Page 26 of Artemysia
“Poetry. It’s strange and newfangled,” he warns. “The bookshop owner called it ‘contemporary.’”
He doesn’t read much, but he buys new books, ready for me any time I stop by his house.
It’s how he saysI love youto a daughter who is a soldier.
We haven’t saidI love youto each other since we lost Mom. It was almost a secret agreement not to say it. As if speaking it aloud would alert the universe that we had more people to lose, like some sort of curse.
Neither of us wanted to taunt fate to take away someone else we loved, knowing the last someone on earth we had at the time was each other—because fate is cruel and sadistic like that.
“Copper foil! You didn’t have to spend extra on that.” I trace a finger along the beautiful rose-gold swirls embossed into the cover and spine, secretly glad he spent the extra for the foiled hardcover. It tugs at my heartstrings, because he doesn’t make as much here in the city as he did on the farm.
But it’s safer here in Stargazer.
“What do you want next time?” he asks, as always.
“Poems or mystery or adventure,” I reply, as always.
“I’ll find something new,” he promises.
I take the leather-bound book and mount my elk before steering her toward the main road. When I wave at my father, I know he will stand there outside his little cottage until he can no longer see me—about ten houses down the street when I finally turn out of sight.
It takes all I have to steel myself once more against the rushing tide of emotions that threatens to pull me under. Despite bracing myself against the sorrow, I do my best not to look back over my shoulder at him, even though I want to.
I can’t look back, because if I do, my heart will shatter over and over, and I won’t know how to ever piece it back together again.
An hour later, about halfway back to the Academy on the main road that runs east-west across Stargazer, I’ve swallowed down my feelings. Next time, I’ll bring Throg. He’ll make my father laugh. I focus on that, to fight the strangling fear that there might not be anext timeif the mission through Artemysia goes sideways.
My morbid thoughts are cut short as I approach a pedestrian from behind.
He’s well dressed in a raincloud-gray suit and carries a bouquet ofviolet and fuchsia flowers as he strolls down the middle of the cobblestone path.
I sink deep in my saddle to slow my elk’s approach because I recognize the dark hair tied in a topknot as well as the graceful swagger.
Riev.
I attempt to steer my elk out of sight down a side street, but it’s too late. He’s heard the hooves on stone and turns to move out of the way.
His expression doesn’t change when he sees me, but he stops and waits for me under the awning of a barbershop, his back rigid in perfect posture.
Other pedestrians carrying parcels pass by him. He ignores them as his gaze cuts through the bustling thoroughfare of merchant stalls, alehouses, grocers, leatherworks, and a blacksmith.
He watches intently as I ride up to him. My elk halts to a perfect standstill, and I tower over Riev, giving me a false sense of the upper hand as I look down my nose. He’s clean-shaven and rosy-lipped. Even within the hard angles of his face, there’s an attractive softness of youth that still exists between the lines.
“Delphine.” My name rolls off his lips, breathy and low, as if he breathes out pipe smoke. I try not to feel anything, but the gravelly timbre of his voice spears through me in the most dark and alluring way.
“It’s ‘Captain’ to you,” I correct him. I refuse to let a pretty face and lush voice sway me.
He steps closer to me to allow a postman to pass with a large sack of letters, then pets my elk on the shoulder. I’m very aware that his hand is stroking close to my boot, but he doesn’t touch me. He’s wearing a different tailored suit, a fine gray wool with barely visible pinstripes over a light blue shirt, paired with a navy tie and polished low boots, laced in neat rows.
Sophisticated and stylish.
None of it does anything to hide his well-built form of long, svelte lines.
“Captain,” he drawls. “Saying your goodbyes? I recall your father lives in the western sector, which you pointed out from theclock tower.”
He says that as if it means something to both of us.
It hits me in a deep, dark place.
