by Forthright
How long had it been? How long did he have? Whether because of the Huddlebud nectar, the potency of his mistress’s soul, or his son’s presence, he’d succumbed wholly and lost all sense of time.
Easing onto his back, Argent sought out the guardian of his slumber. Moonlight poured through the window, adding its luster to Gingko’s unruly hair. An ear twitched his way, and Argent asked, “How long?”
“Another eighteen hours. Want to trade places so you can stretch?”
Argent glared.
The idiot boy’s eyebrows arched. “That’s what she and I do when she needs a break.”
“Unlikely.”
“Deny it all you want, you still held my hand.”
Argent scowled as hazy dreams came back to him, vague snatches of old memories, from a time when he’d cradled a distraught toddler to his chest and sung of foxes and freedom.
Gingko asked, “Need anything?”
“Food.”
“Figures. I’ll bring a tray. And Sansa if she’s still awake. She’ll want to check your bandages, and if we’re lucky, feed you more of that golden goop that turns you all compliant and cuddly.”
Argent growled, “Go.”
By some miracle, the brat went.
Turning his attention to his mistress, Argent sighed over their state of entanglement. Her foot hooked around his calf. Her head tucked against his shoulder. Her excess of power tickling his innermost parts, filling his body to overflowing. If she kept nurturing his need for her, how could he be expected to break free?
She would be his ruin.
Argent traced the curve of her cheek with his knuckles, his touch softer than moonlight, and whispered, “I will hate you most of all.”
. . .
Tsumiko moved to the chair, feet tucked up as she blew across the mug of milk tea Gingko had brought. Rich as cream and sweet with honey, the midnight treat momentarily distracted her from Michael’s earnest attempt to prepare her for a month with the Uppington Smythes.
“Why does it feel like you’re trying to warn me?” she asked.
“Ah,” Michael said awkwardly. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Tsumiko, you have a trusting nature.”
She peered at him over the rim of her drink. “Is that what you think?”
He cleared his throat. “You accepted us quite readily.”
“Are you saying my trust is misplaced?”
“Not at all. But not everyone is … us.”
Did he really think her so gullible? Tsumiko chose a quiet answer. “I know that, and I’m grateful.”
Gingko snickered, and Michael shuffled his feet.
“Tsk. Time is short.” Argent didn’t look up from the meal he was consuming with quiet economy. “Give her the basics. I will elaborate as needed along the way.”
Drawing himself up, Michael explained, “Lord Percival and Lady Eimi made an annual trip to his family home. They blended and borrowed traditions—visiting the graves of his ancestors, hunting with the hounds, celebrating Christmas in the English way, then returning home in order to observe New Year’s customs in the Japanese manner.”
Tsumiko simply nodded.
“Percival and Eimi were unable to have children of their own, so his estate passed to his younger brother Cedric, who has in turn named his grandson Stewart as heir. I believe there was some hope early on that Stewart would also inherit this place … and Argent.”
She looked to Argent. “They know about the generational bond, too? Isn’t your very existence was supposed to be a secret?”
“Does it surprise you?” Disdain lent frost to his tone. “That those without one scruple lack another?”
Michael said, “Despite the repeated protests of those reavers who lived here at that time—my grandfather included—the Smythes would go. And the bond required Argent to attend them.”
“So these Uppington Smythes are in on the secret.”
“Irrevocably.”
“And they kept it.”
“Closely.”
Tsumiko tried to reconcile her impressions. “Yet you don’t trust them.”
“Not at all. They weren’t keeping our secrets; they were gathering intelligence. And indulging curiosities that could only lead to problems for the Amaranthine.” Michael’s jaw tightened. “After the spring and spread of many such leaks around the world, Hisoka Twineshaft banished any threat they might pose by orchestrating the Emergence.”
“Were the Smythes trying to blackmail Aunt Eimi?”
“Nothing so heavy-handed,” Michael assured. “But the cousins’ childish plotting to trap and keep Argent recently turned to an interest in the identity of Mrs. Eimi’s successor. With your aunt’s passing, I’m quite sure they’re eager to reestablish bonds.”
“By befriending me?”
“Tsk. Their goal is not friendship. It is conquest.”
On the evening when Argent had mentioned her having her pick of the Smythe cousins, his expression had been similarly resigned. “You think I’ll receive a marriage offer?”
“Expect gaudy flirtation and empty flattery on no less than three fronts.”
“Only two,” said Michael. “Stewart planned to bring his new bride to meet Mrs. Eimi, but … well, they were too late, so their trip was cancelled. But that does still leave Boniface and Jacques, and they’ll be eager to make a good impression.”
She slowly inclined her head. “Even so, this trip is our best option?”
“The most convenient, surely. Faraway, yet familiar. And surrounded by people who consider your secrets their own.”
“Then a marriage meeting or two is a small price to pay,” she reasoned. “All I have to do is decline their offers.”
Michael still hesitated. “Saint Midori’s is an all-girls school; you can’t have much experience dealing with the attentions of men.”
