Page 12 of Artemysia

“It’s not poison like you…” - Riev

T he day before I leave for Artemysia, I ride to the outskirts to visit my father, Jak Julian. I always see him before a mission. If I have a longer leave, I’ll treat us to a night or two in a nicer part of Stargazer to try out new pubs and restaurants.

He’s waiting by the window of his small blue cottage because I sent word that I’d visit him today. He always seems older than I remember, but his dark brown hair is still full and thick, and he keeps his mustache tidy. It’s good to see him. I’ve missed him.

His house is filled with portraits of my mother, the love of his life. This wasn’t the house I grew up in, so it feels unfamiliar. It’s not home. It smells like chamomile and strawberries, though—his favorite tea because it was my mom’s favorite.

I greet him with a hug, noting there’s less of him to embrace year by year.

I stay strong for both of us. Unemotional. Sensible .

“You need to eat more,” I tell him as I fill his plate with a lunch of cold cuts and cheeses in the tiny living room where a large oil painting of my mom stares down at us. We don’t talk about her.

For us, two deaths occurred that day. My mother, and Dad’s wife.

Nothing we can say to each other can ever make us feel better about her absence in our lives.

We both know that even as time passes, there are certain heartaches that never heal.

Never.

Love is deadly like that.

We both have our battle faces on because watching each other fall apart hasn’t helped in the past.

I fight to stay detached, for his sake and mine. To shield us from the lingering sadness that two people with shared loss will forever hold.

“Bring Throg next time,” he says. “We can celebrate both your promotions at The Poison Toadstool, the new pub next to the apothecary. They have that blackcurrant stout you like. Throg will want to try the fried partridge.” There’s a glint of pride in his tired eyes, which also shine with another emotion I don’t want to feel.

“I will. That sounds good. How’s business?”

“People seem to like the leatherwork,” he says of the custom tack he makes for elk—bridles, reins, and saddles. “It’s selling.”

We talk about the last book I read; I show him my new blade, and he refills my tea several times. “Have you met anyone since…” He doesn’t dare say the name.

He met Galliver before Galliver died near Honeygrove, defending the large village from a band of Syf.

“There’s no room for any more heartbreak these days,” I reply. “Love doesn’t last, not with death hunting us down.”

“That’s too effin’ sad, Elphie.”

And that’s where I learned to curse-not-curse like that. Jak Julian is a gentle soul. Like father, like daughter, in more ways than I can count.

“Don’t be like me,” he adds.

When my father and I found Mom, he fell to his knees and screamed profanities until he lost his voice. I’d never heard him swear. Ever. Not before or after that moment.

Only the one time .

“I should probably head back now, Dad. Write to the Academy if you need anything at all while I’m away. They’ll take care of you.” It’s one of the reasons I enlisted.

He walks me out and adjusts the saddle on my elk before tightening the girth, which I keep loose when I’m not riding. “You’ll need new leathers soon,” he says of the stirrups, turning back to the house to fetch me a pair.

“It’s okay. The Academy stable hands will provide a new set for the mission,” I assure him.

He rakes his fingers through the thick fawn coat of my elk, whose eyes close in enjoyment at the hearty scratch.

“Do you ever ride past our old place? Do you remember how you and the farm boy used to race elk along the river at the edge of the farm? Near the grove of wild plum trees? Sometimes I miss raising elk calves…”

“Yes. I remember the farm,” I say stiffly. I miss it too. But the city is safer for him.

I’d insisted on the move in my contract with the Academy.

His deep brown eyes go glossy when he recalls our past life. Mine mirror his as the edges begin to burn with tears that spread into a hollow in my chest, so I tell him, “Maybe one day we can move back.” I try to sound upbeat, as if it can happen soon.

“Send word when you return to Stargazer.” His strong farming hand claps my shoulder.

His touch jolts me because it reminds me that it could be the last time I see him.

Oh hell.

My resolve breaks, and I lose my fight. I’m unable to remain detached. Tears burn my eyes. “Of course I will.” Swallowing the tightness in my throat, I embrace him for longer than normal, partly so he doesn’t see my eyes watering.

My father and I never say goodbye. Instead, when I pull away, he hands me a new book.

“Poetry. It’s strange and newfangled,” he warns. “The bookshop owner called it ‘contemporary.’”

He doesn’t read much, but he buys new books, ready for me any time I stop by his house.

It’s how he says I love you to a daughter who is a soldier .

We haven’t said I love you to each other since we lost Mom. It was almost a secret agreement not to say it. As if speaking it aloud would alert the universe that we had more people to lose, like some sort of curse.

Neither of us wanted to taunt fate to take away someone else we loved, knowing the last someone on earth we had at the time was each other—because fate is cruel and sadistic like that.

“Copper foil! You didn’t have to spend extra on that.

” I trace a finger along the beautiful rose-gold swirls embossed into the cover and spine, secretly glad he spent the extra for the foiled hardcover.

It tugs at my heartstrings, because he doesn’t make as much here in the city as he did on the farm.

But it’s safer here in Stargazer.

“What do you want next time?” he asks, as always.

“Poems or mystery or adventure,” I reply, as always.

“I’ll find something new,” he promises.

I take the leather-bound book and mount my elk before steering her toward the main road. When I wave at my father, I know he will stand there outside his little cottage until he can no longer see me—about ten houses down the street when I finally turn out of sight.

It takes all I have to steel myself once more against the rushing tide of emotions that threatens to pull me under. Despite bracing myself against the sorrow, I do my best not to look back over my shoulder at him, even though I want to.

