Page 70 of Artemysia
He kicks off the tree with a feral snarl, his nostrils flaring, a vein in his neck bulges dangerously.
“Get in the cave, all of you.” I stab a finger at them. “And block offthe entrance,” I order, completely on edge.
The cavern is a lot wider and higher on the inside than the small opening outside would indicate. A volcanic formation of lava tunnels, perhaps—like the ones common in the southern mountains. The black cave wall around me glitters with silvery mineral flecks.
The four of us use Ivy’s elk to pull a slab of rock to close off the entrance.
Ivy has already started a fire, and based on how the smoke is sucked away from us deeper into the cavern, the tunnels must be vast and complex. Our voices echo down into the shafts.
As usual, Throg sniffs the air like a predator.
“Does anyone else smell the rocks in here? They remind me of something…” he murmurs to himself, because no one else seems to know what he’s talking about.
Normally, I’d laugh at him, but I’m in a foul mood.
I fumble in my pack for a first-aid kit and approach Riev to clean his head wound, but he pushes the bandages away, retreating to slump against the concave rocky wall, arms folded. I follow, refusing to let him bleed.
“Stay away from me,” he snarls. The high, jagged ceiling of the cave rumbles an echo.
“No,” I say stubbornly.
“Okay, then answer my question. Do you think Ilikekilling?!” Riev shouts.
Perhaps sensing the dangerous tone in both our voices, Ivy and Throg slip out of sight, moving deeper into the cave, downward into the earth.
I call after them with a command. “You two. Find a cavern and set up our tents for the night.” It comes out more sharply than I’d intended.
“Yes, Captain.” Throg’s deep baritone resounds from the darkness beyond the illumination of our fire, though he’s vanished from sight. From what I recall, Riev’s crude rendering included countless zigs and zags and circles representing separate caverns and tunnels.
I answer honestly. “The brutality, the killing. It doesn’t affect you the same way. You don’t hate it.”
He clenches his fist as he whirls on his heels, aiming to slam hishand into the cave wall.
I lunge forward with just as much speed to capture his arm. “Don’t break your hand like an idiot.”
He shakes me off with an angry huff. A heavy beat of silence later, he heaves a sigh and his palms unclench.
“Maybe I don’t hate it. It keeps me alive. It’s how I survive…but…” He drifts off, his breathing shallow.
The flames of the fire between us flash long shadows on the walls and illuminate the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his nose.
“It affects me,” he says quietly.
“Tell me.”
“In my earliest assignments, King Galke ordered me to patrol the river and to kill any Syf on sight. Syf families were spotted swimming in the river in the summer.”
My hand goes to my mouth. “And you did?”
“I killed the adults. Let the young ones escape. But they witnessed their parents being slaughtered. The little ones aren’t the ones attacking us, but the higher-ups said they’d grow up to kill humans, and the less there were in the future, the better.”
“Oh.” The look on his face crushes my heart. He’s never expressed remorse about killing. But I know not showing something doesn’t equate to not feeling it deeply.
“It affects me,” he repeats. He drops into silence for a bit, but I watch his throat bob as he swallows.
“I didn’t know.” Since he won’t look me in the eye, I toe a rock with silver specks, rolling it across the ground.
“You don’t either. Just like you don’t show when you’re scared.”
