Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox (Amaranthine Saga Book 1)

by Forthright

  Argent’s brows shot up. “She is a child.”

  “She’s a skilled ward with full access to Ingress’s library. And she’s brilliant.”

  “Like her father.”

  Michael waved off the compliment. “Will you look these over? You’re more experienced with sigil-craft, and I want your opinion.”

  He hummed, already scrutinizing the second page.

  “And … I’d like to check one more thing.”

  Michael’s tone had turned light, and Argent recognized the warning note under his customary pall of optimism. “If you must.”

  “I haven’t tended you in quite some time,” Michael began.

  “There has been little need.” Argent flipped a page. “None, in fact.”

  “If I may?”

  Argent sighed. “You have both my trust and my permission, foolish boy. Proceed.”

  Michael rose up on his knees and slid his arms around Argent.

  He relaxed into the old familiarity of his friend’s tending, but he soon pushed Michael back. “I won’t have you exhausting yourself. Save some for your new kitten.”

  The man sank back on his heels, looking pale.

  “What?”

  “Argent, what have you done?”

  “Tsk. If that was meant to be a leading question, it goes nowhere.”

  Michael gently placed his fingertips over Argent’s heart. “Your ties to Tsumiko have multiplied. I fear they may be adding strength to the original bond.”

  “No. I was careful.”

  “But, Argent.” Michael hesitated, and he lowered his voice. “I’ve only ever seen this level of connection in the ties formed between longtime pactmates … or bondmates.”

  “And …?”

  He rubbed wearily at the side of his face. “Does she know she’s as good as yours?”

  Argent shrugged. “Attachments of this nature are always mutual. More to the point, when can you set me free?”

  Michael stifled a yawn. “Tomorrow?”

  That one word was a promise he hoped his friend could keep. “Tomorrow.”

  . . .

  Argent spent the long hours of the night studying the results of Michael’s research, especially the series of drawings the reaver had made of the sigils that chained Argent’s soul. He’d never seen them before. Their design prevented scrutiny, probably to eliminate the possibility of escape.

  Now that the patterns were spread before him, Argent could appreciate their artistry. The proliferation of sigils seemed delicate, but he knew their bite. Yet this was unexpected. Now that he was able to study the patterns and markers, he was having a hard time believing that they were created by a reaver. Perhaps the trap had been triggered by humans, applied on the spur of a moment, but this meticulous and sinister construction could only belong to an Amaranthine.

  Argent compared two pages, then riffled through the sheets to analyze a third. Several of the so-called trickster clans excelled at illusion, evasion, and deception—foxes, squirrels, raccoons, spiders, and rooks being the most famous. Or infamous. But this wasn’t a trick or trap.

  He’d been anchored to the Hajime bloodline, body and soul. And only one clan was known for harnessing blood to bind. Dragons.

  No wonder his freedom had been forfeit. Should he mention the collusion to Michael? Did it even matter anymore? The end was in sight. All he wanted was to break away, fly free, and run toward the future of his choosing. Not scent a trail leading toward recompense or revenge. Enough was enough.

  The cost had been high, but it was already paid.

  . . .

  Argent was grateful when Michael suggested they break the bond before breakfast. Mouth dry, the fox followed his mistress into the same parlor where they’d first forged their link. Could it be this simple? A few moments’ concentration to banish the sigils, then repair to the kitchen for quiche?

  Was it cynicism or fatalism that insisted this was too easy? He muttered, “Something will go wrong.”

  Tsumiko touched his arm. “O, ye of little faith.”

  Argent indicated the annotations he’d inked across Michaels’ plans. “Did you and Darya account for those anchors?”

  “Actually, they’re the reason we were able to formulate a plan.” He gripped Argent’s other arm. “Don’t you trust me?”

  Argent snorted. “I am at your mercy.”

  “This should work,” Michael soothed. “But even if it doesn’t, we’ll learn something. And then we can make another attempt.”

