Page 29 of Artemysia

“You’re with me. The apex predator of the woods.” - Riev

N otebook in hand, I consult my maps as my elk leaves large hoofprints in the moss behind us with her large, proud steps.

I love my tall, tawny elk. I’ve raised her since she was a calf.

Her coat is almost copper in the sunlight, and her almond eyes are always watchful.

She doesn’t have a name, but answers to my whistle of four distinct notes, no matter where she is. Never have I known a faster elk.

She’s the only reason I outran the Syf chasing me out of Artemysia last time.

My notebook reminds me that I can’t write worth shit, but I’ve rendered a map and drawn symbols to record areas Syf seem to avoid. Before we left Limingfrost, I asked Ivy to help me jot notes for Delphine to read, in case something happens to me. She needs to be able to interpret my maps.

I flip open a page to show Delphine, hoping she doesn’t notice the crude compensation I generously call “writing.” I’ve already admitted my lack of writing skills to her, but it’s still embarrassing.

She’s fresh-faced in the morning light and confident on her mushroom-brown steed.

I tap one of my maps. “Certain plants and fungi, like fairy rings and red toadstools, seem to grow in areas where Syf do not tread. We’ll follow these routes to keep our Syf encounters to a minimum.

But there’s no guarantee we won’t run into them, especially since Olivier mentioned there’s a band of fifty Syf left unaccounted for after the attack on Limingfrost.”

Throg flares his nostrils. “It smells like a damn good scented candle in here, one of the fancy ones from the main square apothecary. Not decay and mold as I expected. A wolf pack has been through here recently.”

His supernatural sense of smell freaks me out.

Earlier, he said he smelled death, and not a hundred elk strides later, a desiccated river shrew lay belly-up in our path.

Throg waves away foggy vapor rising off the forest floor in mesmerizing swirls. “It’s strangely humid in here. Neither cold nor warm. Brings out all the scents.”

Delphine silently studies our surroundings while I address the three of them. “Our first of two overnight stops is a hidden cave system I found. We’ll camp there.”

She has that look on her face that says she’s struggling with too many thoughts.

Since I have the attention of everyone for once, I announce pompously, “Don’t be too scared. You’re with me. The apex predator of the woods.”

Ivy cackles, and Throg snorts.

Delphine arranges them to ride staggered alongside her, directing Ivy to stay on her left since Ivy draws her blade left-handed.

My elk decides to take advantage of my one-handed grip during my speech and dips her head to reach rock moss, yanking the reins out of my hand.

I fumble to regain control, and my book of maps drops to the ground .

Cursing loudly, I dismount. The three of them trot off without me. My beloved elk refuses to leave the clump of moss alone, insisting on a meal right then and there.

“Good job, apex predator,” Delphine calls back.

Ivy suppresses her laughter, but shakes so hard trying to contain herself, she has to grip her belly.

When I catch up, Delphine allows me to lead. Ivy and Throg are more quiet than normal as we tread deeper into the black woods.

Sunlight filters through in patches at first, but after the first hour, the dusty beams of sun become sparse between old-growth trees with trunks as wide as doorways.

Fungi sprout from their bark like barnacles.

The mushrooms glow in emerald greens and deep golds, with a few sprinkles of indigo blues. I’ve never seen this anywhere else but Artemysia. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Throg trots up from behind on his spirited bull elk. The Rock Elk, probably the only breed that could carry someone of Throg’s size, thrusts his short antlers in my direction with an aggressive toss of his head.

My own elk pins her ears back and takes a half-hearted nip, but I cluck at her, and she corrects herself before it escalates.

“You know why I follow Delphine?” Throg’s expression is casual, but his tone bleeds with peril behind his easy words.

Because with that sense of smell, you’re basically a giant dog?

It’s a loaded question—a dangerous trap of some sort—so I tread cautiously.

“I don’t question her leadership capabilities or combat skills,” I say coolly.

Throg glances over his shoulder at Delphine as if to check that we’re out of earshot.

“I’m the youngest of seven boys in my family.

Seven. All the Throgmorton family titles and roles were taken, so I enlisted.

When Elphie and I were kids in the Academy, I was the pimpliest, skinniest one.

The older boys called me ugly. Frogmorton, instead of Throgmorton.

I got knocked down and beaten up a lot. She’d tell me it didn’t matter what I looked like, that I had good technique and worked hard, and that’s why I would make it further than they ever would.

She was right. She doesn’t see ugly, only the beauty in things. ”

Throg clears his throat. “But later, I found out that she tracked down every single one of those boys and smacked them down. She made a point of passing me her ration of food at meals so I had extra—and you’ve seen how much she loves to eat. So, what I’m saying is…”

His dark blue eyes narrow. “If you hurt Delphine—because people like her who care are always hurt by people like you who don’t—I will find you.

If you’re manipulating her feelings to your advantage, if you break her heart, because she hides a soft heart, it will be my turn to do the smacking down.

And I will break you.” He grins, perhaps relishing the thought of snapping me in half.

A burning sensation erupts in my chest. I’m suddenly aware that I’m tense, holding my breath. Not because I’m afraid of Throg. While he might get a punch in, I can easily best him.

But where he’s right—and what makes my stomach lurch—is that people like me always hurt people like her.

“Understood,” I grumble. “Protective big brother speech.”

“Not the first time you’ve been given it? Not surprising.”

“No, it is the first time. But I’ve given it to others before. On Ivy’s behalf…though she’s scarier than any speech I could ever give.”

“Good. I like you. Don’t fuck it up.” In the muted light streaming between the dense branches hovering over us, his big square smile still gleams. “Now, do you think Ivy would consider someone like me to be a suitable match…”

He drones on and on about Ivy, and my mind drifts as I pretend to nod along and mumble in agreement while he chatters away.

