Page 37 of Artemysia

“Stop saving everyone.” - Riev

T he next morning, we pack up to leave our cave shelter.

I don’t allow myself to act differently, even though part of me feels as if my entire world has shifted.

I try to ignore the soreness between my legs from those wondrous swelling ridges.

Deep breath . No one has to know what happened at the pools with Riev.

Throg, however, sniffs his bloodhound nose at me and winks a gleaming eye.

I love him to death, but I cast him a warning glance. I ball up a fist and indicate where it would land if he says a single word. He’s known me long enough to be able to read these kinds of telepathic messages clearly.

His face spreads into a grin. “Your secret is safe with me, Captain. But I’m going to need details at some point.”

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and holster my weapons. Kneeling to finish packing the tent and my supplies, I let loose an exasperated groan.

How the hell did everything fit in here?

I look at Riev, who’s done packing and has everything folded neatly back where it should go.

He’s moved on to tacking his elk. My pack is stuffed to the brim, and half the tent is still spilling out.

From the corner of my eye, I see the look of scorn forming on his face.

“How did someone so messy and disorganized become a captain so fast?” he says smugly to his elk in mock conversation as he applies her eyedrops.

“Throg!” I call out.

“I’m on it.” Throg rushes to my side, dumps out my provisions pack, and refolds the tent.

“This is how.”

Riev strides over to watch, arms folded across his chest in disapproval—yet he stands close enough that his booted shin bolsters my hip to support me as I squat over my belongings.

“I give Throg all the credit for keeping me organized. That’s right, I have flaws.”

Riev lets out a sound between a snort and a laugh, and I can tell he’s about to say something snide, so I grab a handful of dirt and press a dirty fingerprint on the toe of his carefully polished boot.

Ivy covers her mouth to hide a shocked snicker.

“You asshole.” Riev pulls out a handkerchief and folds over to clean his boot.

“If you need something to do, go pick the elks’ hooves before we take off.”

“You’re a mean captain.” He pivots on his heels to attend to the elk.

I bite back a grin. I would have never guessed a man like him would have so much emotional depth and honesty or be capable of such intimacy as we shared last night, as lovers do.

Emotional intimacy, like none I’ve ever experienced before.

Why is the chemistry so effortless with some people, even when you don’t want it to be?

Am I reluctantly bonding with him because we had sex and I can’t separate it out?

Either way, I can only hope no one else can tell that everything has changed between us.

Disaster descends immediately.

Once we remove the slab of rock securing our cave, muted daylight streams in. I lead my elk out first. Riev follows, and at the same time we lock eyes with an armored Syf mounted on an unfamiliar species of steed about fifty strides ahead of us.

He’s alone. Regal and tall, he stares back, motionless, except for a phantom wind blustering through his dark chestnut hair and the rosy gold wings draped behind him.

He wears a crown of fiery opals set in rose gold.

I’ve never known Syf to ride elk, and his steed is unlike any I’ve ever seen.

I’m not sure it’s an elk at all. The animal’s head is big and bulky, its body thick and stout.

It’s shorter than an elk, and there are no signs of antlers.

Colorful banners drape its hindquarters. Violet, blue, green, gold, crimson.

This Syf is dressed much differently than those I’ve encountered before.

Sophisticated. Cleaner, brighter, in finer green silks under his well-made armor of pale gold, embossed with elaborate patterns.

Most Syf wear clothes that look as if they hadn’t been changed in days, ill-fitting and likely stolen.

Riev doesn’t care about the details. He’s already charging at full speed, his feet pounding the earth. His sword is unsheathed and held out behind him, ready to launch in the air to strike once he’s close enough.

The Syf’s mouth moves. He’s saying something, quietly, and makes no move to draw his weapon.

I already see what will happen.

In a panic, I swing onto my elk and gallop at full speed, overtaking Riev.

I leap off in a flying dismount, land on my feet, and drop to a sliding kneel ahead of him.

I swing my two blades overhead, catching his sword.

He stumbles sideways, tumbling when he’s thrown off balance.

He didn’t expect my attack and bellows a string of curses at my betrayal as he rolls back up.

I stand between him and the Syf.

“What the hell are you doing, Delphine? Get out of my way,” he snarls, his nostrils flaring like a wild animal about to lose it.

“Stop, Riev! Please, if you ever listen to me, listen to me now. We’re all going to die if you don’t stop.”