True enough, though she doubted that inexperience alone would turn her into a fool. Tsumiko peered into her mug and calmly said, “If you can’t trust me to choose a suitable husband, trust Argent to fend off any unsuitable prospects.”
Claws flexed. “If that is my mistress’s wish.”
“Please.” Tsumiko’s lips twitched at the vicious glee that mostly obscured the soft well of relief that flowed through her bond with Argent. The Smythe cousins must be truly awful.
Michael said, “You’ll be expected to marry, of course. Once the reaver community is aware of the beacon in our midst, many of our young men will apply for your consideration.”
“I won’t marry,” Tsumiko said firmly. “That would only complicate things for Argent.”
“After,” Michael assured. “Once Argent’s free, you’ll take your place in the In-between, adding your strength to our community. After all, abilities such as ours are hereditary.”
Tsumiko drowned her protest by downing the last of a drink gone tepid. There was so much about the reaver community that she didn’t understand. Michael was generous with lessons, etiquette, histories, and lore, and she found it all fascinating; but her allegiance belonged to Another. And her only earthly duty was to Argent.
Or so she thought.
As Michael rambled on, Tsumiko’s dismay multiplied. She didn’t want to become a reaver breeder, only to have her children taken once they were old enough to train. Suddenly, the culture she’d found so fascinating felt like a trap.
Argent struggled out of bed, and Gingko leapt to his side. Brushing off his son’s support and Michael’s protests, he crossed to Tsumiko’s chair and sank to his knees. “Calm down,” he growled. “Think.”
Tsumiko eyes widened and watered. If anyone could understand, it was him—bound, obedient, and forced to breed.
Argent fit his hands around hers, encircling the empty mug. “The Smythes are plotting to pluck your fortune and my future. Will you be seduced by their frip
peries and fraudulence?”
“No.”
“Will you instead trade upon the beauty of your soul for a husband of pedigree? Would that not give you the kinship you crave?”
“No.”
His brows arched. “Then you are safe.”
“Safe.” At that one word, the storm in Tsumiko’s heart calmed.
Argent pressed closer, his voice dropping. “All you have to do is decline their offers.”
THIRTY ONE
Stiff Upper Lip
“You shoulda burned that thing when you had the chance.”
Argent didn’t spare his son a glance as he eased his crisply starched shirt over bandages. Nor did he admit to being under strict orders to keep his uniform tidy. Despite the change in his attire over the centuries, the compulsion remained. Never a spot or wrinkle. Every knot and fold perfect. His mother would be astonished.
A soft noise of protest came from the direction of the door, and Michael hurried forward. “Don’t strain yourself! You’ll open a wound!”
“I will manage.”
“You’ll manage tomorrow, when you’re safely away. But you’re still here, and so am I.” Michael murmured, “Let me help while I can.”
Argent relented, if only to lessen the chance of staining the white shirt. He stood docile while Michael fastened buttons and fussed with his tie.
“Where’s Dad’s new stuff?” Gingko demanded. “Weren’t you getting him proper Amaranthine clothes?”
“The order’s placed,” said Michael. “You’ll both have new clothes by year’s end.”
Gingko’s ears snapped up. “Me, too?”
“You should have traditional clothes for formal occasions.” Michael retrieved Argent’s vest. “Family colors, family crest, that sort of thing.”
“Won’t that tip someone off?” asked Gingko.
“That’s part of the reason why the clothes aren’t finished. I had to order the various elements piecemeal. Final assembly will take place in a human shop, where no one will grasp the significance.”
“I like my own clothes,” grumbled the half-fox.
Michael acknowledged that with a warm smile. “You dress like a gardener, and that suits your station, but the Smythes are expecting an heiress and her butler. So that’s what we’ll give them.”
“A simple strategy,” said Argent. “I shall meet Lord Cedric’s expectations. The mistress shall disappoint them.”
Gingko’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
“I oversaw the final packing of the trunks.”
“What did you do?” his son repeated.
“Something both Sansa and Tsumiko approved,” Michael assured before completely changing the subject. “While you’re away, I’ll be researching ways to strengthen barriers over water. It’s too bad we don’t know any oceanic imps!”
Gingko snorted. “They’re a myth.”
“To humans, we were myths,” said Argent.
While the boy muddled, Michael asked, “Have you considered what you’ll do if you’re followed?”
“Only what I must.”
Michael gave the knot of Argent’s tie a final pat. “What about pursuit of a different nature?”
“She is forewarned. What else can I do?”
“Much.” Michael said, “Tsumiko will be utterly reliant on you. She needs a trustworthy guide, advisor, and translator.”
“And?”
“And she’ll be vulnerable, which means opportunities for humiliation abound.” Michael frowned down on him. “I’m asking you to lead her gently.”
“I am no gentleman.”
“You’re no fool, either,” snapped Gingko. “She’s been treating you well enough. Better than you deserve. Don’t mess that up by messing with her.”