Funny guy. I admire his loyalty, but Delphine draws that out in people.

I’d follow her anywhere too. Dammit, it’s why I’m here.

I need to keep her safe. I’ll do anything in my power to see her through this. I’d risk my own life to keep her alive.

And that’s not anything I’ve ever felt before.

I do care, for once. About her.

I want her as much as I want to escape.

But Throg is right. People like me hurt people like her. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I did. I won’t risk hurting Delphine. I’ll need to control myself and let go of whatever I’m feeling for her.

I have to let go of her.

Two hours in, and there’s no sign of Syf. I’m doing my job correctly, then.

“Is it just me, or are we shrinking?” Ivy whisper-shouts from behind me. She’s toned down her voice as best as she can, but her eyes are round with wonder. The shadows of the forest bleed into her violet irises, muting them to the color of currants.

The old-growth trees loom taller, thicker, in deeper greens, and the mushrooms grow noticeably larger, as big as an elk’s head. Vivid reds, pinks, turquoise. Their luminescence increases the deeper we go.

In another couple of hours, we’ll reach the caves to spend the night. Either the Syf don’t know about the caves or avoid them. It took us half a day to get to the edge of the woods from Limingfrost, and Syf are more active at night. Hungrier for blood.

My elk stops, stock-still. Her ears swing forward and her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air, agitated. I hum low in my throat to reassure her before she decides to spook and skitter sideways.

With a raised palm, I signal to Delphine and the others without looking back, and the hoofbeats behind me go silent.

I hear growling.

The three of them follow as I circle downwind into a dense grove of hawthorn and oak, stopping behind a particularly wide trunk. In the clearing ahead, the snarls and roars of an enormous band of Syf shake the otherwise silent forest.

The Syf have taken down prey of some sort, and they’re scrambling over each other like cockroaches over their fresh kill.

They have a fire pit going, but while they wear clothes and carry weapons, they don’t look like an organized group.

They wrestle away the spoils from each other, faces bloodied from feeding.

Raw meat dangles from their claws, and they bare their sharp teeth in competition for the spoils, which explains the loud growling and fighting.

When one of them turns away from the others, I see her gnawing on what appears to be a leg with a boot.

Oh, shit. The sight makes me sick.

They’re either feeding on human flesh or one of their own.

Disgusting creatures. There’s no way in hell I could ever be one of them.

I’ve never seen them this far west in the forest, though, and for a horrifying second, I dread that I’ve made a mistake in navigation.

This must be the remaining fifty Syf that Olivier’s group observed. Is it possible to sneak around them, or will they catch our scent despite the distraction of their meal?

Delphine dismounts. It’s protocol to do so when Syf are near, since they are able to bend an animal’s will to their favor. But I want her to be ready to gallop away should they attack. Throg and Ivy follow her lead.

I shake my head no and gesture emphatically for them to get back on their elk.

Delphine’s eyes flare, insisting I dismount mine.

She moves two fingers, relaying that we will continue on foot around them, even backtracking the way we came to wait until they move on. But they could go anywhere, including toward us, and I don’t want to deviate from the caves we need for the night.

It doesn’t matter anymore because the clearing has gone silent.

When I squint through the darkness, the Syf are gone.

“Get back on your elk. We’re going to have to make a run for it,” I hiss.

It’s too late. Syf charge from between the trees, and we’re surrounded.

“Head north to the caves!” I holler. “I’ll fend them off. Go!”

Delphine protests. “No, we stick together. We fight together. You can’t take on fifty of them alone.”

Who knows if I can fight fifty Syf or not, but she needs to get out of here.

“Stop arguing. I need to know you’re safe. If you stay, I’ll be distracted. I can do this alone.”

“That isn’t my command,” she insists stubbornly. “We stay. You’re never alone. Not in my squad.”

That’s the last thing I hear her say. Out of the darkness of the trees, the Syf descend, shrieking louder than the colossal mountain bats that migrate in the summer.

Syf are tall, long-limbed, and lean. They’re made to fit within the shadows of the old trees. Damn beautiful faces, both the males and females. Dark hair, light eyes. They dress like us, in trousers and tunics or shirts. Some are clean, and others appear as if they haven’t washed in weeks.

While they are strong and well built, they are on the slender side, unlike Throg and the bigger men of the outer riverlands.

Their wings seem to be decorative, or perhaps like birds, the colors are used to attract a mate.

From what I’ve seen, the iridescent shimmer and scale patterns are unique to each Syf.

I don’t give a flying fuck about the colors right now as I charge on my elk, who has never failed me. I’m hacking away, cutting down any Syf who dares come near and have already lopped the heads off three.

Four. Five. Six.

Delphine sticks to protocol and fights on foot. It’s a ridiculous strategy I refuse to follow.

She looks livid when I stay mounted, circling around to protect her, Ivy, and Throg.

I can do this myself.

Regrettably, I’m wrong, and my elk rears and twists. The Syf must be controlling my poor girl. She’s never been affected by them before, though I’ve never encountered so many at once. I stay on, but with the next series of bucks, her hoof catches on a large toadstool.

She stumbles, and I’m thrown off.

To her credit, she stamps on a shirtless Syf male as she gallops away toward Ivy and Delphine.

I tumble over the mossy floor, shielding my head to avoid being kicked by her hooves as she runs off.

When I try to roll up, two wild-eyed Syf are upon me.

I slash my sword to fend them off, but a third stabs at me.

When I dodge, one of the others manages to bash me across the temple with the hilt of his sword, and my vision blurs with jarring pain before the trees spin.

A splintering headache whisks me away into darkness.