Page 5 of Artemysia

“ Laughing confuses people. Makes them believe I want to hear more talking.” - Riev

H er salt-colored braid disappears from view as she descends the stairway. Like a desperate fool, I lean over the railing, giving no thought to the words about to escape my lips.

“Are you hungry?” I growl down into the stairwell.

Her nose crinkles as she tosses her head back to look up at me. “What?”

She’s baffled. As am I.

Why the hell did I say that? I rummage in the small pack at my waist and offer the only thing of value I have on me. Jerky. “I made it myself. Wild valley bison meat.”

Thank gods her eyes light up—not in revulsion, but in excitement. “I love bison jerky!”

She whirls around and grips the railing to climb back up the stairs.

I laugh genuinely for the first time tonight, relieved, but also out of adoration for her enthusiasm .

“Oh, so you can laugh,” she says.

“I try not to. Laughing confuses people,” I grumble. “Makes them believe I want to hear more talking.”

She shoos me away from the wooden chest and flips open the lid again, lifting out more books, a change of clothes, some matches, and stumps of candles.

From the very bottom, she draws out a round copper tin.

“I was saving this, but maybe we can put together a feast. This is…candied pearfruit. Have you ever had such a thing? It’s made from ice pears that only grow on mountaintops.

I bought it at Winter Carnival a long time ago and have hoarded it since. One piece each.”

She passes me a green sugar-coated ring the size of my palm.

The eye contact she gives me. Fucking hell. Her eyes sparkle like amber gemstones as she watches me take a bite.

She flips her palm out for jerky.

Our fingers touch, and it’s just as damn good as the candy.

We consume our chewy food side by side with elbows on the south windowsill, looking out toward the mountains. Instinctively, neither of us faces north, the Syf forest side. Somehow I’m always aware when my back is turned to the enemy, even this high up in the tower.

“How long have you been with the Academy?” she asks.

“My whole life. I’m twenty-five. They took me in as a child, had me run errands, and when I was old enough, enrolled me at the Riverheart branch of the Academy. Near the outer riverlands of East River. I have no family. You?”

“Twenty-two. Joined when I was twelve. Enlisted to move my father to the city after a Syf raid murdered my mother. I tended the commanders’ elk and cleaned the stables while I trained.”

She stretches over the windowsill. “My father lives on the edge of town. There.” Her slender finger points west, toward the far end of Stargazer. At this hour, I can barely make out a handful of small glowing gas lamps in that sector of small cottages.

“Before Stargazer, we were in a farming village outside the city, where we raised and trained elk. So I can ride anything ,” she says earnestly.

I snicker, and she glances sideways to throw me a disapproving look .

“Any elk . I can ride any elk, wild or tame.” Blood rushes into her cheeks. She recovers, clearing her throat. “There’s no feeling that comes close to galloping full speed on one. It’s magical.”

Her smile lights up when she speaks of elk. It must be a passion of hers. To keep her talking, I ask her about her favorite elk, what breed she raised, and how many she used to have on the farm.

Her words spill out eagerly. “The Rock Elk were my father’s favorite. Tall and sturdy. But the Western Elk don’t spook as much and aren’t as stubborn. The Starry Elk are my favorite, with the small speckles on their faces. They’re so smart and fast…”

Our shoulders graze as we stand alongside each other.

When there’s a pause in conversation, I point out the direction from which I traveled.

There’s not a single visible lit lamp that way.

When my hand comes down, instead of the windowsill I’m leaning over, it accidentally lands on her forearm, propped on the ledge.

She doesn’t react, doesn’t flinch, so I decide to keep it there.

Her forearm is small-boned but muscular and strong.

I grip it gently. What is possessing me to do this?

She tenses but looks up at me, and suddenly I’m very aware that my heart is hammering against my ribs, so loudly that she must hear it.

I have no idea what to do next.

She does.

She blushes, flips up her palm under my hand, and slowly slips her fingers into mine. I pretty much stop breathing. Her skin is soft, with calluses, as expected from how often she wields a blade.

It arouses me, imagining her slashing at Syf. I got a taste of her fighting style back in the alley, and she’s incredible.

Before I can hesitate, I lean in and grasp her chin. There’s a beat of stillness between us. She blinks those brown eyes at me, and before I can chicken out, I cock my head and kiss her.

I kiss her the way I’ve been dying to do since the alleyway.

My body unravels at the soft, warm contact.

Her breath catches, but she parts her lips and lets me in. Her mouth is supple and tastes like pearfruit and brandy. Like Winter Carnival. For fuck’s sake, this woman tastes like a cozy winter’s eve. Perfection.

She rises to me, still clasping my hand, and presses herself against my chest, my hips.

This woman stirs something deep within me.

I try to keep my fingers in respectful places, because she deserves reverence.

