Page 41 of Artemysia

“I must really care about Riev, that a-hole.” - Delphine

T hrog leads us east into the thickest forest I’ve ever seen. The branches above us creak and wind around each other, blocking out the sky. I try not to lose hope.

What would we even do if we catch up to the Syf army? Fight? Negotiate? Lose.

“Why are these Syf so different from the ones we’ve fought for so long?” Ivy asks.

“And why have they hidden their ability to speak all these years?” Throg ponders.

I have no real answers for them. “Did you notice the blunt teeth on the king, not sharp like the usual Syf we fight?” It makes no sense, except…

“Could these be completely different Syf, not involved in the war? They dress differently, speak, and appear to be organized. Their weapons are far better than the second-hand swords the others had. ”

The two of them discuss their theories. Maybe Syf mutate when they attack? Or do they have ruthless warriors to do their dirty work, like raiding human villages, while a more sophisticated army defends their king?

I remain on guard, lost in thought for the next few leagues.

Could we bargain with the Syf for peace? How do I include Riev’s release in any negotiations? To even begin talks, I’ll need to figure out what motivates the Syf.

The forest is dark and dense, but as we stalk by, the fungi glow like bright lanterns, reacting to our presence.

At one point, a long, phantom shadow slithers alongside us for a bit, weaving through the trees a good distance away, but when I ask Throg if he sees anything, it’s gone. What else lives in these woods?

It makes me wonder where the Lindwyrm usually lives, or if there are others in the forest. With wings, they can’t possibly only reside underground.

Finally, after passing what seems like another thousand trees, Throg halts. “It ends here. No more scent.”

“There’s nothing but forest. Where would they have gone?” I scan the shadows. “ Are you sure you didn’t lose the trail—”

It’s Throg’s turn to make a fist and indicate where he would slug me for the insult.

“You guys don’t see that tree?” Ivy asks.

She rides closer, peering into a tree with a dark hollow. A normal oak, except its trunk has split in two and its branches grow left and right into the canopy of taller trees above it.

“Look inside.” She gestures at a small hole in the trunk.

Throg and I trot up beside her. In the hollow of the oak, a star glimmers brilliantly.

Not like a firefly or candlelight. A single golden star twinkles in an infinitely dark and vast space within the mysterious hollow.

Flickering. Floating. It’s like I’m gazing upon a midnight sky in another realm, where only one star exists.

I want to reach out to touch it, but it appears so far away.

“The scent stops here? Is this some sort of…door or gateway?” I wonder aloud at the swirling light in the dark, deep hollow.

“We’re in a creepy children’s tale,” Ivy says, dismounting.

She looks up at me, frowning. “In Honeygrove, there’s a bedtime story I was told about magic doors in trees that lead you to another world—a land of sugar.

But you had to sell your soul to a witch.

The lesson was, don’t sell your soul to a witch. ”

I swing off my elk to stand beside her. “How do we enter?” I rap the tree trunk with my knuckles. Rough bark, solid wood.

Ivy thrusts her arm into the hollow to seize the star.

“It moves!” The star zips away from her grasp.

She stands aside for me, and I reach in. I don’t feel the inner bark of the tree. The hole is endlessly large inside.

I retract my arm. “What do you think? We have to catch the light?”

Throg releases his reins and leaps off. “Let me try.” He stretches a hand into the tree and chases the star with his fingers, grasping as if swatting bees.

He turns over his shoulder at me. “Captain, you’re faster.”

When he steps aside, I lean into the crevice. The golden burst of light moves. I anticipate where it might go, but it evades me. I chase it with one hand and dive my other hand in, clapping them together.

It vanishes. Darkness replaces the glow of the hollow. I retreat, surprised at the change. Perhaps that was our only chance.

“I may have broken it. The light disappeared.”

Before anyone can respond, our elk, idle behind us up until now, begin to stamp and paw the ground.

“Why are they frightened?” I grab their reins before they can run off, but Ivy’s elk rears, pulling me to my knees on the ground. Throg grabs the reins and helps me up. As we calm the animals, the tree’s hollow grows.

It expands in all directions until it appears to be the mouth of a cave—large enough for us to ride through. I glance at Throg to make sure he sees it too. His mouth hangs open.

