Page 44 of Artemysia
It’s mine.
One of my favorite shirts.
I slipped it into the pile because it was warmer and softer than the shirts I found in the outpost closet.
Her back still turned to me, she drops the quilt to change into my shirt. My fucking shirt. On her naked body. I’m not bold enough to stay in the room.
I throw my book onto the side table and rush out, keeping my eyes squeezed shut, and nearly knock myself out on the doorframe.
“Did a family of river crocodiles teach you to eat?” - Riev
I’m with Ivy. I’m starving. My shoulder wound sears like fire when I pull on my riding pants before dinner, but with another dose of painkillers, I’m not in as much pain as I should be. I’ve been stabbed, slashed with a sword, and grazed by a spear, but this is the deepest cut I’ve ever had.
When I asked Riev to show me how much of the dagger went in, I nearly passed out again. Luckily, it wasn’t poisoned or rusty.
Riev was in his usual irritable mood when I woke up, grumpy-pants glowering and taciturn as usual, but with more of an edge. Maybe he’s hungry too. Did he sleep in the chair all night while I was out?
When I swing the bedroom door outward, Throg and Ivy applaud, raising their steins. “Cheers, Captain!” Throg is shirtless and pantless as usual after work hours, his broad, tanned chest and shoulders eclipsing the furnishings in the small outpost.
The thatched-roof outpost is set up to be as homey aspossible, with a kitchen, a dining table and two bedrooms, decorated with castoff furniture, paintings, and books, all donated by locals. No living room, though. An armoire of weapons stands by the door and a large pantry of supplies that the villagers keep generously stocked is built into the wall near the stove.
That’s how it works at most of these Academy outposts.
The three of them drown themselves in their drinks at the table bench. Ivy belches and splashes her drink everywhere with her animated gestures as she speaks, and Throg spills whiskey down his chin as he tips back his mug, saying cheap whiskey is still better than any ale.
Riev sulks with his judging eyes, glaring at the two of them as he sets the table, muttering about table manners.
Plates and silverware surround a large, steaming pot on the center of the table. The stew smells meaty, peppered with pungent herbs. In other words, absolutely delicious. My stomach gurgles. Throg’s creations are always more meat and potatoes than vegetables. I can’t wait.
“You fucking saved my ass, Captain!” Ivy shouts, patting the seat next to her. “You were unbelievable. That knife hit you in the shoulder because you’re taller, but it would have hit me in the throat or head.”
I ease myself onto the bench, the cold stone floor chilling my feet through my long winter riding socks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What happened toCaptain Fancy Bird?”
“You and Throg saved me, and I already rewarded Throg.” She glances across the table at him, and their faces crack into wide grins.
“Little demon,” Throg mutters, absently scratching his bare chest.
“Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.” I roll my eyes at him but can’t suppress a grin. I’m alive; it could have been worse.
Everyone is alive, and I’m grateful.
Riev hasn’t said anything, but he eyes me as he serves up a bowl of stew. Throg tosses me a large chunk of beer bread, which I snatch out of the air with my good arm.
Ivy reaches over the table for a wedge of sheep’s cheese and places it in front of me. “This outpost is stocked full of goodies. I mean, everyone must’ve just left.”
We look at each other, thinking the same question.
Where is everyone in Limingfrost?
“What did you find when you searched the village? All the doors were open but no one was dead?” I ask.
“No one’s dead,” Throg confirms. “Bookshelves emptied, the books taken. Letters and papers rifled through in most houses we checked. Someone was searching for something. But the villagers must’ve left before any raid. No signs of struggle except for ours. You left a big puddle of blood, Captain.”
I nod, a bit lightheaded. I’d looked pale in the bathroom mirror. “The band we encountered weren’t looking for anything except people to murder. They weren’t organized enough to be searching the houses. None of them had packs to hold books. Someone else is involved.” I slice off a large wedge of cheese and gobble it down.
I’m surprised when my insight isn’t met with a rude dismissal of some sort by Riev.
