pushed against him, overwhelmingly dark and thick. So different from Tsumiko’s brightness. It pressed into Gingko, sliding into his deep places and adding fire to his bones.

  “Hurts,” he managed again, hiding his face against his dad’s shoulder.

  “I know. Bear with me.” His father’s voice remained so calm, so in control. “Come here, Tsumiko. Tend to him while I help him find his way. You should be able to add balance, since he carries the blood of your ancestor.”

  “I can help there.” Michael’s voice began a steady stream of instruction.

  Gingko felt her arms slip around him from one side. Her hand found his blaze, and this time, his whimper was relief. Tsumiko’s light rose up in counter to Argent’s darkness. Not at war, but like his dad had said—evening things out. And calming his fears. She and Michael wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

  Pain ebbing, Gingko became aware of a tight curl under his skin. His dad had been trying to draw attention to it, his fingers massaging the spot in a tight circle low on his back.

  “Here,” Argent repeated. “Rise from here.”

  Realization shook Gingko, and his voice cracked. “A … a tail?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can give me a tail?” It seemed too good to be true.

  His dad said, “If you can claim it, it is yours.”

  A challenge. But not much help. “I don’t get it. H-how?”

  Michael jumped in, sounding like a textbook. The guy had missed his calling, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere. As often as he lapsed into lectures, he belonged in some reaver academy classroom.

  “The addition of tails is a sign of both physical maturation and the acquisition of skills. Most associate the number of a fox’s tails with their potential.”

  “The more tails, the more trouble,” Tsumiko said.

  “So the saying goes,” agreed Michael. “According to our household records, Argent had five when he was captured, but he manifested a sixth at the birth of his son. I’m not entirely sure anyone has bothered to check since then.”

  Argent snorted.

  “I suspect he has since added to his flourish.” Michael addressed his dad. “I’m amazed your enslavement didn’t hamper your progress.”

  “It did. It does.” With a soft growl, Argent said, “I would prefer this does not make it into the household records. An emergence is a private moment for the fox clans, rarely witnessed by humans.”

  “Understood, old friend. Would you prefer I leave, Gingko?”

  He managed a small shake of the head.

  Michael accepted warmly. “I’m honored to be included.”

  And then Gingko’s dad did something new. It was as if his blaze ignited. Icy blue flames flickered over pale skin. They couldn’t have been real, since they didn’t hurt Tsumiko or Michael, but Gingko could feel them—ticklish, tantalizing. And tempting.

  “Foxfire?” whispered Tsumiko.

  But his dad ignored her. Pressing his forehead to Gingko’s he said, “Follow it. Borrow it. Use it to find your way.” Then Dad took his hand, guiding it around so that Gingko mirrored him, one hand covering the full-blooded fox’s lower back. “Like this,” said Argent.

  Gingko started as fur erupted under his palm. Since when did Dad flaunt tails while in human form? This was wilder than a pack of wolves. And thanks to several years running with them, he understood the intimacy involved in touching tails.

  He started to pull away, but Dad held him as a second tail appeared. Gingko could feel how it was connected low on his father’s back. And the split between the two. Mindful of his claws, he explored, but it was intensely awkward.

  Still, where else could he turn with really personal questions about his fox half? Maybe this was the sort of lesson all dads gave their sons.

  Argent added a third tail and a fourth, his gaze locked on Gingko’s the whole time. And it occurred to Gingko that the only reason he was seeing his dad like this—bare-chested and blazing—was because of Tsumiko. She might not have freed Dad yet, but she’d made it so he could be himself. A true fox, rippling with power, radiating confidence.

  Really, she was the reason he was here, too. Coming into an inheritance he never knew was his. She was up on tiptoe, eyes closed, with a tiny furrow between her brows, like she was concentrating. Except she was also shining. As if the young woman was made of moonlight. He blinked, but the impression didn’t fade. Wow. Kel would go crazy if he could see Tsumiko like this.

  With a huff, Argent pulled Gingko more firmly against his body. “She is doing all she can. Leave her to her prayers and focus on finding their answer.”

  A fifth and sixth tail sprouted in quick succession, and Gingko was impressed. But that wasn’t the same as understanding how his dad managed the trick. What if he floundered around, groping his father to no end? He could fail.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is this okay?” Gingko asked.

  Those damnably expressive eyebrows arched. “Yes.”

  “Because … we’re family?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re okay with that, too?”

  His dad kind of smirked. “Yes.”

  “Even if I can’t figure this out?”

  “You will.”

  Gingko wished he had half his father’s confidence. “How can you be sure?”

  Argent said, “I can make the way more clear.”

  He could? Gingko swore softly and complained, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  A flicker of amusement played across his father’s face. And then Gingko’s mind went utterly blank as lips covered his own. What the hell?

  Michael cleared his throat. “As you may recall, a kiss is often the traditional avenue for….”

