Page 70 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

The docks outside of the wall come into view. The light brown wood bobs in the gentle waves, held in place by something I can’t see.

Boats and ships are scattered throughout the water. Some sit at the docks. Others must be anchored to the ocean floor. None are occupied.

A loud horn blares from behind the walls. It’s met with an equally loud horn that originates from the longboat.

I look at the ship of men. Their oars are drawn in. Unnatural wind in their sails takes them to the largest dock, set in the middle of all the others.

“You ready for this, Rian?” Silas asks.

My gaze drops to the scholarly Fae. Tight lines carve the sides of his mouth.

For the first time in hours, the heat of Rian’s stare shifts off me.

“It’s already done,” the Shadow Prince replies, voice low and even.

A prickle crawls up my neck.

What does that mean?

Silas dips his chin, then continues to row us to Virendrell.

Our dinghy arrives at the dock behind Draven and Darius’s. The brothers are already out of their boat, their belongings strapped to their backs, along with swords at their waists.

They help Silas and Rian secure our boat, then haul the last of the gear onto the dock.

Across the way, the longboat rests against the far side of the dock. Its crew disembarks, boots thudding as they head down the long walkway toward the glittering seawall.

When I stand, pins and needles bite into my legs, blood rushing back too fast. I hiss and shuffle forward.

A hand appears in front of my face. Darius.

Ignoring his instigating wink, I grab his hand and let him pull me up.

I rock to the side as the dock sways. Darius keeps a hand on my back for balance.

I wait for a flirtatious remark to leave his lips, but it never comes.

Rian vaults onto the dock, shadows skittering away like startled snakes. His gaze sweeps the pier, sharp and searching, and pointedly passes over me.

I tell myself I prefer it that way, ignoring how the marks on my arms tighten.

One of the men from the longship approaches, not sparing the shadows a second glance, confirming Draven’s mindspeak is still in effect. “We will escort you through the city, but you must leave your weapons here.”

Over his shoulder, five more men stand, hands resting on the pommels of their swords.

Draven raises a hand and snaps. Shadows fly from his fingers to the six men and slip into their minds.

“We keep our weapons,” he says.

The man’s eyes cloud with smoke. He blinks until they clear. “Of course. This way.”

His boots thump against the dock as he joins his companions. The men continue toward the wall without waiting to confirm that we follow.

It’s not like we have anywhere else we could go.

“Draven,” Rian clips.

The surly Fae grunts and follows the men. Silas goes next.