Page 101 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

“You’re likely right.” Emotion flickers in his gaze.

Sympathy? Remorse?

I’m not sure.

Anders clears his throat, and we resume walking. “Not a bother. We will simply have to rectify the gaps in your knowledge while you’re here. Starting with the history of Virendrell. What do you know about it?”

He turns and leads me down another broad hall, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow. The palace is much larger than it first appeared.

“Other than it being an island nation where Fae and humans live together?” I shrug. “Nothing.”

Gods, I hate admitting that out loud.

I’ve always considered myself intelligent. Studious. My natural gifts pushed me to become a talented healer, but it was discipline—learning every technique, every remedy, every scrap of information I could find—that allowed me to become a great one.

I’ve prided myself on my knowledge. It’s uncomfortable not to have it.

Anders dips his head, his expression solemn before he smooths it away.

“The founders of Virendrell were Mountain Fae,” he begins. “Hundreds of years ago, a small group descended from their mountainous stronghold and sailed to this island, only to discover humans already living here.”

“What—” I trip on the edge of a tasseled rug, tightening my grip on Anders’s arm to keep from falling.

Heat floods my cheeks as I right myself.

“What happened?” I continue. “Was there a fight for the land?”

With no exterior windows in the hall, the sconces’ light paints Anders’s face in stark relief. Now the sympathy in his expression is impossible to miss.

“No.” His voice lowers when a maid hurries by, carrying a stack of linens. “Humans welcomed the Fae with open arms. The two races have lived side by side ever since.”

My lips turn down. Why couldn’t the same have happened in Astloria?

We stop before a set of double doors, each as tall as two men and almost equally as wide.

I stare at the pale wood, smooth and unadorned, except for silver handles and two small square windows set a hand’s breadth above my head. The grain reminds me of the furniture in the room I slept in.

Anders opens the doors, and we step inside the library.

Heavy silence presses down on me the moment the doors close behind us, as if words will damage the precious tomes sitting on the two stories of bookshelves bordering the warm space. As if a hiccup will knock over the shelves running the length of the rectangular room.

I drink in the elegant lanterns glowing atop sturdy tables, the toga-clad women reading and scribbling notes with quiet focus, and the countless books.

I want nothing more than to lose myself in this room, to devour any knowledge I can get my hands on. My feet itch to run back to my guest room to retrieve the Fae text and come back here to read it. To bask in this studious atmosphere while I try to deduce a method for curing Darius.

But lingering questions about Virendrell demand my attention.

“So…what happened?” I whisper, careful not to disturb the women working. “Where are the Mountain Fae now? Did they leave?”

Aside from Anders, I haven’t seen a single blond Fae. But their lifespans are long. Surely some still live.

His mouth tightens. “They died alongside many humans during the Shadow Wars.”

“What?” The word explodes from my lips.

Two women’s heads snap up. I cringe and, with an apologetic grimace, step away from Anders and turn to face him, searching his expression for any sign that I’ve misheard him.

But no… He’s serious.