Page 51 of Artemysia

Before I can summon a server with drinks, a scream from the entryway behind me has me crouching down to slip out Ivy’s dagger from the holster around my ankle.

Instinctively, I whirl around on my other foot, and I’m armed.

The crowd pulses toward me chaotically, trampling each other, shrieking and shouting. In my high heels, I’m taller than half the people around me, and I straighten up just in time to see one of the guards at the ballroom door gripping his throat. He falls over, spewing blood.

More screams rattle through the ballroom. The other guard wrestles with a guest who knocks into him in his attempt to escape.

I kick off my impractical shoes and dive through the panicking ladies and gentlemen, noticing no one is helping the guard. I’m forced to push people away from me roughly, elbowing a man who grabs me by my waist to trade places with him. Elk turd.

I’m at the entrance. The second guard is down, and a Syf gnaws at his throat.

Down the corridor and up the curving stairway, bodies of other guards and valets are strewn at random. I see my valet.

Gregory. Oh hell. He’s been ripped apart, his insides spilling out of his red uniform. His hand still grasps a short sword. My chest tightens.

Poor guy. He didn’t even want to be here tonight.

Sickened, my gut twisting like a snake, I hike up my dress, bare feet pounding on the cold tiles toward the Syf. He’s feeding on the guard. The sight of the Syf gnawing off and consuming flesh makes me retch.

But I know what to do. I launch myself onto his back, driving all my weight down into the base of his spine to control his center of gravity. As he pitches forward, I yank his hair back and stab him in the neck.

I’ll have to saw off his head with this small dagger.

For a second, I think of the Syf back in Artemysia.

So civilized. And as Eira had been, a bit na?ve about humans.

Curious about humans even. They weren’t animals that fed on human flesh.

Could I subdue and capture this one instead of killing him?

Then again, this is what slaughtered my mother and countless others I used to know.

Still…perhaps there is another way, and I don’t have to kill him.

Leaving one hand on my dagger in his neck, I rip the bottom hem of my dress to use as a restraint. When I let go of the dagger to tie his hands, he thrashes violently, throwing me backward.

At this, he bucks and yanks out my dagger.

He unleashes a shriek and rolls up to his feet, stomping his boots as he hurtles into the panicked, huddling guests in the ballroom.

Like a flock of scared sheep, the crowd screams, crushing each other in their desperate scramble.

The Syf spies the royals on the dais to his right and changes direction.

The king remains seated, but the men and women in the ballroom dive out of the way, leaving an open path directly to the royal family.

Prince Toryl rises, guarding his parents.

In my bare feet, I chase after the Syf and hurl myself on him again, kneeing him in the kidneys, if he has any. We’re an elk’s length from the prince.

I grip the Syf in a chokehold and mutter into the back of his long head of hair.

He reeks of blood and sour bile. “I can help you, Syf. If you stop. Can you do that?” I glance down to see if his expression has shifted, if there’s any comprehension at all, but his eyes drill through me with a wild fury. He slashes his claws and twists around.

He snarls, bares his fangs, and sinks his teeth into my forearm.

I yell out in pain as he tears my skin. His fangs may be smaller than a wolf’s, but they’re sharper, and he doesn’t let go. I drop to my knees, taking him with me onto the ballroom floor.

I’m close enough to recover my dagger and have no choice but to stab him again in the base of the skull so his jaws slacken, and this time, I relieve him of his head.

With a small dagger, it’s like cutting an overcooked slab of boar steak with a butter knife.

There are gasps and gags among the guests.

My bare skin is covered in blood. Syf and my own.

Everyone watches me in horror, including the king and prince. The queen has fainted, and two servants fan her slumped body while a third tries to prop her up .

I sit back on my heels, wondering why I feel cool air.

I glance down. My dress is torn from my leg to my waist. The lace-up top is slashed to pieces so it hangs indecently off my shoulders, practically revealing my entire chest. Not a good night to go braless.

I no longer feel my ruby necklace or earrings, lost during the fight.

The Syf head rocks to a standstill at my knees. I can’t stand to look at its fangs.

When I glance up, the finely dressed crowd stares back at me in eerie silence, mouths agape.

I let them stare. The old king is gawking. The prince glares, raking his disdain over me as he stands in front of his parents. Why disdain? Why not gratitude for saving his life?

Because his party is ruined? Are they that shallow here?

I should be cringing at my nakedness, but I’m outraged. Seething. Hell, I don’t know any of them. I’m not even mad that Riev isn’t here, because like Gregory said, I can take care of myself. And taking care of myself now means I am not going to be ashamed.

