I stopped talking, because Arsen was suddenly looking at me like I’d lost my mind. And then he shook me, which was more than a little uncomfortable under the circumstances. Damn, I wished I had my power!

“What do you mean, bring back the gods?”

I stared at him, with much the same expression that he’d just used on me. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Well… what do you think this war is about?”

“Invasion!” he spat it at me. “Your people joined our old enemy and attacked us—”

“For what? Shits and giggles?”

“For resources! For lands! For Caedmon’s hubris—”

“And why would we give a crap about any of that? Our people can’t live in Faerie, and your resources frankly scare us. We don’t want your stuff; we want you to leave us alone—”

More shaking commenced, to the point that Arsen’s fingers were biting into my arms. “You lie! Caedmon bribed you!”

“With fucking what?” I demanded, getting angry now myself, even through the languor that a certain incubus was trying to spread. “I told you, we don’t want your shit! We have laws against imports from Faerie, which cause all kinds of hell in our world. We don’t want anything to do with you—”

“Then why help him?”

“What did I just say? Your king is trying to bring back the gods, who are going to kill us all! We’re trying to survive!”

And then a new sound cut through the din: the tromp, tromp, tromp of many booted feet. Arsen twisted his head to look, but I didn’t need to do likewise. I was already facing the road, and through the blowing limbs of a willow, I saw them: Svarestri troops, what looked like hundreds of them, double timing it through the trees.

The dragon screeched again, before suddenly wheeling and flying off. Aeslinn had known how the fey would react, I thought, watching him. He’d known they would attack him on sight, but he’d also wanted to be here, to make sure that his prize wasn’t snatched out from under his nose again before the cavalry could arrive.

And now they had, pouring out of the small road in rank after rank, and flooding the camp.

Son of a bitch!

And then I felt it again, only far stronger than before: the languorous call of incubus magic, dialed all the way up to eleven. It flooded the air around us, turned the night sultry and calm, and faded the sounds of the battle to a pleasant background noise, like the drone of bees. It did something else, too.