Argent stepped back, giving his cuffs a tug. “If I do as you say, then the freedom she dangles before me like a trinket will remain in her hand. She will find she cannot do without me.”
“She’s different,” Gingko argued. “She promised.”
“If I ingratiate myself to the ones who hold my leash, it gives the wholly erroneous impression that I am resigned to, content with, even grateful for my captivity. It eases their consciences. So I will protest my enslavement in both action and attitude.”
Michael quietly asked, “Is that what you think of me?”
Argent stood on principle, but lightly. “How comfortable are you in your role, ward?”
“More than I like. Less than I let on.”
The man’s shoulders drooped nearly as much as Gingko’s ears. Sensitive as ever. The both of them.
Michael rallied a little. “But I do agree with Gingko. Tsumiko is different.”
“Humans are careless with their promises, and women change their minds as easily as the wind changes direction.” Argent’s hands curled into empty fists. Was this chance already slipping through his fingers? “Tsumiko is changing … has changed.”
“In what sense?” asked Michael.
“She has grown accustomed to the strangeness of a world she did not know existed. She has adapted, adjusted.”
“Tsumiko is making herself at home. Hardly a herald of doom,” said Michael.
They didn’t see it. Probably because the young woman was saying all the things they wanted to hear. Her ideals shone as brilliantly as her soul. But Argent recognized the underlying peril and dared to name it. “She is growing attached.”
THIRTY TWO
Long Road
Tsumiko’s joints ached and her eyes smarted. Sounds echoed tinnily inside her head without resolving into sensible patterns. Did people truly enjoy this endless monotony? “I don’t think I like travel,” she murmured.
Argent’s glance was supremely bored. “Human methods do resemble torture.”
“Are we almost there?”
“Weren’t you listening to the driver?” he countered.
“Did he say?” She’d studied English, but speech patterns differed and accents blurred the shape of words. Plus, everyone talked so fast. Tsumiko floundered in mute frustration, utterly reliant on her translator.
“He did.”
Tsumiko closed her eyes against the threat of tears. Even after long hours, Argent seemed wholly unaffected, and she envied the cool sophistication with which he’d handled each transition along the journey. “How can you bear sitting still for so long?”
“I have not taken a step forward in more than a millennia. Where I stagnate matters little.”
She plucked at the rosy silk of her kimono sleeve. Before their private jet had landed, Argent had unpacked the costume that would be the Uppington Smythes’ first impression of her. Four layers, each more exquisite than the last, an elaborately knotted sash, and the traditional white socks suited to wooden sandals—she hardly dared to move lest she spoil her finery.
“What time is it?” Tsumiko asked.
“Nearly four in the morning.”
“I’m so tired,” she whispered. “Aren’t you?”
He finally looked at her then. Not past her, not through her, but straight into her eyes. And that acknowledgement was such a relief. With the barest brush of fingertips, she touched his arm. “Does it still hurt?”
Argent wavered toward her. “Does it show?”
“No.”
“Good.” He spared a glance at the partition that hid the Smythes’ chauffeur from view, then slid over, easing his arm around her shoulders. “Tend to me while you rest. This is a long drive.”
She leaned carefully into Argent’s side, her cheek resting against the stiff material of his suit. Not as nice as the soft folds of his reaver tunic, but welcome nonetheless. He was the one familiar thing in the vast strangeness of a wider world; the way she felt now, she was quite prepared to cling to him.
“I’m glad you’re here,”
she whispered.
“I have little choice.”
Oh, but he did. Not in where he was, of course, but in how he treated her. Tsumiko didn’t particularly like being at the mercy of someone whose moods passed like storms.
Fingers tucked under her chin, lifting her face. “Make me a promise,” Argent ordered.
“What?”
“If anyone in the household asks to borrow me, refuse.”
“If I did ask you to help someone, would the bond force you to obey them?”
“Yes.”
“What would they make you do?”
“I shudder to think.”
“Has it happened before?”
Argent’s nostrils flared. “It has.”
Tsumiko latched onto his sleeve. “Stay with me?”
“If you insist.”
“I don’t want to order you around,” she protested.
“Yet you have.”
“At your request.” Tsumiko rested her aching head against his chest and closed her eyes. “You know, this whole trip would probably go more smoothly if you’re the one telling me what to do.”
“If that is your wish, I can only obey.”
“Good. You’re in charge.”
He took a wary tone. “Already weary of your responsibility?”
Tsumiko’s nod became burrowing, though she was still awake enough to know that proper butlers probably didn’t appreciate being treated like pillows. Except this one was Amaranthine. And Gingko swore that foxes needed to nestle.
Argent turned, curling around her as much as their situation allowed. “You are wiser than Michael realizes.”
What a nice thing to say.
“Tend to me, mistress,” he ordered.
Gratitude warmed her heart as she flung wide its doors, and Argent rewarded her obedience with a shuddering oath that may have been an even higher compliment.