A small group of people stood on the other side of the terrace, near a stone railing. Two of them were holding the slumped figure of a man in between them. They looked like the fey guards I’d seen in a previous imprint, in plain gray tunics and leggings, with leather quivers thrown over their backs. The quivers were carved and highly decorated, with a subtle, dark patina from many oilings, but their boots were plain, close fitting and coated in mud, and their silver hair was messy.

Two other men stood nearby, one of whom was obviously a vamp. He was tall and portly, in a long, light blue tunic and thick, dark red leggings. He had a hefty, brown leather belt trying to gird the former and to hold up the latter, but mostly serving as a rest for his substantial belly. He wore a peplum-style jacket in royal blue velvet over everything, which was gorgeously embroidered all over with multicolored birds.

The jacket looked expensive, like the ruby ring that decorated a fat finger and the ridiculously long sleeves on the fine linen shirt he wore underneath the tunic. They were dyed a bright yellow and almost swept the floor. He only lacked a Robin Hood hat with a feather to be the perfect, late medieval dandy, but his expression didn’t match the outfit.

Or maybe it did. His head was thrown back and his fangs were flashing in what might have been a laugh or a snarl. I couldn’t tell which because he wasn’t moving.

Nothing was, including the flowering vine, which had been caught in a breeze and blown inward, scattering bright red petals across the scene. But the cascade stayed suspended in the air, because it looked like I’d been dropped into the middle of a 3-D painting, or like a Pythia had frozen time. It would have fascinated me, since I was rarely in a mood to look around much when I did it.

Except that the last person in the group was Aeslinn.

“Fey imprints are often more vivid,” the telepath said, watching me. “As well as longer and more comprehensive.”

Yeah, I guessed so.

I started to get up, to get close enough to hear them talk, which I guessed was the point. But I turned dizzy as soon as I tried, and plopped back down onto the bench, harder than I’d intended. It was jarring, but not as much as certain other things.

I put my head between my knees and, after a moment, felt a tentative touch on my back.

“It doesn’t usually take people like this,” the telepath said, sounding worried.

“It’s… I skipped breakfast,” I told her, because it sounded better than the truth. And maybe it wasn’t a complete lie, because I felt vaguely nauseous, like maybe my blood sugar needed a bump.