  He could only concede the point. There was no reason to behave as if they only had one shot. “I am prepared for disappointment.”

  Michael only laughed, and when he began the tedious process, it was with a smile on his face.

  At first, Argent felt nothing out of the ordinary. Michael’s control was impressive, so his touch was light. Little by little, edges blurred and threads unwound, but when Argent tried to follow the reaver’s progress, it grew uncomfortable. Retreating eased the prickles of pain. Which did follow a certain logic. So long as Argent didn’t participate in Michael’s efforts, the bond wouldn’t punish him.

  So he tuned out the intangible plucking, pretending nothing unusual was happening. Passive. Patient. Relaxed into a nearly meditative state, he didn’t immediately register any problem. But the bond was still intact enough to alert him. The feeble spike of pain was little more than the prick of a thorn, but he recognized its intent.

  His mistress needed him.

  “Michael,” Argent warned. “Something is amiss.”

  “Nearly there.” Michael didn’t open his eyes. Concentration creased his features, but he calmly inquired, “Tsumiko, what are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Argent begged to differ. Although she seemed calm, sweat sheened her brow, and her heart had begun to race. “She is lying.”

  Michael grimaced. “Argent, I’ve loosened three of the four anchors, if you pull away, I think you can slip free.”

  But when he eased back, she whimpered.

  “Should it give her pain?” Argent asked sharply.

  “I don’t know.” Michael’s concentration wavered, and they exchanged a worried glance. “Try again. But slowly.”

  Argent knew they all wanted the same thing, to spring the catch on a centuries-old lock, but again, Tsumiko gasped.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” ordered the reaver. “Tsumiko, you have to let him go.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  Michael was clearly perplexed, but Argent grit his teeth and strained lightly away. He achieved a little distance, but Tsumiko’s soul moved with him. One jerk, and he could pull it free, like a pearl from its shell. Right along with the meat, for her soul would be forfeit. Consumed. By him.

  “No more,” he growled. “This will kill her.”

  “It’s okay.” Even his half-hearted attempt left Tsumiko waxen and quaking, yet she insisted, “He should be free to choose.”

  Argent was horrorstruck. What might happen if she ordered him to pull free? Acting quickly, he pushed Michael clear and pressed a hand over Tsumiko’s mouth. “Not a word,” he hissed.

  She sobbed and swayed, then collapsed in a dead faint.

  “What happened?” Michael whispered.

  Argent bared his teeth at the man, not that he deserved any recrimination. But the implications of their attempt were staggering. The only way he could have ended his enslavement here was to take Tsumiko’s life. And she would have let him.

  The cost was too high.

  “I can choose,” snarled Argent. “I have chosen.”

  . . .

  Late that same evening, Tsumiko was still unconscious. Argent slumped in a chair at her bedside, silently coaxing her to draw strength from his presence. Tending was the only apology he could offer. And the only comfort he coul
d find.

  A light rap sounded on the window, which opened a moment later to admit Gingko. “Hey, Dad,” he whispered. “Something happen?”

  Argent rolled his eyes and led the way into the hallway. Once the bedroom door was firmly shut, he inquired, “Are you in the habit of entering Tsumiko’s room through the window?”

  “Guess so.” He wriggled bare feet on the floorboards. “She needed a friend; so did I. Isn’t that okay?”

  With a sigh, Argent walked to the kitchen. Gingko radiated tension, and Argent resisted the urge to pry. Drawing on what little calm remained in the aftermath of Tsumiko’s close call, he busied himself making tea.

  “Say, Dad,” Gingko began, voice tight. “I have this problem.”

  “And you are bringing it to me?”

  “Not much choice. It’s an Amaranthine thing.”

  “Well?” Argent filled a tray and carried it to the kitchen table, indicating a seat.

  Gingko shuffled over and slouched into a chair. “I took off for a while.”

  “I had noticed.”

  “I wanted to show Kel my tail.”

  Argent paused, then poured. “And who might that be?”

