Tribunal

Hisoka supposed they weren’t the likeliest of rescuers. Diplomats all, and most wearing their Dichotomy Day finery, rushed from the world stage to one vastly more isolated. Matters simplified as each of them shifted into truest form. On four paws, what needed to be done would come more easily.

Red foxes sprang into view as if surprised from a nearby den. Two. Six. Ten. Twenty. They bounced along different planes, above and below, scattering and circling with a confusion of yipping laughter. Distractions, yes. But also mockery.

Prowling along the edges of the mass illusion, Hisoka’s whiskers quivered as he sifted through the scene. Cats relied on their eyes for the hunt, which left them at an inherent disadvantage when it came to foxes and their tricks. But there wasn’t anything subtle about the vixens’ display. And Hisoka was wily in his own way.

He was certainly savvy enough to realize that the silver fox at Boon’s side wasn’t Argent. Lord Mettlebright had slipped away. Readying his own plans, no doubt. Hisoka wished he knew what those plans were.

Rhomiko had urged him to go after Isla, utterly confident that he was needed. And Hisoka had bowed to their wishes. Barely away from Stately House’s protections, he’d encountered his starry guide and been carried off. Mere minutes had passed, and most of those had been spent in grateful awe, not strategy.

For better—or worse—most of their group were canines. They could coordinate their efforts. But as the lone feline in this mess, Hisoka was out of the loop. And reduced to bystander.

Adoona-soh blew through an illusory vixen.

Harmonious growled and pounced, dissipating another.

Doon-wen snapped a faux fox out of existence.

Ah. So the head of the Nightspangle pack had stayed back? The rest of the cortege had gone, no doubt bundling Cyril to safety. This wasn’t his battle, but Doon-wen wasn’t without connection. Isla’s father was his foster son’s mentor. And the Nightspangles had supported the Elderboughs wherever they could during hunts for the Rogue. That made this personal.

Speaking of connections, his own was close as Kindred.

Isla.

Was she even here?

Hisoka wasn’t attuned to her. Indeed, he’d gone out of his way to avoid the kind of closeness an Amaranthine usually enjoyed with their apprentices, so their bond was largely a matter of record. Would she suffer for his reticence?

A white wolf dropped back to his side, shifting into speaking form. Moon said, “I’m with you, Sensei. Boon’s orders. Please don’t be offended. We know you can handle yourself.”

Hisoka could only be grateful. He nuzzled Moon’s shoulder, then settled into an inviting crouch.

“That would make my job as earpiece easier. Thank you.”

Polite to a fault. It was one of the reasons Hisoka had singled out Moon-kin Ambervelte, who’d served as Boon’s mentor back when the whelp had first begun announcing to anyone who’d listen that he wanted to be a lone wolf. The two had distinguished themselves as the best of the best among dexes … even though neither technically held the designation.

On paper, Boon and his people were part of Hisoka’s cortege.

Off the record, they were sanctioned by the Amaranthine Council to administer Justine in the ancient way. It was a solemn duty, and they took the responsibility seriously. Being sympathetic souls, their prey never suffered. Something that currently gave Hisoka mixed feelings. He wanted Senna and Nona to pay dearly for their crimes. An unbecoming attitude, surely. But it was how he felt.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen Lord Mettlebright’s declaration of intent to the powers that be.” Moon quietly relayed, “As spokesperson for the fox clans, he’s within his rights to call for blood. We will answer that call. Today will see the finish of a long and frustrating hunt.”

A welcome finish.

But at what cost?

He still hadn’t caught any sign of Isla. Had one of the vixens slipped her past them while the other bedeviled them?

Harmonious bowled through insubstantial fur and changed tack, choosing a new target.

Boon worked from the edges, circling inward, snatching at ankles and tails.

Doon-wen wasn’t messing around. He scuttled each illusion by going for its throat.

And in so doing, they systematically narrowed the field until Adoona-soh’s jaws closed on a fox’s scruff. Suspended as they were between sea and sky, she couldn’t bear her quarry to the ground. The red fox jerked and writhed, trying to scrabble free. Adoona wasn’t being gentle, and the scent of blood soon tinged the air.

After a string of outraged yips, the vixen went limp.

Moon murmured, “It’s Nona. Senna must have Isla.”

The remaining vixens all shimmered away, and the canines converged. However, Boon made room for Juuyu.

“What is your name, Kindred?”

It was the beginning of judgment, and they were all witnesses. Hisoka shuddered, for the rote called up memories of Juuyu’s questioning of Kodoku, the self-proclaimed doctor who’d dabbled with countless lives. He, too, had been Nemi’s child. Parent to the Rogue, who was Rhomiko’s half-brother.

Growls sprang up on all sides, demanding compliance.

The vixen shifted into speaking form. Hand clapped to the damage at the nape of her neck, she chose bravado. “You know me. You all know me.” Nona haughtily demanded, “Didn’t I earn a place with you in humanity’s history books? Wasn’t I part of your precious peace process?”

Harmonious was too easily baited. Shifting, he raised his voice. “You betrayed our trust.”

He sounded as much hurt as angry.

She rolled her eyes. “You misplaced your trust. Is that my fault?”

Juuyu’s voice carried calmly. “What is your name, Kindred?”

“Nona Hightip.”

“Where is Shisoku?”

“Is he the one you should be worrying about right now?”

Juuyu waved a hand. “We are not immediately concerned with your sister. She will speak for herself in due course.”

Nona’s gaze cut to Argent—or the facsimile he’d left as a placeholder—and she sweetly asked, “What of Isla Ward? Have you given her up for dead?”

Juuyu simply repeated, “Where is Shisoku?”

She made a rude gesture. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Boon took speaking form, and a blade hissed from the sheath at his hip. The faint shing of steel came again, for Hallow had drawn his sword. It was only posturing, but the vixen quailed.

Hisoka stepped into the opening they’d created.

His shift unseated Moon, who touched his back in a silent promise that he had it. Hisoka raised his voice to ask, “What about me, Nona? Do you have anything to say to me?”

Lip curling, she said, “Toms should keep to their mistress’s bedchambers, where their skills are appreciated.”

Harmonious’s growl reverberated.

Hisoka lifted his hand in a call to be wary, a straightforward reminder that Nona’s jibe might be another diversion. The taskforce members turned outward, weapons drawn, and Doon-wen began to prowl.

“What do you know about the devastation of an eldermost grove, during which a star was stolen from a sheltering tree?”

Nona’s expression blanked. “The eldermost groves are long gone.”

“My question is a long time in coming.” He smiled faintly. “Surely you recall it. A grove beset. A tree aflame. A star plucked.”

Her gaze drifted out of focus, then snapped back. “Are you talking about Nemi?”

Was the devastation of his first home that unremarkable? Or had she needed to confer with her sister? “Yes. Tell us about Nemi.”

“Why do you care about one fallen star?”

Hisoka didn’t know what to do with her bafflement. Was it possible that she didn’t know about his connection to that tragic star? That hurting him had been coincidental?

Perhaps that was for the best. It wasn’t about him. Never had been. Far better to seek justice for less ancient wrongs. For the Hightip sisters’ complicity in Kodoku’s crimes. For the hundreds of lives stunted and shattered and sparked by the Rogue’s predation.

He looked to Juuyu, who smoothly picked up where he’d left off. “Where is Shisoku?”

This time, Nona flashed a malicious smile. “Not. Here.”