Page 2 of Artemysia
But it’s the only way to keep myself and others alive.
When two recent recruits block my escape to congratulate me, my stomach twists into knots of anxiety.
“You took down half that band yourself.” The young blonde cadet slices an imaginary sword across her partner’s throat.
Her partner bobs her head in wide-eyed agreement. “Highest number of Syf kills in all of South Kingdom,” she says. “It’s why I enlisted here in Stargazer—in hopes of being assigned to your squad.”
The adulation in their eyes should be enjoyable, but a stab of guilt strikes me instead. I never want to get used to a way of life where slaughter or be slaughtered is the norm. But…I’m scared that part of me already has.
After a day of killing Syf, I don’t curl up and cry anymore.
Raising my bottle, I clink their glasses. “The two of you kept our elk together during the fight, and your spear slowed down the biggest Syf.”
“Did you see his wingspan? One-and-a-half times the length of my arms. On each side! Why have wings if they can’t fly?” the blonde asks.
“The males use them in their mating rituals,” her friend chimes in enthusiastically, loosening the violet silk cravat tied around her shirt collar that denotes her rank as a cadet. Her red hair is braided in a neat rosette at the base of her neck.
“That’s what the textbooks say. We don’t know for sure,” I mutter.
It occurs to me that this was the two cadets’ first fight, and in recent years the enemy has become stronger, killing more of us with eachencounter. But out there in the field, each strike of my blade drives away the crushing torment of those I’ve lost to Syf. My mother. Fellow soldiers. Lovers.
With a twinge in my heart, I admit there was a good chance these two women might not have made it back tonight, even though our force outnumbered the Syf.
It’s why we constantly enroll new recruits.
I pass them the rest of my brandy and tell them to have at it. “Good job today.”
They soak up my praise, looking at me eagerly as if expecting a speech of some sort, so I tack on a brazen attempt at inspiration.
“The largest rockslide can start with the tiniest pebble.”
They stare, unblinking.
Overkill? Or motivational leadership?Those who have been on my squad the longest have dubbed these sayings “Delphinisms.”
“Thanks, Captain,” they chime together, not looking the least bit appalled.Whew.
“Enjoy the feast with the king at Stargazer Castle tomorrow,” the redhead calls back over her shoulder as they walk away.
So young. So hopeful. So dead.
I stumble to the back door and slip outside.Air. I need air. A gas lamp flickers, throwing uneven shadows onto the cobblestones. The cool autumn night gives me the reprieve I need, but I dart farther down the alley, not wanting anyone to see me panic. I’m good enough. I can do this. I’m not an imposter—I’vebeendoing this. Right?
No. There’s no one else to blame if I make a decision that gets my company killed. Those two new cadets who hold me in such admiration and awe?
It’s my job to ensure they don’t die.
The strain in my throat doesn’t ease as I fold over my knees. I brace my shoulder against a large wooden barrel in the alley, trying to heave a breath to sip the frigid night air slowly in and out of my unbearably tight chest.
With the second moon of the evening low in the sky casting its dim lavender glow into the alley, I almost miss the shadowy figure on a stack of crates next to the barrel that’s supporting me.
The Syf are more active at night.
My hand drops to my sheath, but it’s empty. I left my sword in the pub.
Instead, I slip my dagger from the holster on my thigh and peer cautiously around the barrel, every inch of my body tensed for action.
A hooded man sits on one of the wooden crates, stooped over. His sleeves are pushed back and his muscular forearms rest on his thighs. He eyes me sideways with hardly a turn of his face.