  “My friend in the wolf pack.” Gingko wrapped his hands around a steaming cup, shoulders hunched, ears flat. “I figured he’d appreciate my attainment, since … well, you know.”

  “Wolves do take unusual pride in their tails.”

  “Exactly.” His son smiled wanly. “So I went to show Kel.”

  “At great personal risk and against all advisement.”

  “Well, maybe. But listen for a minute!”

  Argent inclined his head. “You have my full attention.”

  If possible, his son’s ears sank lower. “Right. So, this pack. They’ve been good to me. Gave me a place. Made me an honorary packmate. Said I’d always be welcome.”

  “Yet you always return here.”

  Gingko rolled his eyes. “I might run with wolves once in a while, but I’m a fox.”

  Argent took a slow sip of tea, but he made no effort to hide his approval. “Your den is here.”

  With a nod, he continued. “So I went, and he was impressed. And there was a feast, which was excellent, except that his mom was there and wanted to meet me. And I didn’t have much choice.”

  “Refusal would have been rude in the extreme.”

  “So was skimping on my name.” He squirmed again. “I’ve always been Gingko. Just Gingko. They’re not stupid. The pack understands what I am and why I might want to keep personal stuff a secret. Kel and his brothers never pushed before.”

  “But this time was different.”

  “Roo-nii wouldn’t let it go.” Gingko began scratching the tabletop, creating a narrow gouge. “He works with humans in some kind of criminal investigation unit as a tracker. So he’s kind of relentless when he’s on a trail. And this time I was his quarry.”

  Argent shut his eyes. “So that is what he meant,” he murmured.

  “Dad?”

  “By ‘big brother Roo,’ do you perhaps mean Naroo-soh?”

  Gingko’s ears snapped forward.

  “As in the eldest son of Adoona-soh Elderbough, one of the inimitable Five?”

  His son offered a shaky laugh. “Small world, huh?”

  “Did you declare yourself?”

  Color rose in his cheeks. “I mostly panicked and ran.”

  “You ran here. From a pack full of trackers?”

  Gingko covered his face. “Sorry, Dad.”

  Argent wondered if it mattered anymore. “While I would have preferred to put off their investigation, Naroo-soh’s interest is my own fault. He picked up my trail in England. The wolf would have been at our door eventually.”

  “About that,” Gingko mumbled. He abandoned his vandalism of the tabletop and sat on his hands. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “The pack?”

  Gingko abased himself so low, he was groveling in his chair.

  “There’s more?” Argent asked incredulously.

  “I didn’t know who Poesy was, I swear. He doesn’t act like anybody important.” Gingko rushed to explain, his words tumbling faster. “And he’s always been good to me. That first time I went out, he’s the one who found me and introduced me to Kel. But he never actually gave a name, and I never wanted to ask, since I didn’t have one I could give. So I was just Gingko, and he was just Poesy. But when they started plastering faces all over the media … after the Emergence ….”

  “You realized something of import?”

  Gingko mumbled a handful of syllables, completely unintelligible.

  But Argent knew. Covering his face, he wearily asked, “Who did you say, my gadabout son?”

  “Hisoka Twineshaft.”

  “I see.” By some miracle, Argent kept his own panic under wraps. “And who is among the frustratingly vague ‘they’ we expecting on our doorstep tomorrow?”

  Cringing miserably, Gingko answered, “The Five.”

  SIXTY TWO

  Four out of Five

  “I trust Hisoka-sensei,” Michael said again, though his hands were shaking. “Did Gingko say what time?”

  “No.” Argent reached across and slipped a finger under the knot giving the man trouble. With the twist of his claw, he severed the twine. “Only that it would be today.”

  “The Five.” Michael mussed his already-wild hair. “If they’re all here, Nona wouldn’t dare try anything.”

  “Unless she has rallied them to her side,” Argent pointed out.

  His friend considered that for a solemn second, then shook his head. “Hisoka-sensei wouldn’t be fooled.”

