Page 123 of Artemysia
Hold on. “If I were Syf, wouldn’t I have overtaken you? They’re stronger, and I’m not seeing any amazing fighting skills here at the manor.”
Prince Toryl pushes off the bed and strides across the room to an oversized wardrobe. He sets down the syringe case and pulls out a gold robe along with a matching thick, folded towel.
He passes me the robe. I’m relieved to finally cover myself, and he holds out the towel as I tie the robe.
“I’m not completely helpless. I have fighting skills,” Toryl says in his defense.
I snort.
He takes my insult in stride. “Not like yours, but that’s what the syringe is for. Normal Syf aren’t violent. They can be sedated. Unlike Syf who have been turned, as you’ve seen.”
“But why—”
“Hot bath is through those doors on the right.” His tone has eased, and the lines in his brow vanish. “Use all the hot water you want. Scrub and other supplies are in the cabinet. I’ll be in my office behind the left door. Pick out anything you want from the wardrobe and come find me when you’re done.”
I recall thatscrubmeansbar soaphere.
He pauses. “You did save my life, and I am grateful. I apologize—I had to inspect you myself. I couldn’t trust the guards to keep their hands off you.” He levels me with a look, his brows furrowed. “My father’s guards are not always honorable with female prisoners,” he says through gritted teeth.
I’m taken aback at his change in attitude. His words contradict my first impression of him as a cold, unfeeling bully. Thoroughly confused, I wonder if, like me, he wears a mask when stepping into a leadership role to hide his true feelings because it’s expected of him.
However, he had me at “hot bath.” I’m more than happy to clean off the Syf’s blood and guts, and I can’t find any reason to believe it’s a trick.
He’s already passing through his office door and apparently doesn’t expect a reply. I debate if I should make a run for it and find Riev. It seems more sensible to do as I am told for now. I have the attention of the Prince of North Kingdom, and there is more information to be gleaned.
I call out after him. “Why would the Syf spy on you, High Lord?”
After all, I am still here to gather information. I need to figure out what he knows, what his kingdom knows.
Toryl halts mid-stride, the cords of his neck tensing. He doesn’t answer right away, but drags a hand through his wavy hair, whichfalls right back into place. It’s as if he’s gathering his thoughts. “What would you do, Marchioness, if you were surrounded by an enemy on three sides, and your back was against a wall on the fourth?”
“Easy.” We teach these strategic thought games at the Academy to new recruits. What this has to do with Syf spying on humans, I have no idea. “Diplomacy, negotiation, alliances—”
“No. Those are preemptive tactics,” Toryl cuts in. “War has already begun.”
“What does the enemy want? Resources, power, territory, revenge—”
“Annihilation,” he says grimly.
He’s unwilling to offer more, so I pause to consider this. “Their motivation, at least?” I ask, exhaling loudly out of exasperation.
He shrugs. “Motivation unknown. And you’re outnumbered, outmatched, and there’s no way to win.”
What answer is he looking for? This is no longer a textbook situation. There isalwaysmotivation. Why else would anyone risk war? I draw upon my own experience. When fighting Syf, whose strength outmatches ours, their motivation would be bloodlust and to feed on human flesh. Or so I thought.
“If you’re not looking for a textbook answer, I will say my answer is to create chaos.”
The lines between his brows deepen. I’ve piqued his interest. Instinct tells me that what I say next may change his mind about whatever he had originally planned for me.
I continue. “Without more information, which you seem unwilling to provide, if I am surrounded on three sides with my back against a wall, the only way tonotlose is to create chaos.”
“Go on.” He steps closer, listening intently, his cool, iceflower scent invading my nostrils, reminding me of a snowy winter’s day. It somehow matches his personality.
“The strength of the enemy is in how closely they work together, how they fight as a cohesive unit,” I say.
It’s why Throg and I work so well together. It’s why Ivy, for all her insanity, is an ingenious fighter. From our very first fight together at Limingfrost, she figured out exactly what I needed from her to stay ahead of the enemy, though they outnumberedus.
“Once cohesion is lost, numbers don’t matter. You can pick them off one by one. At that point, send out your strongest and drive through the middle of the three sides like a spear.”
