Page 72 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Men and women wear the same long hairstyle as the men from the longboat, their hues varying in warm shades of brown. There’s not a single head of black hair.

Which only makes the Fae stand out even more.

A flash of a reddish hue blurs to my right. My heart leaps into my throat, but swiftly plummets back into my chest when I acknowledge the auburn-headed young woman laughing boisterously isn’t Ferria.

What is my twin doing right now?

Has Anton taken her somewhere as stunning as Virendrell?

Has she come to realize how little we know of the world?

Has she realized the depths of the Elders’ villainy despite their supposed victimhood?

The men charged with overseeing the safety and security of Verdanthia may have been overthrown by General Ironheart and his cronies, but as I gape at the opulence and thriving city around me—as I remember the grandeur of Port City—I loathe them.

The Elders kept Verdanthia in the dark about the real world. They lied about astlerium. They suppressed knowledge. They limited our thoughts. I spent my life living in a cage of their making, only I never saw the bars.

My gaze flickers to the Shadow Fae ahead of me, the same ones I was raised to fear. The same ones I expected cruelty from at every turn.

But the Fae saved me.

Protected me.

A hesitant truth settles, slow and unsteady.

The Fae are not what I was taught. At least…these Fae are not.

Now the bars of my upbringing lie shattered around me. A new world stretches within reach, and the desire to grasp onto it and never let go fuels each of my steps as I follow the Fae through the streets of Virendrell.

The road opens into a vast courtyard. A fountain sits in the center, water arching and splashing around a statue of a man and a woman locked in an intimate embrace. Our escorts guide us straight past it.

I slow, drinking in the artistry, admiring the curve of stone limbs, the tenderness carved into stillness. Then my breath catches.

The female’s ears taper to elegant points.

Fae.

I examine the male. His ears are rounded.

Human.

I blink hard and scan the crowd. People fill the street shoulder to shoulder, yet I don’t glimpse a single uncovered ear. Everyone is attractive. The men are virile. The women are stunning. I can’t tell who is human and who is Fae.

Understanding clicks into place.

The long hair isn’t a fashion choice. It’s camouflage.

We pass beneath gilded gates. Four soldiers come into view.

Pale-gray metal gleams across their chests, polished to a mirror sheen. Matching helmets crown their heads, with long strands of hair spilling free at the back, bound neatly with strips of fabric.

Our escorts lead us to them.

Draven and Silas halt a few paces short. Rian takes position behind them, hands clasped behind his back. Darius and I step into place behind him.

The armored men’s gazes sweep over us, slow and deliberate, measuring.

I can’t tell if I imagine it, but when their eyes reach me, they seem to linger just a heartbeat longer than the rest.