  “Nona speaks for the fox clans. She is one of the Five.”

  “I trust Hisoka-sensei.” Michael caught Argent’s hand and urgently whispered, “He offered me a whisker.”

  For the first time since Gingko’s late-night bombshell, Argent felt better. “Then it is as you say. We have nothing to fear.”

  “Right. Well. At least you can receive them in fine style.” From the bundle, Michael lifted a shimmering garment dyed the same blue as Argent’s blaze. “These arrived while you were away.”

  Argent fingered the fabric appreciatively, then explored the remaining contents of the package. “You spared no expense.”

  Michael only nodded and held out the foundation garment.

  With a certain amount of reverence, Argent dressed in the fashion of his people. Embroidery trimmed the full sleeves, delicate as a tracery of frost on window panes. Memories stirred—flashes of his mother, his father, his siblings. Had the Emergence found them safe? Did they ever spare a thought for the reckless son who’d never returned from his proving voyage?

  He’d had such grand plans. To chart his own course. To circle far islands. To find a lost grove. To register his crest. To prove himself worthy of the clans’ trust. Instead, he’d met a pair of ravaging vixens and rescued a tiny beacon. And in trying to settle her safely with her clan, he’d lost everything. Perhaps forever.

  “It suits you,” Michael said softly.

  The cool drape of cloth against his skin felt good and right. And pride rose with frightening ferocity in Argent’s soul. Although there was no clan insignia, these were the Mettlebright colors. A silent declaration of his place among his people. He would face the Five today, not as a slave, but as a fox.

  . . .

  Tsumiko woke to a hand at her shoulder and Sansa’s smiling face. “You slept through the night,” she said. “You are better, yes?”

  “Yes.” Tsumiko considered the gentle elation in her inmost parts. Had Argent been tending her again? She couldn’t really remember. But one thing was sure—the bond remained. Argent was her slave. They’d failed.

  A perfunctory rap preceded Gingko into the room. He was dressed in grand s
tyle—silver and blue, like the clear sky over a frozen landscape. “Hey, you okay?”

  “What’s happened?” she asked, looking to Sansa for some clue. “Where’s Argent?”

  Gingko sank to the edge of the bed and pulled her into a hug. “Everything’s fine. Weird, but fine. Michael’s playing valet for Dad, and you need to get ready, too.”

  “For what?”

  “Company,” said Sansa, her eyes sparkling. “We must prepare.”

  Tsumiko doubted anything bad was happening if the battler was so excited. Then again, Sansa was a warrior. So anything from a frontal assault to a lengthy siege might actually put her in a good mood. “Gingko?”

  “First off, I owe you an apology. Even if this isn’t all my fault.” Then he spun out a rambling explanation of his longstanding connection with a local wolf pack. “Turns out Kel—that’d be Farook-kel—is the kid brother of a friend of yours. Dad says you met Roo-nii in England.”

  She almost laughed at the childish nickname. “Naroo-soh.”

  “He’s the one. And I’m an idiot.” Gingko shrugged helplessly. “How was I to know there were Elderboughs in Japan? They’re supposed to be Canadian!”

  She did laugh then.

  “Yeah, yeah. Real funny. But the upshot is my best friend’s mom has hella high-ranking friends, and they’ve invited themselves over.”

  “The bush he beats,” said Sansa, who was laying out one of the elaborate kimono Argent hadn’t let Tsumiko take to England. “Our guests. He means Hisoka-sensei and the others of the Five.”

  “Is that … wise?” She really needed to know if Argent was glad for this turn of affairs.

  Gingko’s ears skewed sideways. “We can’t exactly hold them off.”

  “But why are they coming at all?”

  “No idea,” said Gingko. “Poesy didn’t say.”

  Tsumiko had to ask. “Poesy?”

  Sansa explained, “Wolves give informal names to trusted friends and honorary packmates. Poesy is the Elderbough pack’s name for Hisoka-sensei.”