I can’t look back, because if I do, my heart will shatter over and over, and I won’t know how to ever piece it back together again.

An hour later, about halfway back to the Academy on the main road that runs east-west across Stargazer, I’ve swallowed down my feelings.

Next time, I’ll bring Throg. He’ll make my father laugh.

I focus on that, to fight the strangling fear that there might not be a next time if the mission through Artemysia goes sideways.

My morbid thoughts are cut short as I approach a pedestrian from behind.

He’s well dressed in a raincloud-gray suit and carries a bouquet of violet and fuchsia flowers as he strolls down the middle of the cobblestone path.

I sink deep in my saddle to slow my elk’s approach because I recognize the dark hair tied in a topknot as well as the graceful swagger.

Riev.

I attempt to steer my elk out of sight down a side street, but it’s too late. He’s heard the hooves on stone and turns to move out of the way.

His expression doesn’t change when he sees me, but he stops and waits for me under the awning of a barbershop, his back rigid in perfect posture.

Other pedestrians carrying parcels pass by him. He ignores them as his gaze cuts through the bustling thoroughfare of merchant stalls, alehouses, grocers, leatherworks, and a blacksmith.

He watches intently as I ride up to him.

My elk halts to a perfect standstill, and I tower over Riev, giving me a false sense of the upper hand as I look down my nose.

He’s clean-shaven and rosy-lipped. Even within the hard angles of his face, there’s an attractive softness of youth that still exists between the lines.

“Delphine.” My name rolls off his lips, breathy and low, as if he breathes out pipe smoke. I try not to feel anything, but the gravelly timbre of his voice spears through me in the most dark and alluring way.

“It’s ‘Captain’ to you,” I correct him. I refuse to let a pretty face and lush voice sway me.

He steps closer to me to allow a postman to pass with a large sack of letters, then pets my elk on the shoulder.

I’m very aware that his hand is stroking close to my boot, but he doesn’t touch me.

He’s wearing a different tailored suit, a fine gray wool with barely visible pinstripes over a light blue shirt, paired with a navy tie and polished low boots, laced in neat rows.

Sophisticated and stylish.

None of it does anything to hide his well-built form of long, svelte lines.

“Captain,” he drawls. “Saying your goodbyes? I recall your father lives in the western sector, which you pointed out from the clock tower .”

He says that as if it means something to both of us .

It hits me in a deep, dark place.

“Yes. You?” I jab a finger stiffly at the flowers. “You’ve never been to Stargazer, you said. Already met someone here?”

“I have not been to Stargazer before. And yes, these are for a woman,” he remarks mildly.

An irrational prick of jealousy strikes. I almost let it show on my face, but I recover and press my lips into a thin smile.

“I hope you’re not interrupted by an owl,” I say pointedly, but the quip backfires when the image of his hand splayed across my breast plays in my head.

My ears heat up at the memory, even though it was a week ago, and apparently he’s met someone else he’s buying flowers for on the eve of our departure.

“Let’s hope not.” He’s heavy-lidded and solemn, but the edges of his lips twitch. He breaks off a large violet peony from his bouquet and offers it up to me.

“It’s not poison, like you,” he says flatly. In daylight, his eyes are molten silver, as mercurial as his mood. They drink me in, though he remains unreadable.

I fight the sudden, insane urge both to kick his ass and to kiss him. I don’t want to kiss him. I don’t.

It’s not poison, like you. What does that even mean? I lower my brows and reach for the bloom. When I pluck the flower from him, our fingers touch briefly, and the soft warmth lingers even after he draws them away.

The blossom’s aroma is ambrosial and rich, like expensive perfume oil. Inhaling deeply again, I soak in the bewitching scent of the velvet petals, pressing the bloom to my face for a lack of anything to say to him.

He blinks up at me from under dark lashes. His scarred eye has healed cleanly. His voice drops, and I expect another snide remark.

Instead, he says, “It’s not poison like you… But it smells amazing, like you.” His low tone resonates into the center of my chest, puckering my nipples. How dare he be ridiculous and charming? Resist harder, Delphine .

The air between us grows thick and warm. I feel my cheeks flush in untamed temptation.

But it smells amazing, like you .

Damn him.

“See you tomorrow, Riev.” I’m relieved when my voice comes out aloof. He’s trying to throw me, and I won’t let him win. But I know when to retreat from a battle, if only temporarily.

“Captain.” He bows mockingly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I ride on, while he walks beside me until the next intersection, where he turns right.

Still holding the large purple bloom, I slow down, pretending to fiddle with my saddlebag to tuck in the flower.

Riev strides down the narrow side street, his long legs taking him quickly away from me to the end of the row of cottages.

He doesn’t care to look back, so I continue with my shameless spying.

When he saunters past the last house, the path becomes dirt, and he swings open a low iron gate into a grassy garden dotted with headstones.

The local cemetery.

He disappears behind a tree. I urge my elk forward, craning my neck, but I’ve lost sight of him.

Does he know someone who’s buried here? Or did he turn in only because he suspected I was watching?

My brow furrows. Military deaths are honored at the Academy burial sites.

This visit must be personal.

Would a ruthless assassin have sentimental feelings for the dead?

If so, who?

I steal one more glance over my shoulder, spying movement among the trees in the graveyard. To avoid being caught by him, I maneuver sideways into an alley and change course with unnecessary haste back to the Academy.

Who does he care enough about to visit before a deadly mission?

I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to find out in the next few days.

If we live that long.