Page 22 of Artemysia

“Lindwyrms? Sounds gross.” - Ivy

W e’re about to see who can drive a dagger deepest into the wooden table to decide who gets the last serving of stew when Riev silences us with a harsh “ Shhh! ”

A loud knock sounds on the front door.

Our bench and chairs scrape loudly against the floor as we scramble to our feet.

Instinctively, I dive for the nearest weapon, a kitchen cleaver on the counter next to me.

I’m outdone by Ivy slipping out the dagger at her ankle, and Throg lunging for his sword against the wall behind him. But Riev is already by the door, the axe for chopping wood ratcheted over his shoulder. “I only hear one set of footsteps,” he whispers.

His speed never ceases to surprise me. Not to mention that he sensed the newcomer before any of us did.

“Who’s there? Name and rank,” I ask, my voice raised, but steady.

“Come in, friend,” Riev adds, dangerously calm, letting the stranger know that I’m not alone. He raises the axe as if about to fell a tree.

A muffled voice comes from behind the door. “Some of you have the accent of those from Stargazer, and your conversation sounds like that of soldiers. I am Olivier Stenley, the warden of this military post.”

Ivy unlocks the door and swings it open, leaping behind it in one graceful twist. Her hand grasps her knife in an undergrip, ready to gut someone.

Riev maintains his position by the doorframe.

Olivier is likewise armed with his broadsword, which he lowers when he sees me.

“Commander Julian?” he says, his eyes rounding in recognition.

“I was in a class of yours three years ago at the Academy. You taught me some valuable blade skills. Word is you’re leading a band through Artemysia.

” He glances around as if expecting more than my three squad members.

His soft, rosy face framed in scruffy blonde hair is still recognizable, though he must be in his mid-twenties now.

His jawline heavier, his broad shoulders packed with more muscle than I recalled.

I often taught soldiers older than I—the outposts would send them to Stargazer for supplemental training.

“I remember you.” I don’t bother to correct him on my title; it would sound pompous, and I don’t have my cravat on, so there’s no reason he would assume I was a captain now. I wave him in. “Sit. There’s some stew left if you’re hungry.”

Olivier cranes his neck around me to peer at the food on the table, drops his pack, and walks to a cabinet to retrieve a bowl and spoon.

Everyone in the room relaxes.

“What happened here in Limingfrost?” I ask.

“I was wondering the same.” Olivier unbuckles his baldric before he sits at the table.

“We evacuated the village two days ago on an anonymous tip that we would be raided by Syf. When we went to spy from the edge of the woods, we found a large encampment gathered, confirming the threat. We got everyone out and went west, since no one would expect us to go that direction, and sent word to Stargazer for backup. Along with two others, I returned to scout out Limingfrost. Since there were no signs of the village being overrun by Syf, I returned to the outpost.”

“Well, we killed the band of invading Syf for you,” Riev says.

“All seventy-five of them? It’s what we estimated from the traveling encampment.”

Ivy whistles. “Damn…seventy-five? We killed about two dozen. Where are the others? Are they coming back, or should we hunt them down?” She’s dressed down after her earlier bedroom activities, but paces the room in her high socks and long underwear, collecting her scattered weaponry from around the outpost.

I can’t tell if she’s alarmed or slightly exhilarated at the idea of killing more Syf.

“A few other soldiers and I scouted the entire area surrounding the village. The Syf are gone. My fellow soldiers are headed back to tell the others, but I’m to man the outpost and ride back to warn them if the Syf return.”

I fill Olivier’s bowl with stew. He sits at the end of the table, eagerly spooning mouthful after mouthful. I tell him what we know of the raid, how a different group might have come first for papers and books.

Olivier scans the room. “Some of the older books here are missing.” He nods at the half-empty top shelf next to the dining table.

“Old maps, textbooks, maybe? They weren’t books we used often.

I know one was a book of kid’s fairy tales that’s been here since we moved into the outpost. You know, the one where Syf ride Lindwyrms—those mythological flying serpents.

We put it up there because no one wanted to read about Syf at night after fighting Syf during the day. ”

“Lindwyrms? Sounds gross,” Ivy says.

“The stories said the Syf not only had magic but were civilized . They couldn’t tell lies, could sense emotions, and helped humans. Ha! Kids’ tales,” Olivier scoffs. “Oh, and they liked sugar.” He snickers, because we all know it’s ridiculous to humanize the Syf.

