Page 4 of Fallen Nocturne

“The Duskborn Covenant has been building for decades.” Arthur’s earlier ease vanishes, leaving him tense and watchful. “They’re killing every Nightwalker they can find.”

Ruth’s faction.

“I will be all right,” I tell him.

He looks at me carefully.

“You’re not one of them,” he says slowly, studying me again. “But you’re not one of us either.”

He takes a small step back. “What are you?”

Arthur is perceptive and possibly gifted. Whatever remains of Vlad in his blood has found the right places to settle.

“I am not one of Ruthven’s vampires,” I say, meeting his gaze without moving toward him. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

The tension releases from his shoulders. Arthur nods once and falls into step beside me as I continue through the palace. We pass through chambers I have not entered in centuries. The banquet hall lies open to the night, its collapsed ceiling exposing a floor overrun with weeds. Beyond it, the old armory stands empty after generations of looters stripped its racks. We eventually reach the corridor that once led to the lower wards, where I treated the sick, the wounded and anyone else who found their way to my door.

“Do you believe it was real?” Arthur asks. He gestures at the walls around us, the carved stone and the faded remnants of something that was once considerable. “An actual vampire empire. Right here.”

A private smile touches my mouth. “Some stories contain more truth than humans realize.”

“Humans erased us from their records,” he continues, running one hand along a crumbling pillar as he walks. “Turned this into a tourist attraction. Ropes and plaques and a gift shop.”

“They charge too much for the snow globes,” I say.

Arthur smiles, but the expression fades almost as quickly as it appears. “There are rumors,” he says, his voice dropping again. “That the Duskborns are attempting to go beyond the veil now, taking elves and fae to feed upon.”

He pauses, as though deciding whether to commit to the next part. “If such a place even exists.”

Oh, it exists.

Balthazar once showed me one of the passages. A giant ash tree stood at its entrance, its roots forming a tunnel into the land beyond the veil. A world belonging to the fair folk.

I have never crossed into their realm, though I have encountered some of its warriors and assassins in the human world. They hunt the creatures that prey upon mortals and drive beings like us away from regions under their protection.

For centuries, the veil prevented vampires from retaliating. Ruth once tested the passage by forcing one of his offspring through the hollow beneath the ash tree. The vampire burned the moment he crossed, consumed as though he had stepped into sunlight. Others who tried were absorbed into the tree itself, their bodies dragged beneath its bark before they could retreat.

“They believe the blood of fae and elves makes vampires stronger,” Arthur says. “One captive can sustain them far longer than any human.”

I keep my expression still. The thought of elves and fae being dragged from their lands into a vampire war is not a comfortable one. I know what lies beyond the veil. I know what it would cost those people.

That blood also allows Ruth’s offspring to compete with Vlad’s gifted descendants. The abilities carried through Vlad’s line have strengthened with every generation. Some can manipulate minds or move through shadows. Ruth’s faction is frightened. Their slaughter is not only a campaign for dominion. It is an attempt to destroy Vlad’s line before it produces something they can no longer defeat.

“They are becoming bolder,” Arthur continues. “A few years ago, they hunted only isolated Nightwalkers. Now they attack entire households and covens.”

Arthur is still talking when I see her.

A straggler near the gate, the last tourist making her unhurried way out through the arch. Red hair.

I move toward her.

Gwyn.

The thought is irrational. I am aware it is irrational. Gwyn has been dead for centuries, her freckles and her bright eyes all of it gone, all of it dust and old memory. My feet carry me forward anyway, across the courtyard toward the gate, toward the red hair glowing in the fading dusk.

She turns.

It is not her. Her face is unfamiliar, and her eyes are the wrong color. The resemblance that seemed so certain from across the courtyard dissolves as she steps into clearer light. She passes through the gate and disappears without ever knowing I was there.