I regarded the fey in question. Ray had a point. He was looking a little worse for the wear, with a missing arm, a proud, blood splattered face, and long, red-stained, silver blond hair. They were so beautiful, these creatures, like their world. I felt a certain . . . not regret, but melancholy, that they’d had to die.
And then I remembered them ripping Ray apart so callously, and I wanted to kill them all over again, but they were already dead.
Although at least this one was still clothed, unlike several others.
I had stripped them to provide Ray and I with something to wear. Whatever had happened in that alley had given me my own body, but it had not transferred over any clothes. That did not bother me, but it might be a problem if we met anyone, as I did not know the customs here.
Unfortunately, the fey leggings had been far too long for either of us, as well as too large. But the tunics had proven easier to work with. I had hacked off part of the sleeves so that they did not cover our hands, but otherwise hadn’t needed to do anything. The one I was wearing was knee length on me, while Ray’s was a little below mid-thigh.
They were also very fine. Ray’s was brown, although that word didn’t do it justice. It had a luxurious, velvety nap, which turned a beautiful russet shade if smoothed one way, and a light sable when pushed the other. I had settled on calling it brown, but it was more like the hue of the forest floor: different every time you looked at it from another angle.
My tunic was simpler: a pale gray that did not change color. It was technically quite plain, with neither embellishment nor embroidery, but it was not peasant garb. It had a silver sheen to it when the sun hit it, and while it was a thick, heavy weave that was as warm as wool, it felt as light as silk. It looked like what it was: the clothing of an aristocrat.
It appeared that the fey had sent elite soldiers after me, ones willing to die to complete their mission, and yet they had equipped themselves so poorly. There wasn’t a sword in the group, and only a single knife, and it was quite small. I had found a leather belt with a scabbard attached, into which I’d already placed the knife for ease of transport, although it didn’t fit. It was more like the kind you would normally slip down a boot, in order to hide it.
But why would the fey have to hide their weapons? And why did they have so few of them? It looked as if the larger knife had been left behind, and just the empty scabbard taken into battle.
Even if they had planned merely to push me into the trap they’d laid, and had not thought to get caught inside with me, surely it would have been better to be cautious? Going practically unarmed into battle against a largely unknown enemy, and one with backup nearby, with almost no weapons? It did not make sense.
Like carrying pints of human blood.
I could only think of one reason the fey would have blood. They must have thought that dhampirs were like vampires, and that I would need it to heal should I be wounded in the fight. They clearly wanted me alive, for what purpose I did not know, but they wanted it badly.
Enough to strip their soldiers before battle?
All except the one with the knife hidden in his boot.
“Dorina?”
Ray snapped his fingers in front of my face, as if he had been attempting to get my attention for a while. Or, to be more accurate, he tried to snap them. It would probably be several days before his coordination fully returned, after his nerve endings healed. That put us at a disadvantage in a fight, and I was little better.
I had tried to manifest my spirit form a few minutes ago to scout out the area and see if I could spot any silver-haired fey. Or to determine if there was a village nearby where I could nudge help our way. But it had not worked. I did not know whether that was because Faerie had different magic from Earth, or whether I was merely too tired. The two fights had taken a great deal out of me, and my spirit form took considerable energy.