Page 96 of Artemysia
The Syf king bids us to enter with a wave of his hand. Even from afar, his blue eyes catch the light.
He sits on a grand snow-white throne, the armrests and back carved to accommodate the long rose-gold wings draping down his shoulders and back, slack and idle. Syf wings vary in color, but their tails always match their dark hair. He’s still wearing a brilliant crown the same shade as his wings, set with soft green opals that glow when he angles his head toward the door.
He doesn’t seem surprised to see us.
But seated beside him with his legs sprawled wide in an equally complicated chair, wearing an equally ornate crown and looking jaw-droppingly gorgeous in Syf silks and armor—is Riev.
Riev chokes on the wine that he sips from a green crystal flute.
I feel myself blanching, and my mouth hangs open. It’s hard to say whose face displays more shock—his or mine—but Ivy speaks for all of us again.
“What the fuck, Riev?!” Her sharp words echo off the gold-streaked marble walls.
“Why’s it brighter and warmer here?” - Ivy
King Foss doesn’t flinch at Ivy’s coarse tone as it bounces high up the white and gold walls, the stone so smooth, it’s almost reflective. Like the hallway, pretty much every damn thing in here is embedded with jewels. They’re the biggest fucking gems I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been in King Galke’s treasury at Stargazer. Hell, he sometimes paid me in jewelry. But the Artemysian gemstones are the size and color of ripe summer fruit. If I had any one of them, I’d be as rich as a baron of the mountain mines in the south.
The largest emerald, centered at the top of my stupid, uncomfortable chair, might even be difficult for Throg to palm in one hand.
I can’t pry my eyes off Delphine, though. Why is she here? How in the world did she find me?I don’t even really know how I got here. They drugged me, and I woke up here about an hour ago. I can’t be sure how long I was unconscious.
While I was out, someone bathed me and dressed mein a high-collared green silk tunic, white pants, and suede boots. I’d feel violated, except it feels so good to be clean. I really can’t complain. Their facilities are spotless. Not a speck of dirt or dust anywhere, and I don’t hate it. For a brief horrifying moment, I wonder if my need to be tidy is a Syf characteristic. Maybe I actually have a Syf side. I’m still in denial, but I’m okay with that for now.
Here’s the kicker, though. I thought they brought me here to punish me.
Instead, they cleaned me up, handed me a goblet of wine, and plopped a crown of rare opals on my head. If I ran away with this bejeweled monstrosity on my forehead, I’d be set for life.
Next thing I knew, I was escorted here and shown a seat next to King Foss, and he started lecturing me about the history of Artemysia from two thousand years ago. The wine is strong—likely drugged—but if I am to die, I may as well be drunk. My attention lapsed until Delphine showed up.
This must be some sort of mind game, or how they trick prisoners into talking. Am I still under the influence of whatever I inhaled earlier?
I don’t know if I am in a dream or a nightmare.
Under one king’s thumb to another, to be used however he sees fit. It’s my damn fate in life.
But Delphine is here, looking as determined as ever. And highly irritated. This is real. I never thought I’d see her again. She risks her life over and over, for me. I’m a liability to her, even though I believed I saved her by leaving.
“Riev, what are you doing? Are you okay?” Delphine’s quiet concern twists my heart. She needs to be worried for herself. I don’t know what they do to humans here. They haven’t answered any of my questions; King Foss had just started talking about my father again when the messenger interrupted us. He’d whispered in the king’s ear so I couldn’t hear.
I nod at Delphine. I’m not sure my voice will sound okay if I say anything, and I don’t want her to worry.
“How did you track us?” the king asks her. “What deception did you use to open the Gateway?” Several translucent fronds of his rose-gold wings unfurl to expand sideways—his mighty wingspanis one of the larger ones I’ve seen. When at ease, Syf wings drape arm-length down the backs of the smaller females, but on the bigger males like Foss, they drop all the way to their ankles.
Delphine refuses to be intimidated. “The hollow in the tree opened when I reached my hands in,” she replies, effortlessly calm.
“Only by the will of the king or his heir can the tree be opened, we were told,” Throg chimes in defensively. “So you must have allowed it.”
The Syf king’s cold blue eyes shift left, to me. “I did not. You must have willed it, Riev? You wanted them to find us.”
I shrug as apathetically as possible. “Hell if I know how this place works.” I don’t trust King Foss, and I resent being taken under threat of death of my companions.
Delphine and Throg exchange astonished glances.
Only then does the meaning of his words hit me. The King orhis heir. Me? Impossible.
“The heir? Riev?” Ivy spits out, apparently the only one not too stunned to speak.
“As I was attempting to explain to Riev, I am his uncle, and he is the sole heir to Artemysia. I am to train him to take over the crown when I retire.”
