Page 21 of Artemysia
“Did a family of river crocodiles teach you to eat?” - Riev
I ’m with Ivy. I’m starving. My shoulder wound sears like fire when I pull on my riding pants before dinner, but with another dose of painkillers, I’m not in as much pain as I should be. I’ve been stabbed, slashed with a sword, and grazed by a spear, but this is the deepest cut I’ve ever had.
When I asked Riev to show me how much of the dagger went in, I nearly passed out again. Luckily, it wasn’t poisoned or rusty.
Riev was in his usual irritable mood when I woke up, grumpy-pants glowering and taciturn as usual, but with more of an edge. Maybe he’s hungry too. Did he sleep in the chair all night while I was out?
When I swing the bedroom door outward, Throg and Ivy applaud, raising their steins. “Cheers, Captain!” Throg is shirtless and pantless as usual after work hours, his broad, tanned chest and shoulders eclipsing the furnishings in the small outpost.
The thatched-roof outpost is set up to be as homey as possible, with a kitchen, a dining table and two bedrooms, decorated with castoff furniture, paintings, and books, all donated by locals.
No living room, though. An armoire of weapons stands by the door and a large pantry of supplies that the villagers keep generously stocked is built into the wall near the stove.
That’s how it works at most of these Academy outposts.
The three of them drown themselves in their drinks at the table bench. Ivy belches and splashes her drink everywhere with her animated gestures as she speaks, and Throg spills whiskey down his chin as he tips back his mug, saying cheap whiskey is still better than any ale.
Riev sulks with his judging eyes, glaring at the two of them as he sets the table, muttering about table manners.
Plates and silverware surround a large, steaming pot on the center of the table. The stew smells meaty, peppered with pungent herbs. In other words, absolutely delicious. My stomach gurgles. Throg’s creations are always more meat and potatoes than vegetables. I can’t wait.
“You fucking saved my ass, Captain!” Ivy shouts, patting the seat next to her. “You were unbelievable. That knife hit you in the shoulder because you’re taller, but it would have hit me in the throat or head.”
I ease myself onto the bench, the cold stone floor chilling my feet through my long winter riding socks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What happened to Captain Fancy Bird ?”
“You and Throg saved me, and I already rewarded Throg.” She glances across the table at him, and their faces crack into wide grins.
“Little demon,” Throg mutters, absently scratching his bare chest.
“Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.” I roll my eyes at him but can’t suppress a grin. I’m alive; it could have been worse.
Everyone is alive, and I’m grateful.
Riev hasn’t said anything, but he eyes me as he serves up a bowl of stew. Throg tosses me a large chunk of beer bread, which I snatch out of the air with my good arm.
Ivy reaches over the table for a wedge of sheep’s cheese and places it in front of me. “This outpost is stocked full of goodies. I mean, everyone must’ve just left.”
We look at each other, thinking the same question.
Where is everyone in Limingfrost ?
“What did you find when you searched the village? All the doors were open but no one was dead?” I ask.
“No one’s dead,” Throg confirms. “Bookshelves emptied, the books taken. Letters and papers rifled through in most houses we checked. Someone was searching for something. But the villagers must’ve left before any raid. No signs of struggle except for ours. You left a big puddle of blood, Captain.”
I nod, a bit lightheaded. I’d looked pale in the bathroom mirror.
“The band we encountered weren’t looking for anything except people to murder.
They weren’t organized enough to be searching the houses.
None of them had packs to hold books. Someone else is involved.
” I slice off a large wedge of cheese and gobble it down.
I’m surprised when my insight isn’t met with a rude dismissal of some sort by Riev.
“Someone else?” His brow arches over his faintly scarred eye, and he looks a bit…impressed? “That would make sense. The Syf never take anything except human lives. Who else would steal books and papers from a village? And why?”
“There must be information they need in the books.” I soak my bread in the brothy stew and use my spoon to shovel a heaping serving into my mouth.
“Yes, of course…” Riev considers my insight, but then his expression turns to horror. “Good lord. Did a family of river crocodiles teach you to eat?” He passes me a napkin, fork and knife. “In case you should choose to feed yourself like a human being.”
“Spoon does it all,” I mutter with my mouth full.
“Riev—” When Throg cuts in, I sit back, ready to have my honor defended.
“The first leave we had from the Academy, we rode out to my family’s estate.
The cook served beefsteak for dinner. You know how rare beef is with the outer farmlands under constant attack.
Anyway, Captain never had tenderloin before, and she out-ate each of my six brothers.
Then she boldly asked for seconds of everything. It was very embarrassing.”
Traitor .
I choke on my fourth slice of cheese. “You Throgmortons eat like kings! Besides, your family loved me. They invite me back every month. ”
“Yeah—when food’s about to spoil and they need someone to finish it before it goes bad,” Throg concedes.
Riev smirks, but Ivy smacks her lips and points out, “Free food is good food.”
I bob my head at her gratefully and shove another chunk of potato into my mouth. There’s no room to reply with a clever retort. My mind is still woolly, and I don’t have the capacity to think fast, so I focus on chewing instead.
I wave a hand in the air at Throg for more beer bread.
At the end of the meal, I push back from the table to stand.
“Squad, I have a captain’s announcement.
” I present a fresh red-fruit tart I found in the ice chest when I went in search of more cheese.
“It’s Riev’s twenty-sixth birthday today.
We’re going to sing him a song, and he gets to make a wish. ”
Throg side-eyes me with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
“ What? ” I mouth at him.
There’s a significant chance the potent painkillers are affecting me. It’s silly, but no one protests.
Ivy’s ears perk up. “It’s your birthday, old man?”
Riev feigns horror. “Old? I’m not old.”
“You act like a crotchety grandpa,” Ivy replies.
“I would know. I was forced into marriage with one.” She raises her drink in a toast, splashing her ale as she swallows a generous gulp before slamming her stein back down onto the wooden table hard enough that I’m worried the stein will shatter. She howls with laughter.
“In Stargazer,” I explain, “the first and last bite goes to the birthday boy or girl, who makes the same wish during both bites for it to come true.” My mother taught me this tradition, and for a heart-twisting second I realize no one’s done it for me since she passed.
We break into song with our steins raised. I offer the glazed tart to Riev, who takes a polite, reluctant bite. He probably wishes it were cut into neat little pieces, just like he did with his dinner.
Ivy, seated next to him, gnashes her teeth, so I take a quick bite before I pass it to her.
She chimes in, “In Honeygrove, where I grew up, the entire dessert has to be eaten or the wish doesn’t come to pass!” She takes a huge chomp, laughing and chewing with her mouth open, red berry bits in her teeth.
“Save some for me, tiny demon,” Throg says, reaching a long arm across the table to seize it from her, fending her off while she bites his arm.
I listen to them banter.
Riev looks like he always does, disapproving of the chaos, but also—dare I say it—edging on the borderline of happy?
Happy on a Riev scale, that is.
His lips are pressed into a firm line, but his gray eyes glimmer, less like shards of ice and more like the silver currents of our East River in the light of spring.
Throg passes the last of the red tart back to Riev, who glances at me briefly before taking his last bite.
I wonder how many times on the road he gets to sit at a table and eat with company. Based on how little he’s glowering now, the answer is probably not often at all.