Arsen had had more than one nightmare about that day, and they always, always featured the vampire captain. And the bodies of his fey, lying dead in drifts, like bleeding snow. Aye, he remembered those as well.

And yet, when he had returned here, with the remains of his army, leading a host of frightened refugees, where was the king?

No one knew; no one had seen him. And he had not returned for several more weeks. When he finally did show up, he had declared that he and his contingent of soldiers had been almost caught several times on their way back by some of Caedmon’s troops, and had had to take detours that ate up much time.

But Caedmon’s fey had all been at the capitol.

And how had he lost his hand, if he saw no fighting, as he claimed? And to a demon’s whore, at that? If there was an answer, Arsen did not know it.

He did know that the fleet, almost a thousand of the small vimāna that the gods had taught them how to make, had been deployed, but not to battle. Caedmon had owned the skies that day at the capitol, or Lord Alacono as the king insisted on calling him, as it was one of his names from before he ascended to the throne—a throne that Aeslinn claimed. The small vessels they used for scouting and patrolling the borders could have helped greatly in the evacuation, and might have even turned the tide of war.

But they had not been there, and they were not here now. The great bays stood empty; the fleet gone along with a goodly number of the fey who Aeslinn had taken with him from the capitol. Scattered, or so it was rumored, looking… for what Arsen knew not.

Aeslinn had been less than forthcoming about all of this, even as the queen went missing, too, as well as the prince, and Arsen spent his days trying to feed the refugees now flooding into the city, not only from Issengeir, but from the surrounding towns and villages, from half the realm. For Caedmon was now on the move, not content with the easterly lands, but seemingly determined to take all. And what occupied the king’s mind?

Some hellspawn, some half demon he’d been obsessed with for years. It made no sense! And it was going to get them all killed.

“Auggghhh!” Someone was screaming, possibly me as I’d just been kicked in the head.

I fell back, into the middle of some kind of attack. I looked up to see spell bolts shooting though the night air just above me, and wildly whipping trees, and a lot more fey—it looked like reinforcements had arrived, although why they had thought they needed them for me, I didn’t know.

And then I realized: they weren’t for me.