“Theories on what anyone would want with old books and papers? Syf or otherwise?” I ask, steering the conversation back to where I want it.

Throg shakes his head. “Can Syf read or write? No one has even heard them speak.”

“When we left, we locked up,” Olivier says, jabbing his spoon at the door. “So they must’ve picked the locks and stolen whatever they were looking for.”

Ivy props her elbows on the table, listening, but gives no input.

“Riev?” I ask. “Syf don’t seem like they’d be sophisticated enough to pick a lock—they’d just hack down a door, right?”

“Agreed. They’re mindless killers. Like a pack of roving beasts, they’re out for themselves, killing everything in sight,” he says. “No organized strategy.”

Something else bothers me. “Where did the anonymous tip come from, warning of an imminent Syf attack?”

“Sharp, Captain,” Riev says, surprising me. “Olivier, how was the message delivered?”

“A handwritten note. Let me see if we still have it.” Olivier pushes back from the table to rummage in a drawer of a desk near the fire. He shakes his head. “Everything is out of order, rifled through. The note is gone. Fancy paper, green ink.”

Fancy paper, green ink?

“A note was left in my pack back in Stargazer. Stay out of Artemysia. Expensive stationery and unusual ink.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Throg eyes me accusingly.

“It didn’t come up. I didn’t want to worry you. It still doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s not right for you to bear all the worry, Captain.”

“It’s my job. Okay, someone is intent on warning us and helped Limingfrost. Same someone who wants old books and papers, perhaps information? Likely a separate group from the marauding Syf.”

“It must be valuable information to them…” Riev begins.

My brows lift, and I finish his thought. “Information they really need or knowledge they don’t want us to have.”

Riev nods, appearing impressed, because his scowl is gone.

“If they were old books we didn’t use a lot…” I mutter.

This time, Riev completes my thoughts. “It’s likely older information. Outdated or forgotten.”

We share a moment of understanding and respect for the next few heartbeats.

He doesn’t smile, but he studies me, deep in thought, drinking in my gaze .

“Forgotten details,” I echo, “that someone doesn’t want us to remember. Such as, forgotten records they don’t want found? How South Kingdom and North Kingdom lost communication two hundred years ago…?”

Riev scratches his chin and reclines in his chair. “Or written records of Syf trade. It’s all hearsay that there was any at all.”

“What would the Syf have had that humans would trade for?” Ivy leans her head on Throg’s shoulders, yawning. It’s late.

Olivier excuses himself to use the bathroom.

I catch Throg and Ivy exchanging devious glances as they pick at the last of dinner. Throg mumbles inaudibly and Ivy laughs.

I question Throg with a raised eyebrow.

“Outpost boy.” His face twists. He’s holding in a laugh.

“What about him?”

Throg pretends to cough. “He’s hot.”

Ivy makes an obscene gesture with her fingers. “Even you must have noticed.”

“He seems normal,” I say nonchalantly.

Riev grunts and rises to clear the table, shuffling around us to collect our bowls.

“You can do better than that,” Ivy prods, a wicked gleam in her dark eyes reflecting the gas lamp overhead.

“As a rule, I don’t comment on the attractiveness of others in the Academy.”

“There’s no rule on that, Captain,” Throg goads. “Be less uptight for one night. You almost died yesterday.”

Ivy nods eagerly. “Yeah, Captain, you almost died.”

I’m not one to back down from a challenge. “Yes, he’s hot.”

Riev dumps the bowls into the sink with a loud crash.

“And?” Ivy prompts, looking far too excited that I’ve taken the bait.

I know this kind of talk is how some people bond. Now that Ivy has taken a liking to me, I want to keep it going.

I sigh and lower my voice. “And…he has the ass of the carved marble warrior in the main square that I lust after every day at lunch when I sit under it.” My cheeks burn, partly from embarrassment and partly from the big gulp of ale I take to swallow my inappropriate words.

The ale seems to hit harder in my compromised state but also gives me the co urage to say such lewd things.

Riev abruptly stops wiping the table in front of us and stares at me, slack-jawed, before he catches himself and resumes polishing the table with a low snarl.

Throg claps me on my uninjured shoulder with a crooked smile while Ivy screams with laughter, almost toppling backward off the bench she’s kneeling on.

“Why the sour face, Riev?” Ivy probes. “Jealous?”

“I’d have to care to be jealous.”

“What’s your issue then, assassin?”

