Page 59 of Artemysia
I never stopped to wonder what was beyond our lands.
It’s widely accepted that our fertile agricultural lands are enough to sustain us, and we have no recorded history of sea-faring activities.
But why didn’t anyone question what else was out there?
Perhaps for my generation, we were too busy fending off Syf.
But what about before that?
Were we always unsuccessful in leaving our peninsula?
“My father spent the next few years experimenting with ways to weaken Syf, as a defense against their control of human knowledge and progress. They keep us in the dark, so we are unable to expand,” he says bitterly.
“From what we know, the Syf have been successful in South Kingdom, containing their growth. Part of my father’s long-term plan is to invade the South for their precious metals in the mountains… ”
I’m listening with open-mouthed shock, trying to absorb this knowledge. King Foss said Artemysians “preserve” human life. What is the truth? Who is lying? Will North Kingdom invade South Kingdom? Stargazer needs to know of this threat immediately, for the safety of our people.
Toryl flips pages of old, handwritten books describing Syf lands around the world. He shows me what few modern people know.
The only mention of human society references the inhabitants to the north and south of Artemysia. Artemysians were deemed the keepers of mankind, tasked with containing humans to the peninsula, preventing them from expanding and leaving the area.
What shocks me is how tiny our peninsula is compared to the other landmasses on the map.
He jabs a finger on several large land forms, continents I never knew existed. “We need to prepare ourselves to fight back against the Syf, or mankind will forever be under their control, like zoo animals.”
Zoo animals. To preserve humans.
A human preservation. Is that all we are?
I glance up from the map to observe his reaction. “And your answer is to poison them all and create an army you can control.”
“How else will we get the numbers we need? If the rest of the Syf world decides they want us dead, we must be prepared,” Toryl replies grimly. “Do you see any other way to defend our kingdom? To ensure the survival of mankind?”
“Yes, of course. Ally with South Kingdom. Open talks with the Artemysian Syf. Maybe it won’t come to war. Diplomacy, trade, an alliance. Aren’t there rumors that there was once collaboration, two centuries ago?”
“I was taught one lesson about power. Those who have it will not share it. When one group’s survival is threatened by another, conflict is inevitable. War is inevitable.”
I open my mouth to protest—to say he can make a difference as king—but a knock at the door cuts our conversation short.
“High Lord,” a muffled voice sounds at the door. “The king requests your presence in the ballroom to entertain your guests. The nobles are here for the opportunity to engage their future king.”
He’s too composed to roll his eyes, but I get the feeling he wishes he could.
The servant hands the prince a wax-sealed letter. “From your father.”
Toryl cracks the wax and reads the note, a knot in his jaw forming. “Tell my father I’ll be there in five minutes,” he says stiffly.
“Yes, High Lord.” The messenger’s footsteps pad down the carpeted hall.
The prince frowns at me. “Seems like there might be an enemy among us tonight after all,” he says cryptically. For a brief horrifying moment, I think I’ve been discovered as an imposter.
He tears up the letter and tosses it into the hearth. “Will you accompany me downstairs? I think you’ll learn a lot about the state of affairs.”
I retain my composure and offer him a wry grin. “They all think I’m a spy, thanks to you.”
“I don’t need to explain myself to any of them. You were interrogated. Now, you’re my guest of honor. They should be grateful that you neutralized the threat.”
“I’ve been many things tonight. I’m not changing again—this dress is comfortable.”
Prince Toryl smiles. “You’re more beautiful in that plain black dress than anyone downstairs in their best finery. They should admire your cleverness and strength, as I do.”
I’m surprised at his warmth. I wonder if his aloofness is part of that mask he wears as a show of power.
He reaches across me and slides open the bottom drawer of his desk, lifting out a red velvet satchel.
“This was given to me by my grandmother.” He pours out the contents: a brilliant strand of teardrop diamonds the size of grapes. “The color reminds me of your hair. You may borrow it, if you’d like.”
I nod my approval, baffled.
He moves behind me and sweeps the hair off my neck. The gorgeous, cold stones weigh heavily around my throat as he fiddles with the clasp. The necklace is short and sits high, with the largest gem nestled in the hollow between my collarbones.
“Thank you,” I mutter, the words stuck in my throat, because I don’t understand his intimate gesture. Is this his way of showing gratitude, respecting me, or does he merely want me to be dressier if I am to accompany him downstairs?
Either way, I’m learning more than I ever imagined possible in one night.
My entire worldview has shifted tremendously. The air rushes out of my lungs as if I’m falling from dizzying heights, making it hard to breathe.
If there are only two human kingdoms left, it must mean certain extinction for us. Are we being controlled by the Syf? Are we alive only because they want us to be?
A sickening shudder runs through me.
On the other hand, if the Syf had wanted us gone, it would have happened centuries ago, right? I have questions for the Artemysians. Should I even go back? If it’s us against the Syf, perhaps it’s better that they don’t know everything.
Do I tell Prince Toryl the truth of who I am, and hope for collaboration rather than war? Or do I report this information to South Kingdom and let King Galke decide?
What will Riev decide to do? I’ll spare him the horrifying news until morning. I’m hoping he is sleeping off his evening, poor guy. But if I run into Toryl’s cousins downstairs, I won’t be able to hold back.
How dare they?
“Ready?” Toryl asks me, and I realize I’ve been silent.
“Into the wake of vultures,” I reply, echoing dead Gregory’s warning.
Prince Toryl cocks his head, studying me with a curious look, but I don’t have the heart to bring up Gregory. “You understand,” he says.
I nod grimly. “We’ll have to be owls, then.” I thread my arm through the one he offers. “Swoop in silently and stay above the fray.”
I feel his heated stare on me as we stroll down the extravagant hall, the unsmiling paintings of royals lining the walls watching us, judging our disdain of the monsters they’ve created.