Page 50 of A Shard of Ice

Even so, the bloodfae are relentless, pressing their advantage as another of their kind joins the volley.

No! Please!

I look at the dagger in my hand. It would be useless in a sword fight. The fae who came at me earlier sheathed their swords, thinking I would be a soft target. That wouldn’t happen this time. I would be dispatched in a heartbeat.

Damon’s face is a mask of sheer determination as he throws himself into the skirmish. His bright blue eyes are so vivid as they narrow and flick from one fae to the other. In a sudden burst of effort, Damon lunges forward, plunging his sword intothe chest of one of the bloodfae. The fae’s eyes widen in shock before glazing over as he falls.

Just then, General Belen gives a shout. “Retreat! Retreat!” he yells. “Fall back!” He’s sitting atop his black stallion, his spear is raised.

No!

This can’t be happening.

I watch in horror as the few remaining shadowfae mount and ride away at a flat gallop. Some of the bloodfae give chase while others dispatch wounded shadowfae. The rest surround Damon. I count six…no, seven. Too many!

No! No! No!

I swallow hard. I want to help him, but I can’t. They’ll quickly overthrow me.

“You should surrender,my Lord.”It’s said in a sneer. “Drop that sword.”

My Lord.

Why are they calling him that?

I get this uneasy feeling in my belly.

“Drop it!” another male snarls. “We may not kill you, but we can make you bleed if you do not listen. Most of us have fed well, so don’t try to use your magic on us either. It will end badly for you if you do.”

“Where is that sweet human I saw you with earlier?” Another looks around him, and I duck back down, my heart stuttering.

“Her blood smelled extra sweet,” another says, sniffing the air.

I grab a handful of mud and slather it over the small, bleeding nick on my shoulder. They’ll smell me out otherwise. They might still be able to, even after taking measures against it.

I crouch as still as a statue. My heart is racing. I’m trying hard not to breathe too loudly.

“She’s mine when we find her,” someone says, his voice full of bravado. I think it’s the same bloodfae.

“We’d have to fight for her, Egan,” another one yells; it sounds like he is smiling.

“You have two left arms, Hector. I will win every time.”

They all laugh.

Hooves splash on the wet ground as a horse approaches at a jog. “The Primus wants us to ride out as soon as possible. There could be other groups looking for the icefae. He is prized, indeed. Tie him up, and we mount.”

Prized?

Why did the bloodfae call him “lord”? He said he was once powerful. Perhaps he is an earl or a duke?

Surely, he isn’t a king. One of the lost kings. No! Absurd. Just thinking it makes me feel stupid.A king in a salt mine? No! The kings are gone. It is rumored that Snow killed them all. That makes the most sense to me. Not this. But there is a bounty on his head. He was powerful. He has to be someone of importance.

“Tie him up, Hector. Make sure you do a good job,” someone says in a gruff voice.

I hear footsteps and sniffing. Someone is walking this way and that, coming ever closer to my hiding place, which isn’t much of a hiding place. If he walks beyond these rocks and turns, he will see me easily. I shut my eyes, praying to each of the gods that it doesn’t happen.

“What are you doing?” It sounds like Egan. He sounds irritated.

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