Page 62 of Artemysia
You’re one-of-a-kind, which means you’re irreplaceable. Her words replay in my disbelieving mind.
I’ve been falling, uncontrolled.
But she breaks the hard fall with her soft heart.
“I knifed him and ran away.” - Ivy
Part of me is trying to make sense of how Riev could be Syf, and why he was abandoned. Was it by his human or his Syf parent, or both? What happened to them? The other part of me admits that being part-Syf fits with everything I know about him.
His physicality, his strength and speed. His lithe body. Even his dark hair paired with pale eyes.
All Syf characteristics.
No pointy ears or claws, though. It’s unusual that Owlfred didn’t bite him, but that doesn’t mean he can control animals.
Plus, as far as I’ve seen, there’s no sign of him being anything other than human in action and thought and emotion. He isn’t a feral Syf hell-bent on destroying every human alive.
The scars could mean nothing. Perhaps an accident when he was a baby.
My feelings toward him remain the same, though hisshame over his potential origins hurts my heart. It doesn’t change who he is to me.
But despite the pleasure and closeness last night, it’s hard to believe there can be anything more to “us” as we head into Artemysia, so it doesn’t matter who or what he is to me anyway. Right?
I’d meant to tell him there would be no more indulgences like last night, and that we needed to stay focused to stay alive. But then he dropped his life-defining secret, and it wasn’t the right moment to bring it up.
Either way, now is not the time for us.
Not as if there was really a chance for me and him to be an “us.”
My optimism can go only so far when reality quashes all possibilities in the matter.
“Throg, I need you to rebraid my fishtail, please.” I ripple my loose ribbons at him. “I can’t move my left arm that way yet.” My shoulder still hurts like hell, but half an anesthetic pill every few hours will get me through the next leg of our journey.
“I’m on it.” Throg bounds over enthusiastically.
Ivy and Riev are hunched over his notebook of maps on the kitchen counter, whispering, thick as thieves. My eyes narrow, suspicion aroused. Before I can ask what they’re discussing, Ivy whips her head around and hurdles over the bench, sliding next to me at the kitchen table.
“I’ll do your hair.” She shoos Throg away.
I clutch the ribbons back into my chest, skeptical of her intentions.
Throg shrugs at me with his palms up, but I nod, so he returns to packing and collecting food from the pantry.
Riev gathers his maps and disappears into the bedroom.
“Look at mine. Perfect.” Ivy shakes her crown of braids like the thrashing beast that she is, adding in a low snarl for effect. “I promise your braid will never fall out, no matter how hard you’re galloping or slashing your blade. Plus, Throg’s giant hands will just pull out your hair.”
Throg clears his throat. “You didn’t complain about hair-pullinglast night. Or my large hands.”
“I admit your large fingers are surprisingly dexterous. Good at finding my—”
“I’ll let you braid if you stop there.” I press the ribbons and pins into her palm.
The two of them share a ravenous look and laugh.
Ivy works her fingers into my hair, gathering the top into portions. “Your hair is so long. But why are you prematurely gray? What are you, forty?”
I snort. “I’m not forty! I’m only a year older than you, according to Riev. My dad says my hair lost color because it sprouts out from all the worry I keep in my brain.”
