Page 94 of Artemysia
I must really care about Riev, that a-hole.
Syf children scream, and their parents pull them away, hiding them behind their legs or gathering them up against their chests. Throg, Ivy, and I ride past the retreating Syf on a paved path of dark green bricks.
Syf children. Syf parents.
When I halt my elk, the clopping of Throg and Ivy’s steeds goes silent behind me.
No one around us has raised a weapon of any sort. I signal to Throg and Ivy to keep our blades sheathed too, despite all my instincts telling me otherwise when it comes to Syf.
I gather my wits to assess our surroundings. We were just in the deepest of dark forests and entered a hollow in a tree. As if that wasn’t enough of a surprise, we’ve exited out the other side into a sophisticated modern village awash in pastel colors. Instead of thatched roofing, the houses are tiled in light gray slate and outfitted with gas-lamp sconces like the newer builds in Stargazer. Instead of wood or stone, these cottages are constructed from slabs of tinted marble blocks.
The screaming Syf families scramble into these buildings and shops.
It’s sunny and warm. A wide main road of smooth green brick, not cobblestone, lies before us, cutting through the middle of town.
On each side of our paved path, crystals in all colors of the rainbow jut from the earth.
Amethyst, topaz, jade, citrine, pink tourmaline.
“There.” Throg nods toward the horizon.
The steepled peaks of a massive castle rise sharply into low clouds. My eyes narrow at the brightness. It’s carved from the brightest white marble in sharp geometric shapes and continuous razor-sharp lines. Not the misshapen, rounded edges of stone I’ve seen in other strongholds.
Ivy voices all our thoughts. “The King of Artemysia must live there. Unless this is only a regional castle? How big is this place? Aren’t wein a hole in a tree?”
“At least no one is attacking us.” Yet.
We ride toward the sky-high palace. My plan is to keep our weapons sheathed and aim for the castle as if invited. If we’re attacked, my only backup plan is to race back toward the gateway in the tree.
More and more, I wonder if this is all a strange dream. How can any of this exist? The rainbows of jagged crystals jutting out of the dirt on both sides of the paved path appear to have grown out of the earth rather than having been embedded there for decoration. In Stargazer, gems are mined in our southern mountains, and any one of these crystals would be a rare find and sold to be cut into the finest jewelry.
Unfamiliar songbirds chirp from red- and gold-leafed trees. At least it appears to be autumn here too, as it is in Stargazer, despite the warm day.
Halfway up the road, we’re met by a band of four young guards. Same sea-green tunics and pale gold armor as the Syf army we encountered earlier.
We raise our palms to show that our swords remain sheathed.
The two Syf in the back of the formation draw their weapons—a gleaming spear and a glimmering, razor-sharp long sword.
“Impossible,” the Syf leading the guardsmen exclaims, raising a fist to the two behind her. They lower their weapons. “How did you enter Artemysia?”
“Front gate. The tree,” Ivy replies confidently. She’s unclasped the sheath of her largest knife, a kukri. Curved and lethal, made for chopping, slashing, slicing.
Her favorite blade to decapitate Syf.
“King Foss must be told of this breach in security,” says the second Syf, equally confused, her black tail swishing over the left side of her steed’s hindquarters.
“Human warriors. Are you here for warfare?” the third Syf asks, perplexed, his pale eyes wide.
None of these Syf are aggressive.
They seem inexperienced with humans as threats. Based on their wide-eyed expressions, they’re baffled by our presence, rather than hostile.
I don’t let my guard down, though. “One of my men is with yourKing Foss. We are here to negotiate for him,” I say.
“But no one may enter without the will of the king or his heir,” says a third with hair and tail the color of rich oak bark. The very short hair on Syf tails is always the same color as the hair on their heads, which obviously makes sense when I think about it.
“Then the will of the king must be in our favor,” Throg announces boldly.