“Let’s see… You’re slurping ale like a goat and can’t be bothered to sit in a chair. The ogre is nearly naked,” he says to Throg, “and this one here—” he drags his heated gaze over me “—hasn’t stopped to breathe between bites of leftover bread except to extol Olivier’s ass.”

I ignore him. So what if I’ve dropped more bread crumbs after he wiped the table? I’ll eat those too. Bread is a great dessert.

“Ooh, sorry, King Riev.” Ivy stands on the bench and bows at the waist. “Thank you for gracing the peasants with your superior table manners.”

Olivier returns to the room, all the buttons of his uniform shirt undone.

He dries his freshly washed face with a small towel, moving down his throat and chest. Rock-hard abdominals peek through his open shirt.

Throg and Ivy exchange looks, but when they both turn to me and catch my gaze, we all fail to suppress our laughter.

Riev steps beside me and holds a dishrag open to block my view.

I shove his arms away.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Olivier says to me, eyeing Ivy, who is grinning at him with her chin on her knuckles, “but I’m exhausted. The villagers keep this place stocked with food for us, so eat all you want and take whatever you need for the road in the morning.”

He cocks his head, his face screwed into thought. “That bedroom is usually mine.” He points to the one Ivy and Throg used earlier. “But I can take the floor next to the fireplace, if you can do with one less blanket,” he says politely. “Commander, you should have the second bedroom.”

Ivy tips back on the bench, peering into Olivier’s bedroom. “Your bed is big enough for more than one. ”

“Does one of you want to share it with me? I don’t care who.” Olivier yawns, shrugging.

A low growl escapes Throg’s throat. “You’d ditch me for a warm bed, Morrigan, you little devil?” His sapphire blues darken. He lifts his stein and throws back the rest of his drink, eyeing her accusingly.

“No, Orion Throgmorton, you thick-headed lug, I’m negotiating for both our sakes.” She inclines her chin at Olivier. “What do you say to some fun, outpost boy? You can call the shots in bed. But it will be the two of us, and there may not be much sleeping.”

A flush creeps up Olivier’s throat into his cheeks, and his mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish.

He looks as if he’s been offered a chance to live in the king’s castle.

His gaze flicks from Ivy to Throg and back to Ivy before he looks at me for either help or approval.

I’m sure he remembers how strict I was in class.

But I’ve reached a level of mental fatigue that I haven’t felt since the early years of training, and for tonight, I don’t want to play Captain Mom to this band of loveable miscreants.

Tonight, I see things in a new light. If the Syf knife had hit an inch in any direction, I might not be here right now. Any of us could die in the next few days, and it seems wrong to prevent anyone from having a last bit of fun.

I cast a stern look. “Don’t let them pressure you, Olivier. We can draw straws for beds. Yes or no, it’s your call tonight.”

“I…absolutely want to,” Olivier says, swallowing down a voice higher than before.

His supple lips move as if he wants to say more, but he’s run out of words. The bloom of embarrassment and arousal has reached a deadly fever-red in his ears.

The three of them eventually move off to the second bedroom, joking and laughing. Riev and I are left in the kitchen in silence.

“You’re stuck with me tonight.” Riev doesn’t look up from drying the dishes.

“Roommates, then. Just…stay on your side of the bed, unless you want a dagger in your back too.”

He snorts. “I’ve already shown you I can wrestle a dagger away from you.”

“There will be no wrestling in bed.” I try not to recall the heat in the alleyway that first night; I shouldn’t think about how our legs locked when we grappled, or how his muscles flinched when I gripped him.

Or how I liked it when he pinned me to the wall.

What starts as a hollowing in my low belly shudders up my back, engulfing my entire body in warmth.

Despite all else I’ve seen from him, my mind keeps returning to that first arousing fight.

“With all that stew gravy on your face, you’re not that hard to resist right now.” He moves to wipe my face with a rag, only for me to slap his hand away with a growl.

“Maybe you’d rather I join the others?” I retort.

His nostrils flare. “You’re a troublesome woman.”

I grin, victorious, but it doesn’t last.

“Get to bed. You need the rest. I’ll meet you in our bedroom. Almost done cleaning here.”

Our bedroom . There’s no mistaking how my stomach somersaults just from the insinuation of those two simple words. They shouldn’t have such an effect, because it doesn’t mean anything. I’ve shared beds and tents with squad members. It’s no big deal.

But Riev…one smallish bed…for an entire night.

Godsdamn.