“Am I hallucinating? Should I not have licked the glowing pink mushroom my elk was munching on?” Ivy whispers. “I was only curious…”

“Let’s go,” I say, clearing my throat, which has gone bone dry.

“Inside? Are you sure?” she asks.

“Scent trail stops here. Right, Throg?”

He sniffs the air. “They must have taken Riev through here.”

We remount our elk and ride forth into the unknown gate with untold dangers. A magic hole in a magic tree. The split tree closes behind us with a slow, low-pitched moan.

I must really care about Riev, that a-hole.

Syf children scream, and their parents pull them away, hiding them behind their legs or gathering them up against their chests. Throg, Ivy, and I ride past the retreating Syf on a paved path of dark green bricks.

Syf children. Syf parents.

When I halt my elk, the clopping of Throg and Ivy’s steeds goes silent behind me.

No one around us has raised a weapon of any sort. I signal to Throg and Ivy to keep our blades sheathed too, despite all my instincts telling me otherwise when it comes to Syf.

I gather my wits to assess our surroundings.

We were just in the deepest of dark forests and entered a hollow in a tree.

As if that wasn’t enough of a surprise, we’ve exited out the other side into a sophisticated modern village awash in pastel colors.

Instead of thatched roofing, the houses are tiled in light gray slate and outfitted with gas-lamp sconces like the newer builds in Stargazer.

Instead of wood or stone, these cottages are constructed from slabs of tinted marble blocks.

The screaming Syf families scramble into these buildings and shops.

It’s sunny and warm. A wide main road of smooth green brick, not cobblestone, lies before us, cutting through the middle of town.

On each side of our paved path, crystals in all colors of the rainbow jut from the earth.

Amethyst, topaz, jade, citrine, pink tourmaline.

“There.” Throg nods toward the horizon.

The steepled peaks of a massive castle rise sharply into low clouds. My eyes narrow at the brightness. It’s carved from the brightest white marble in sharp geometric shapes and continuous razor-sharp lines. Not the misshapen, rounded edges of stone I’ve seen in other strongholds.

Ivy voices all our thoughts. “The King of Artemysia must live there. Unless this is only a regional castle? How big is this place? Aren’t we in a hole in a tree?”

“At least no one is attacking us.” Yet.

We ride toward the sky-high palace. My plan is to keep our weapons sheathed and aim for the castle as if invited. If we’re attacked, my only backup plan is to race back toward the gateway in the tree.

More and more, I wonder if this is all a strange dream.

How can any of this exist? The rainbows of jagged crystals jutting out of the dirt on both sides of the paved path appear to have grown out of the earth rather than having been embedded there for decoration.

In Stargazer, gems are mined in our southern mountains, and any one of these crystals would be a rare find and sold to be cut into the finest jewelry.

Unfamiliar songbirds chirp from red- and gold-leafed trees. At least it appears to be autumn here too, as it is in Stargazer, despite the warm day.

Halfway up the road, we’re met by a band of four young guards. Same sea-green tunics and pale gold armor as the Syf army we encountered earlier.

We raise our palms to show that our swords remain sheathed.

The two Syf in the back of the formation draw their weapons—a gleaming spear and a glimmering, razor-sharp long sword.

“Impossible,” the Syf leading the guardsmen exclaims, raising a fist to the two behind her. They lower their weapons. “How did you enter Artemysia?”

“Front gate. The tree,” Ivy replies confidently. She’s unclasped the sheath of her largest knife, a kukri. Curved and lethal, made for chopping, slashing, slicing.

Her favorite blade to decapitate Syf.

“King Foss must be told of this breach in security,” says the second Syf, equally confused, her black tail swishing over the left side of her steed’s hindquarters.

“Human warriors. Are you here for warfare?” the third Syf asks, perplexed, his pale eyes wide.

None of these Syf are aggressive.

They seem inexperienced with humans as threats. Based on their wide-eyed expressions, they’re baffled by our presence, rather than hostile.

I don’t let my guard down, though. “One of my men is with your King Foss. We are here to negotiate for him,” I say.

“But no one may enter without the will of the king or his heir,” says a third with hair and tail the color of rich oak bark. The very short hair on Syf tails is always the same color as the hair on their heads, which obviously makes sense when I think about it.

“Then the will of the king must be in our favor,” Throg announces boldly.

