Page 6 of Artemysia
“Captain. There you are.” A deep, familiar voice is followed by a muscled silhouette with short, wavy hair, like a blonde monster cherub.
Throgmorton. My second in command.
“I’m fine. Just getting some air.” I’m hoping he doesn’t catch the waver in my voice.
Throg closes the distance with heavy strides and towers over us.
His gaze travels between me and the stranger and back again. He exhales a sound somewhere between a grunt and ahmph.
“That ‘air’ looks mysterious and handsome…maybe a little dangerous.” Throg keeps things simple.
He seems pleased with his assessment. It must have looked as intimate as it felt rather than the fervent end of a wild dog fight for dominance. But Throg doesn’t ask questions about my personal life unless he can’t sleep and wants to keep me awake to chat the night away.
“Go back to your whiskey, Commander,” I tell him gruffly.
“I’m not a commander until you’re officially promoted tomorrow.” Throg turns to the stranger. “What’s your name, handsome?” He flashes what I know is his menacing grin. “In case my captain disappears and I need to hunt you down.”
“Riev.”Ree-v, he breathes out one longe, deathly calm and quiet—a viper before a strike.
“Riev, huh? I’m Throg.”
“I’ve already forgotten your name,” Riev says impassively.
Throg snorts. “I won’t forget yours.” A toothy grin shows straight white teeth, aimed only at me. He’s too good-natured and clever to start a fight over a mildly snarky insult. “Holler if you need me. Remember, we get our next mission tomorrow, so have fun, but don’t stay out too late.” Throg lifts his massive stein and salutes before lumbering back toward the pub.
Even though he knows I can take care of myself, he can’t help watching out for me like a big brother. He’s been with the Academy longer than I have but would rather follow than lead. After we met in training ten years ago, he decided to follow me.
I glance back at Riev. I’m willing to bet my life that my face flushes again as our eyes meet.
To fill the awkward silence, I hear myself begin to prattle on about Throg. “Don’t let his big, brutish appearance fool you. His nails are manicured and his rings are real gold and gemstone. He can’t stand ale so he has the bartender fill his mug with the best whiskey there is. Orion Throgmorton.”
A brow lifts. Everyone knows the Throgmorton name.
Riev remains silent, though. I’m about to turn away but stop dead in my tracks, unable to stifle a gasp. “Your eye is bleeding!”
The cut across his left eye, from eyebrow to cheek, has split, perhaps made worse by our scuffle. Blood weeps down his cheek.
It’s disgusting and wickedly sexy at the same time.
He touches it and winces when his fingers come away dark and wet with blood. “Damn Syf. It’s fine.”
Finally, some information. “Where?”
“Artemysia.”
Artemysia.The Syf forest. “What were you doingthere?”
“Someone has to find out why the Syf are leaving Artemysia to kill us.”
My eyes narrow in on him. “That’s your assignment? As amessenger?”
Why the Syf began to attack us twenty years ago is an endless mystery—especially after two hundred years of keeping to themselves in peace, hidden in the woods of Artemysia.
And the Academy would never send a messenger to find out.
Diplomacy is impossible. Syf are not known to speak any language at all, much less read or write. There are old stories that humans and Syf used to trade over two hundred years ago, but at this point they may as well be myth.
Even more peculiar, no human has crossed the woods and made it back alive, not in recorded history, at least. The Syf claim the entire forest, which runs east to west, coast to coast, across our peninsula shaped like a fish leaping out of water.
