Page 8 of Fortune's Blade

Ray had not thought much of that point of view, as he’d mentioned last night, as we sat around a campfire sharing our evening meal.

“Sure, that’s typical,” he’d said, waving a roasted bird’s leg around. Ray, like all vampires, did not require food for sustenance, but refusing to eat what our hosts had provided would have been rude. I, on the other hand, had torn into the stew, flat bread, and roast fowl as if starving, which I mostly was.

A dhampir metabolism was rarely satisfied, and the novelty of choosing what I wanted to eat was a continual revelation. Indeed, everything was a revelation these days, from the way the moonlight filtered through unfamiliar trees, to the strange rhythm a troll girl was dancing to further down the road, her colorful skirts swirling in the firelight, to the haunting call of a bird I couldn’t name somewhere overhead. Faerie was a continual, startling newness around every turn, such as I had never known.

Of course, I had never known a good many things, even back on Earth. My father had long ago separated my and Dory’s consciousnesses, to save his daughter from the madness that took the lives of so many dhampirs. In desperation, he had carved off the vampire side of her nature that was threatening to overwhelm her, and locked me away.

Which was where I had mostly stayed for centuries, able to emerge only for short periods when she was unconscious. Until a series of strange circumstances involving a fey queen’s revenge, an ancient device, and a kidnapping ended with me being separated from her and taken into Faerie, where spirits are clothed in flesh. Giving me, for the first time in my life, a body of my own.

And how very strange that had been!

Dory had been in charge for most of our lives, to the point that I had never really come to grips with making the most basic of human choices—what to eat, what to wear, who to talk to. I went where she did; I ate and wore and talked as she did. And the rare occasions when I was in control were usually during a fight after she had been knocked out and I had been needed to take over.

And there were few choices to be made then except for who to attack next.

But as we traveled with the Wanderers, as they called themselves, I had learned that all decisions were suddenly mine, and it was a bit dizzying even after several weeks. Like the ale, which they drank in great quantities, and which was flavored in so many different ways. There was the small berry ale, as they called it, which was given to children as it was so low in alcohol, and so highly flavored by the dark purple berries that grew along the roadside, that it was basically juice; the rich, red ale, the color deriving from the sap of a vine that grew everywhere and gave it a buzzing feeling that numbed the tongue; and the regular golden ale, which wasn’t flavored with anything, but was so strong that it raised even my eyebrows.

We had a flask of each, so I had to choose between them each time I wanted a drink. It was surprisingly difficult, as I liked them all, and hesitated whenever I went to reach for one. Ray had watched me with firelight gleaming in his eyes, but said nothing, although I knew he’d noticed.

He noticed everything, but although he talked a great deal, he didn’t always comment. Yet he was the one who had made sure that we had all three brews, as if he wanted to force the choice on me. I didn’t understand why he would do that, but I was grateful.

They were all delicious.

After a moment, I settled on the red, and took a drink. “What is typical?” I asked, as the tingling sensation spread over my tongue. It was quite pronounced, as the vine it came from was also used to make salves for burns, and left me with an urge to giggle.

I did not, but Ray looked as if he knew I wanted to.

But again, he didn’t say anything. At least, not about that. He had plenty to say about the great houses, however, and did so at length.

“It’s the same everywhere,” he scowled, swigging back the strong golden ale. “The little guys have to look out for each other, ‘cause the big guys only see us as a commodity. To them, we’re the ones to be bought and sold, or our labor is, and do they ever reward faithful service? Oh, hell no. All they do is take, take, take—and make rules meant for you and me that they ignore themselves.

“So, I figured, maybe there’d be some little guys in Faerie wanting to buy from another little guy. Turns out, I was right. Weapons, wards, freaking snack cakes—there’s a market for it. Like there’s a market in our world for fey wine, which’ll get you drunk off your ass even if you’re a vamp—or a dhampir,” he added, noting the amount I had been drinking.

“This is not fey wine,” I pointed out.

“Naw, but they make it with a lot of the same ingredients. Unless you’re trying to get drunk? Which, I mean, is none of my business.”

I thought about it. “I do not know.”

“You don’t know if you’re trying to get drunk?”

“No.” I took another swallow, and let it play over my tongue. The numbing effect grew more pronounced. I swallowed it, and felt the icy sensation carving a path all the way down to my stomach. It was odd, but I thought I liked it.

But I wasn’t sure about that, either.

“Well, then maybe you outta lighten up ‘til you figure it out,” he said, which sounded like good advice. Ray frequently gave good advice, and since we had landed on these foreign shores together, I had learned to listen to him. I put down the skin.

He frowned.

“What is wrong?” I asked. I did not like to see Ray frown.

“Did you want to stop drinking?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

I hesitated.

“Go on, have another drink,” he told me.

I obediently lifted the skin again, which only made him frown harder.

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