The Syf seem to agree with his logic. Syf are logical. I am still having trouble wrapping my head around the idea that Syf can be rational beings, not just ferocious killers.

“We will escort you to the palace. This is highly unusual,” says the fourth, the smallest and youngest.

“Thank you,” I say, equally confused by the lack of aggression.

The first two lead the way.

The smallest Syf rides alongside me, watching my every move.

“I’m Eira. I have never seen humans before, besides illustrations in books.” She cocks her head, studying me with curiosity. “But I only recently joined the legions and haven’t been allowed outside of Artemysia yet.”

“You aren’t trained to kill humans?”

“No! We preserve them.”

Odd choice of word, preserve .

“Does preserve mean kill in Artemysia?” Ivy mumbles.

The guards ride animals like those of the army in the forest, with much larger heads, and shorter, squatter bodies than elk. None have antlers, and their coats come in many colors. Mahogany, black, gray, and white—unlike our elk, which only come in shades of brown.

“What are your steeds called?” I ask Eira, figuring I should start with an easy question.

“Mine is named Frost.”

“But what are they?”

“Oh, horses? They’re not as fast or brave as elk, but they’re easier to handle. They know their names.”

“Horses, huh.”

“What’s it like in your city—” the young Syf asks but is cut off.

“Eira!” the Syf leading us admonishes her. “It might be prudent not to say too much before the king decides what to do with them. ”

“Sorry,” Eira says. She shrugs at me with a crooked smile and is silent the rest of the way, but I catch her glancing at me every once in a while, as if trying her best to contain her curiosity.

It shocks me to see Syf with such human-like tendencies.

Up close, the peaks of the Artemysia castle are scalloped, gilded, and rise into points sharp as needles. Banners of sea-green and gold fly from the steepled towers. We’re led across a moat of glowing indigo water, and Eira instructs us to dismount.

What makes the water glow? Is it algae, like in the purple pools of the cave?

I swallow back the memory of Riev in the cave pools, controlling my thoughts even as heat creeps up my cheeks.

Are my emotions getting in the way of making good decisions as a leader?

I begin to second-guess myself. Are we here because it’s the best strategy to complete our mission?

Or is it only because I want Riev back?

I convince myself it’s the former.

Silently, we follow the four Syf into the most spectacular castle I could ever imagine. Our own King Galke maintains a rectangular stronghold of granite. Gray and functional. No fancy architecture or color except for his blue and ivory moonflower banners.

Here in the entryway, glittering gemstones are embedded in white marble walls, layered in ribboned patterns along both sides of a grand archway.

High windows and skylights above us stream sunlight through stained glass, casting kaleidoscopic beams of light across the emerald and gold-swirled floors of the keep.

Apple-green luna moths with extra-long tails flutter everywhere.

It smells as bright as it looks, like mint and lemons. Farther in, leafy garlands hang from the ceiling, decorating the walls in half-loops. A quick glance down a side corridor shows a garden in an open courtyard.

A messenger is sent to the Syf king. Not long after, he’s running back toward us down the endless hall. His soft leather shoes slap the hard, shiny floor.

“King Foss requests your immediate presence,” he wheezes, out of breath. They don’t seem that different from us. Except for the wings and tails, of course. I barely notice the ears. They speak more formally, using stiff words and fewer facial expressions.

Our weapons are stripped away, and we’re ushered through a maze of hallways to an open throne room.

The Syf king bids us to enter with a wave of his hand. Even from afar, his blue eyes catch the light.

He sits on a grand snow-white throne, the armrests and back carved to accommodate the long rose-gold wings draping down his shoulders and back, slack and idle.

Syf wings vary in color, but their tails always match their dark hair.

He’s still wearing a brilliant crown the same shade as his wings, set with soft green opals that glow when he angles his head toward the door.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see us.

But seated beside him with his legs sprawled wide in an equally complicated chair, wearing an equally ornate crown and looking jaw-droppingly gorgeous in Syf silks and armor—is Riev.

Riev chokes on the wine that he sips from a green crystal flute.

I feel myself blanching, and my mouth hangs open. It’s hard to say whose face displays more shock—his or mine—but Ivy speaks for all of us again.

“What the fuck, Riev?!” Her sharp words echo off the gold-streaked marble walls.