Page 63 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Holy Goddess, Olyra…

“ENOUGH!” Rian bellows.

An arc of shadow flies out from the dinghy.

From the other side of the shadow wall, pained shouts pierce the air.

Then the churning water stills. The dark wall lowers.

I blink against the seawater clinging to my lashes and gape at the scene before me.

A stark-white ship bobs in the ocean a hundred feet away. But it’s not tall like the ship we left.

No, this one is a low longboat. Its deck is shallow. And half a dozen men stand along the edge of the railing. Long hair of varying shades of brown whip through the breeze. Glinting arrows are notched in wooden bows, aimed at us.

Silas stands tall, his shadows no longer needed after Rian cast away whatever forces were creating the volatile water and assaulting wind.

“What is the meaning of your attack?” he shouts, a shadow wrapping around his lips and flying to the ship.

The men on board balk. As do I.

Did he… Did he just project his voice over to them?

How can shadows do that?

A man steps forward. He lifts a hand, and a gust of wind fills the boat’s sails, moving their vessel closer to ours.

Magic.

Adrenaline dumps into my veins. My body starts to shake.

“Be at ease,” Rian murmurs into my ear, sending another shiver down my spine. “It’s just a welcoming party.”

I choke out a snort. “Some welcoming party.”

Breath caresses my neck with his quiet laugh. “Indeed.”

The arm around my midsection falls away. Rian straightens to his full height and faces the approaching ship. I hurry to shift my body so I’m no longer pressed against him.

Legs unsteady, I sit on the closest bench.

I take a deep breath and eye each arrow aimed at us. The closer the vessel gets, the more details I take in.

The white ship isn’t just white—it’s sparkling, as if someone poured ground-up crystal into the paint before slathering it over the wood.

The men on board vary in height, but most tower over the low railing at the edge of their ship. Their skin tones also vary, but they wear the same navy-blue trousers and sleeveless, off-white tunics, cinched at their waists with black leather weapons belts. And their hair…

I trail my gaze over every man and confirm that not a single one has hair shorter than their shoulders. It’s…strange. No man in Verdanthia grows out their hair. Long hair is a liability for most jobs.

From straight strands to coiled curls, the men aboard the ship let their hair flare in the breeze with proud stances and firm expressions. Long hair does not make them any less formidable. If anything, their lack of concern for the hindrance speaks of their confidence.

And why shouldn’t they be confident? At least one man on board has the ability to move the entire ship with conjured air.

A past conversation with Rian plays in my head. Human magic is elemental. I scan the men once more. Are they all human? Or are there Fae in their midst?

The dinghy rocks back and forth. I slide my slippered feet wider to hold my seat, wrap my hands around the straps of my satchel, and wait, heart thumping.

As subtly as I can, I scan the open sea around us. Before I fell asleep, Darius and Draven’s boat floated close by. Now they’re nowhere in sight.