At my words, Syf shift out from behind every single tree around us, all mounted on their steeds. Hundreds. Many have drawn bows, a weapon they rarely seem to wield.

When I glance back at Throg and Ivy, my heart skips. Syf spears point at them from every direction.

Riev’s expression remains unchanged. He means to fight to his death. I see it in his eyes, gray like dirty ice. Cold and destructive.

He flinches when the Syf behind me finally speaks. “Soldiers of South Kingdom.”

We all flinch.

Syf have never been known to speak any language at all.

“You dare attempt the assassination of Syf royalty?” The Syf’s voice is as smooth as his glossy dark hair.

“You would have failed, struck down before your sword came within striking distance.” Two Syf ride up to flank him, wearing sea-green and gold uniforms of silk and finely forged metal.

The rest of the army shifts in unison—two steps forward on their beautiful steeds.

Riev keeps both hands on his sword, his stance weighted forward. He’s still on the offense. “I don’t care how fancy your ass is in the Syf world, or that you learned the language of Stargazer. I’ll slaughter you all and bathe in your blood.”

The royal Syf ignores Riev. He stares down his long, fine nose at me. Deep chestnut hair, like Riev’s, almost black under the shadowy forest canopy, contrasts his pale blue eyes.

“A human saving the life of a Syf? How perceptive of you to see our hidden army.” The Syf male doesn’t blink.

I wonder if he expects a reply from me, but before I can speak—

Riev shifts forward to stand protectively in front of me, blocking me from view. “Don’t look at her with your disgusting eyes. Why she would stop me from killing you sick fuckers is beyond me.”

Those last words are meant for me, and they are a hard punch to the gut.

The Syf’s delicately pointed ears flit as the harsh words escape Riev’s lips .

“There is much of which you are ignorant.” His mouth presses into a firm line, his crystal blue eyes remaining watchful. Perhaps Riev makes him nervous. It’s the same look with which King Galke regarded Riev in the war room—the wary look of a man treading cautiously around an angry, caged lion.

“All I know is that the Syf are murderous animals,” Riev replies, the accusation ripping from his throat with a menacing snarl as he flips the handle of his sword, shifting into a backhand grip.

“Riev,” I warn.

The regal Syf sighs heavily, and it’s hard to tell what emotion he feels as he utters his next words forcefully:

“Riev, I have been searching for you, you half-Syf beast. I am King Foss of Artemysia, and you will lay down your blade and heed my words.”

Half-Syf beast? The King…of Artemysia…knows Riev’s name?

I stare dumbfounded at the Syf king for a moment longer, as if he might break into a smile and I’d know it was a joke. But he does no such thing.

So it’s true. Riev is half-Syf. When I glance at Riev, his hand is bloodless from his death grip on his sword.

When he refuses to lay down his blade, a guard beside the king stiffens, her hand going to the hilt of her broadsword.

“Riev, listen to him,” I plead. There’s a beat of defiant silence, and I believe he will challenge me again. But for whatever reason—maybe even to momentarily deceive and defy the king before us—Riev listens to me and lowers his blade.

A murmur rumbles across the Syf army behind the king.

The Syf king frowns at me. “ You are in command? It seems I’ve been addressing the wrong individual.” His lips part in neither a smile nor a sneer. He has no fangs as far as I can see. Just normal blunt teeth.

I address Syf King Foss. “Your Majesty, we mean you no harm if you intend the same for my company.”

Throg and Ivy have inched their way closer behind me, armed and poised. “I am responsible for the safety of my squad.” I raise a palm by my side to stop Throg and Ivy from advancing. “They will obey me and lay down their weapons if your men do the same.”

The Syf king folds an armored forearm across his waist, as if posing for a painting, and his army lowers their spears, arrows, and blades.

Ivy’s bull elk stamps and chuffs, but the Syf army is silent.

The king speaks again. “I am only here for Riev. Relinquish your responsibility of him to me, and you and yours may leave. He is summoned to court. He must answer for his crimes against his own people,” he says ominously.

I swallow. I don’t want to sound as nervous as I feel. “Riev is under my command. He has committed no more wrongdoing against your people than the rest of us. I do not trade my men for my own safety.”

“Courageous. You would lay down your life for him.” He pauses. The hard line of his lips tells me this means something to him. “Does Riev not have free will in your world to choose?”

“He has free will,” I say, not liking where this is going. Attempting to regain control, I say, “But he’s under orders from the King of the South—”