I just saved their lives and no one bothered to help me. Stare all you want, you stupid bastards . It’s what Riev would say.

It dawns on me how Riev feels…maybe all the time.

One by one, the subjects of North Kingdom turn to their ruler. The king inclines forward and taps his son on the shoulder. Prince Toryl can’t pry his eyes off me as he whispers to his father.

It’s the young man’s coming-of-age party.

His official coronation as crown prince.

Back in Artemysia, I was told his father would retire within the year, so I assume it’s the prince’s show.

He must make a decision as their future leader.

They look to him as a test of his power and desire to see a show of his might.

He must prove his capability as a ruler. I’m going to be an example.

Even I know how this works.

Heart pounding from adrenaline, I’m still on my knees, blood pooling around me. I use my ripped gown to wrap my bleeding forearm, tying the makeshift bandage with the silk ribbon Elodie laced up my arm.

The tall prince approaches the crowd, and all before him bow their heads. Except me. I’m still baffled, with no clue what will happen next. In South Kingdom, someone would have helped me, and congratulations would be in order right about now.

He addresses me with a broad hand. “You’re dressed indecently. And you’re clearly not nobility, but rather a spy amongst us.” A murmur ripples through the crowd.

I open my mouth to defend myself but realize his accusations aren’t exactly wrong. Refuting him would sound weak. Instead, I defy him by saying nothing. Never underestimate the strength of silence.

He steps down from the dais, and his subjects part as he passes. His high boots echo on the golden tiles of the ballroom as he approaches, his hand poised on his fine, ceremonial sword.

No one dares to touch me or to offer a hand up.

“You will come with me to be interrogated.” He paces around me, a predator circling prey. I turn my head, and he gestures at the stitched scar on my bare shoulder blade. “You don’t belong here. Get up off your knees and cover yourself.”

With one graceful swipe, he unclasps his white cloak from his shoulders and whirls it at me. I don’t understand why he’s offering me the clothes off his back. He could have ordered anyone to give up their cloak or jacket.

My bloodied palms snatch it out of the air, staining the royal moon-white wool. He continues to stride toward the grand entryway, past the dead guards. He adjusts his red ascot around his neck over his crisp white dress shirt. He is fit and strong, but his hands appear soft.

The muscles on his svelte body are not from battle. I’ve trained nobility. They want to learn swordplay, to show off, but what they want more is for someone else to do the work for them.

I could take on the prince. Overpower him. My gaze darts to the entryway, still littered with bodies. If I made a run for it, what then?

There’s nothing I can do here, alone in a crowd. I’ll need to wait to make a move. Amongst the vultures, poor Gregory had said. Cowardly creatures, these nobles.

When I stand, the rest of my tattered dress slips off, gathering around my feet. But I don’t move to cover myself.

Instead, I wait with the prince’s cloak hanging from one hand, if only to shock the vultures. Gasps echo around the room; the murmur rippling through the pack pleases me.

I may not be in my right mind .

Ivy would be proud.

The thought almost makes me laugh out loud, as a maniac would.

These people need to wake the hell up. Why didn’t anyone know what to do with a rabid Syf? How did he get through so many guards? Everyone froze, as if they’d never encountered one before. Even our weakest villagers will fight or run without hesitation.

With this last thought, I finally fling the cloak around my shoulders.

Despite my disbelief, I jab my finger at the prince irreverently, feeling like I’ve adopted Riev’s persona again. “No one else came to your rescue. They would have let this Syf reach you, if only to save themselves. I don’t hear anyone thanking me.”

Where the hell is Riev, by the way? He’d be the first to come running at the sound of screaming and chaos. The fact that he didn’t means he’s out of earshot.

The prince spins on his heels and waves a hand at the bloody carnage around me, ignoring my indignance. “Someone clean that up,” he snaps. “Now.”

Servants rush from their hiding spots and swarm around me. One poor woman scoops up the Syf head with a bucket. She looks as if she’s holding her breath.

I’m still standing barefoot in the spreading warm Syf blood when Prince Toryl catches my seething glare.

The green in his eyes reminds me of the leafy flecks in Throg’s.

I shiver all of a sudden, morbidly wondering if I’ll ever see those I care about again—my father, Throg, Ivy, Riev.

My stomach curdles at the possibility of being imprisoned here forever for being a spy.

I step out of the tatters of my dress and walk toward him. “Why didn’t anyone stop the Syf—”

The sheer contempt on Toryl’s face is unmatched. “You will address me as High Lord.” He turns to the crowd. “The rest of you—when I return from dealing with the spy, I expect you all to be having the time of your life.”