Nearby voices startled me back to myself. Enough to see that a party of silver-haired fey had stopped a short distance from my bush, with their legs clearly visible through the leaves. Which meant that I was probably visible to them, too, with only the darkness hiding me. But darkness was relative around here, as demonstrated when one of those damned bugs landed on my nose, lighting my face with soft blue luminescence.

If one of them looked down, I was screwed.

Of course, I was anyway, I thought, when Faerie grabbed me again.

Arsen saw in his mind that hideous stump, where the king’s hand should have been. That was an old wound, long healed, with only pale skin covering the strangely flat end. It looked like it had been taken off by one blow of a sword, years ago. And that… did not fit the story he had been told.

He tried to think back to the last time he had seen the king. It had been shortly before the battle for the capitol, when Aeslinn had ridden away from the city with a contingent of his most loyal fey. There would be an attack, on one of the two great capitols, the king had declared. He had left Arsen in charge of Issengeir, the governmental seat of the newer lands taken in the easterly wars, while he came here, to the ancient city of Dolgrveginn.

The attack had come at Issengeir, and had been a complete slaughter. The humans’ magic was difficult to counter, and they had somehow managed to take down the city’s formidable shields. They had also brought an army of blood sucking monsters along with them, beings of terrible power.

They were unbelievable fast, as strong as a herd of bull oxen, and possessed abilities Arsen had never before seen. He had heard stories of the creatures the humans called vampires, but they had been nothing to this. He’d lost half of his fey in the initial assault and would have lost more if he hadn’t pulled the rest back, to guard the evacuation of women and children that he’d ordered in anticipation of an attack, but which was still ongoing.

He’d been the last one out of the palace, and vividly remembered looking back down the corridor at the approaching foe. They’d already slashed their way through the throne room, leaving dozens of bodies in their wake. They had been old friends—good soldiers—who had volunteered to stay behind, even knowing what was coming. But they’d also known that they were providing a distraction, giving the foe the illusion that the king remained in residence and focusing their attention on the palace, while Arsen and the rest of the army evacuated the remaining areas of the city.

They had spent their lives to buy him time, and how had they met their end?