  Gingko tuned out the lecture since he already knew this wasn’t a kiss. He’d been in love before and shared plenty of kisses with girls who’d outgrown him while he outlived them. Nope, this was something else entirely.

  Brave boy. His dad’s voice was somehow in his head. Let me give you this much, at least.

  Give something?

  Gingko tried to make sense of the strange sensations. The blaze-blue flames seemed to want a way in, but what for? He craved Tsumiko’s soul, but this was his dad. It wasn’t as if he could take from him since they were both Amaranthine. Well … he was half. And the swirling foxfire was going to consume him. Unless he consumed it first.

  Wait.

  If it was his Amaranthine half that loved the flavor of a reaver’s soul, what about his human half? Was it his human side that found the flames so enticing? That would explain a lot. Maybe everything.

  Because Gingko was part human, he wasn’t a proper fox. But because he was part human, his dad could do something like this. And for the tending to work, Gingko was going to have to do something really scary. Trust Dad.

  Clarity brought the needed convergence, and Gingko swayed in the center of a storm. Heaviness and lightness. Giddy warmth and icy flames. Argent Mettlebright and Tsu
miko Hajime were the strongest of their kind, but their power didn’t clash. They’d woven their souls together to create a shelter. For him.

  Dad wrapped both arms around his shoulders and murmured nonsense in his ear. The same sort of stuff Michael gushed over his children—endearments and praise.

  Gingko’s chin trembled. He thought he might be crying. Ducking his head, he grabbed hold. Blood welled up under his claws, but his father didn’t flinch away. Thick blood flowed over hot skin, and its scent filled Gingko’s nose, anchoring him in one of those visceral ways Michael always harped about.

  His dad. His blood. His birthright.

  With a soft whine, Gingko felt a piece of himself peel away. Spilling outward but still linked, it hung limp to the floor, bringing a coo of delight from Tsumiko. Michael gave a low whistle, and Gingko stirred enough to crane his neck. A fox’s tail trailed to the floor behind him, white-tipped silver like his father’s.

  “Well done.”

  Argent’s voice was a purr of pride. The quiver it sent through Gingko’s ears was familiar enough. Entirely new was the way happiness now translated into the gentle sway of his tail.

  SIXTY ONE

  Counting Costs

  A few days later, Tsumiko stumbled across Michael and Deece in one of the small parlors. The two sat with eyes closed, hands entwined, their faces wholly taken by matching expressions of peace. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but Deece stirred from his reverie, ever on guard, and Michael turned her way.

  “Good morning, Tsumiko. Did you need either of us?”

  “I was looking for Gingko.”

  “Ah. He’s not here.” Michael held up a hand and clarified. “Gingko left the estate. He passed through the wards yesterday and has yet to return.”

  “I didn’t realize.” She swayed in place, Kyrie in her arms. It wasn’t as if Gingko needed to check in with her, but his unannounced departure saddened her. “He didn’t say anything. Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

  “No, no. While the gardens are sleeping, our gardener comes and goes a fair bit.” Michael beckoned her closer, his eyes on the baby. “Don’t worry. He always comes home again.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” she protested, surrendering Kyrie to his honorary uncle. To Deece, she said, “I apologize for interrupting.”

  He tangled empty hands in his lap and murmured, “No need.”

  She almost laughed. Deece was as reserved as Michael was outgoing, a contrast made all the more evident by the constancy of their companionship. She supposed Michael was only trying to help Deece acclimate. Something Tsumiko felt guilty for not doing.

  Even though she’d spoken to the newest resident of Stately House on multiple occasions, the sum total of his part in those exchanges couldn’t have amounted to more than forty words. And most of those were polite refusals, demurrals, or apologies. Language didn’t appear to be a barrier, and she didn’t get the impression that he was unhappy. But she wanted him to feel at home with them. Assuming that’s what Deece wanted.

  “Come and sit with us,” Michael said, easing to one side on the settee, effectively pushing Deece into a cushioned corner. “You haven’t had many chances to get to know Deece, and I’m sure he’s curious about you as well. Cats are famous for their curiosity.”

  Deece frowned. “That is merely a human saying.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re curious, and so is Tsumiko. Don’t even pretend otherwise, because I know better.”

  Tsumiko took the opposite corner, grateful Michael was so willing to seize his traditional role, standing—or in this case sitting—between the human and inhuman races. For all their sakes.

  “You two really do need to come to terms.” Michael handed off Kyrie to Deece. “Indulge me?”

  “Yes, Michael,” said Deece, who cradled the little crosser.

  Michael waited until the baby was tucked into the crook of the cat’s arm before tugging Deece’s free hand into his own.

  “Your hand, Tsumiko?” said Michael.

  “Yes, of course,” Tsumiko agreed. “Thank you.”

  He wove his fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Deece is too new at this to handle the full force of a beacon’s brilliance, but I’m sure I can mitigate the impact while preserving the essence.”

  She wasn’t sure what he intended. “Do I need to do anything?”