Her shoulder, her neck. My thumb traces up her throat and along her jaw.

I can’t help myself. Tangling my fingers into the silky braid near the base of her neck, I use it to guide her into me.

She must like it, because she lets out a throaty hum and kisses me harder.

It takes an obscene amount of energy to contain myself. To maintain some restraint, even though I might be too far gone.

Three hours ago, I was fighting for my life against a band of Syf trying to kill me to prevent me from reaching the city. I still have their blood on my cloak. My blood is mixed in there too, and suddenly I wish I’d showered when I got to Stargazer, but I needed a drink before anything else.

I break away and bury my face in the hollow of her neck. She throws her head back to expose her throat to me, her braid whipping across her back. A split second later, I press her against the wall next to the window, wishing for her legs to wrap around me.

She grasps my shirt and drags me in so close that I feel her tits against my chest as she arches into me.

“I’m going to need to unbutton your shirt,” I murmur into her collarbone, running my tongue along it. I can see the tight peaks of her breasts through her white shirt and all I can think about is how much I’m dying to thumb one and pinch the other, to hear what noises she’ll make when I do.

“Yes. Hell yes,” she says, breathy and eager.

Her desire is heady. She sees something she likes in a lowlife scum like me.

My hands slide up her ribcage, careful not to touch the injured side I unknowingly kicked before.

What a jerk. Why on earth did I feel the need to show off?

I kiss her lips again before sliding a palm up the underside of her right breast, fingertips stroking through her white cotton shirt, toying with the buttons with my free hand.

I’m hard as hell, so I press my length against her, and she swears quietly into my mouth. Her hands tense at my waist, grasping at my belt to grind me against her.

“Hmm, you smell good,” she murmurs.

Her sweet voice alone is enough for me to almost lose control, but at the feel of her soft lips pulling at my neck—her hand pressed on my chest—my erection strains against the tight fabric of my pants. I know she feels it jutting against her low belly.

Two buttons undone, my hand slips in. She bites back a strangled breath. The warmth of her perfectly plump breast fills my palm—

A demonic, hairsplitting screech emerges from the window, followed by a muted flutter.

I curse and drop to the floor, protectively dragging her down with me.

What the hell is attacking us this high up?

We fall onto each other. The largest owl I’ve ever seen flies into the tower, swooping right over our heads.

The copper-colored bird lands on a rafter above and shuffles around to face us.

Its head is lighter in color than the rest of it, with tufts like horns. It glares at me with amber eyes in both a shocked and disapproving way as its golden talons dig into the rafter above.

“Good evening, Owlfred.” She laughs at the shocked expression on my face and gathers herself, pulling away from me.

She tosses her hair back, and I get one last glimpse of smooth skin peeking out at her waist before she straightens her shirt, tucking it in. Her lips are swollen from our kiss. The sight makes my cock twitch.

I’m tempted to lean in to her again, but hold myself back.

Her thumb absently skims her mouth as she stares up at the rafters.

She seems lost in thought. “Don’t forget to offer Owlfred the dried berries, especially if you don’t want him to bother you during the night.

Sometimes he brings back his own food and eats it while watching you sleep.

” A sweet, bubbly laugh. “And don’t eat all my candy,” she adds.

The moment is lost. Godsdamn Owlfred.

But I’m curious about one thing. “Where’s his mate?” I don’t want to be swooped on again.

“Huh?”

“These owls come in pairs. Birds, like ravens and owls, mate for life.”

“How do you know that?” Her gaze lingers on me.

“I’m not just a spectacularly handsome face.”

“Pfft.” She smirks, mildly amused, before her mouth turns downward. “I dunno, maybe the poor guy lost his mate. He’s been here alone for years.” She drops a foot down into the stairway but glances back at me. “I have an early morning. Sleep well, Riev.”

I scrub a hand up and down my neck, erasing the chill. Sleep now? No way. And how much did I like hearing my name on her lips?

Everything about her does it for me. I can’t put my finger on why I’m instinctively drawn to her voice, her smile, her strength.

It worries me that I’m this unhinged by one kiss.

Maybe the shock of losing two of my best men left me feeling vulnerable tonight?

No. It’s not the first time I’ve lost people to Syf. I’ve never let one strike me in the face in the fifteen years I’ve been fighting them. In all those years as a spy and guard for the military, I’ve never failed to protect the people I escort.

Until today.

They trusted me. I let them down. I let myself down, and now they’re dead. The Syf are getting stronger somehow.

Her braid swishes as she descends the spiral stairs of the clock tower.

“Wait,” I bite out. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Delphine.” She looks back over her shoulder and grins briefly. “After the deadly flower that grows by the riverbanks.”

A prickle ripples down my spine.

No wonder she feels like poison burning in my veins.