  “Leave it to me.” Michael relaxed into the cushions, his eyes sliding shut. “Quietly, now. I need to focus.”

  The request was practically redundant. Tsumiko was beginning to believe that quiet was their problem. She fiddled with her necklace and watched Deece interact with Kyrie. On the face of things, the feline clansman seemed about the age of a university student, but she knew he had to be decades—if not centuries—older than her. Deece wasn’t young in years, but he seemed inexperienced with humans. Sheltered. Shy.

  Kyrie gurgled. The little guy was wide awake and far more alert to his surroundings than Lilya was yet. He made several grabs at Deece and was rewarded with a finger to hold. Kyrie burbled again, and Tsumiko realized that he was trying to mimic Deece’s near-inaudible purr. The Amaranthine nuzzled Kyrie’s cheek to hide his smile.

  She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Deece was so good with the newborns, a real natural; Suuzu had been similarly nurturing. Was this a common Amaranthine trait? If they needed to add to Stately House’s staff, perhaps they should invite other Amaranthine to join them. Ones willing to cuddle and care for children from diverse backgrounds.

  Michael interrupted her rambling thoughts. “Getting anything?” he asked.

  Tsumiko shook her head, but paused. What was that? Once she was paying attention, there was something. Faint but unwavering, a gentle pressure just beyond the boundary she’d begun to assign as self. Tsumiko’s gaze snapped to Deece, who watched her with a wide-eyed surprise that bordered on alarm.

  “Calm down, my friend,” Michael soothed. “This should have all the hallmarks of tending, but without the essential exchange.”

  Fleeting impressions filtered through the connection, feelings not her own. Awe and embarrassment, dedication and determination, solemnity and sensuality. All at the surface, all hinting at greater depths. Was Deece gleaning similar things about her?

  “I didn’t know something like this was possible,” said Tsumiko.

  “Neither did I,” said Michael. “I’m improvising.”

  She tightened her hold on this man who was both barrier and bridge. “You’re actually kind of amazing, aren’t you?”

  “Isn’t everyone?” He settled back against the cushions. “Go on, then, you two. Take advantage. Here’s your chance to get to know one another without needing pesky little things like words.”

  Tsumiko lapsed into silence and, as she was accustomed to doing with Argent, left herself wide open. Deece rewarded her trust with increasing confidence. Hazy confusion and prickly caution slowly lifted, revealing an earnest, exasperated, eager personality. Despite all protests, Deece fairly vibrated with curiosity; however, it was tempered by a deference that seemed to apply to gender. And she sensed a bedrock conviction that she had trouble putting into words. An all-encompassing attitude, a defining quality. Perhaps this was Deece himself?

  He was watching her.

  She tried for a smile, but it fell shy of the mark. So Tsumiko did her best to simply make him welcome. As a new friend. As family, if he wanted to belong.

  Deece ducked his head. “No wonder he holds you close.”

  Did he mean Argent? Oh. She hadn’t even thought to hide the link that bound him. Why had Deece gathered that it was Argent doing the holding? Maybe because that’s how it had always felt to her?

  Michael asked, “Well, friend. Can you trust her?”

  Meeting Tsumiko’s gaze, Deece answered directly. “I trust you.”

  . . .

  Argent immed
iately knew when Michael returned to working on the whole enslavement problem. Distracted mumbling. Odd gestures. Sketched sigils. Bookmarked tomes spilled from the reaver’s office into neighboring parlors, where Tsumiko played the part of research assistant.

  With her help, Michael moved from theory and hypothesis to direct experimentation. At all hours of the day, the reaver would interrupt Argent’s work in order to muddle around in his inner workings. Even at night, especially if he was up with the baby, Michael would rap lightly on Argent’s door and let himself in.

  These forays were intimate and intrusive, but Argent endured them with a minimum of grousing. In part because the fiddling was a small price to pay for freedom. But also because it was only fair. Argent had done his fair share of meddling with Michael. Back before the young ward fully understood what a cornered fox was capable of.

  Michael’s current focus was welcome, but worrisome. Dark circles smudged his eyes, and he’d developed a pucker from all the restorative tonics Sansa dosed him with. So when Argent caught the sound of footsteps hastening toward his door shortly after midnight, he was prepared to issue a sound scolding.

  Only Michael didn’t give him the chance.

  “I have it!” The reaver slid to his knees beside Argent’s chair like a supplicant before the throne. “At least, I think I do. Will you check my work?”

  Argent stared mutely at the papers Michael proffered. Was it possible?

  The reaver rambled on. “The largest difficulty has always been the layering of the sigils. Normally, a bond of this nature loses potency over time, but this one has been renewed and reinforced with each successive generation. Showing impressive foresight on the part of the reavers who trapped you. Both efficient and exponential!”

  He hardly needed reminding. Hoping for something more than a rehearsal of his misery, Argent accepted the papers and skimmed Michael’s notes.

  “The epiphany came while I was talking over a few of the finer points of sigil-crafting with Darya.”