Page 119 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Today, it’s not just women studying. Men lean over tomes of all sizes, scribbling notes on papers.

Scholars, perhaps? They don’t look as brawny as Leto or the other men I’ve seen in Virendrell. Each man also wears a medallion over their neck. I squint and make out the emblem of what I believe is an Aella eagle when Anders guides me left.

We walk down a narrow aisle and stop in front of a thin shelf tucked in the corner.

A layer of dust covers the faded spines.

“Here we are. All of these books come from the continent, many from beyond the Veil,” he reveals, pulling one off the shelf.

He blows the cover, and dust billows in front of his face.

He waves it away and opens the old book. “Most are fables or children’s stories, but all fables are founded on truths.”

He flips through the book, turning the pages toward me.

“This one is a tale of a sleeping curse.” He turns the page. “And this one tells the story of how a sorceress turned a prince into a wolf for daring to break her heart. Many allege it is based on an ancestor of the late king’s family.”

My heart thumps in my chest. “What do you mean, late king? The one before King Marek?”

“Of course.” He nods, then winces when he takes in my expression. “Forgive me. I forget, the humans kept you ignorant.”

The impulse to correct him and say Fae are responsible for my lack of knowledge dies on my tongue.

He’s right.

The Elders forced ignorance on Verdanthia. Port City’s existence is proof.

Anders slips the book back on the shelf and retrieves one with a thicker spine. “Here’s a lineage text of the Highland Fae.”

He extends the book. I take it, my arm threatening to buckle under its weight.

I draw the book close to my body. “Who, exactly, are the Highland Fae?”

And why does their lineage matter?

“It’s merely a designation indicating where in Eranthia their ancestors originated from,” he explains. “There isn’t much to distinguish them from their Lowland counterparts. Other than their bloodline has populated the royal line for several millennia.”

My heart races.

I flip over the book and take in the cover.

There are mountains and a sun embossed in gold ink. In the middle, a star flares bright over rippling water. The leather edges of the text are frayed, worn. As if they’ve been touched many times.

I trace my fingers over the lovely design. A flicker of recognition tickles the back of my mind, but I can’t place it.

“So, King Marek is a Highland Fae?”

And Rian.

“He is.” Anders’s tone darkens, pulling my attention away from the book. His lips press into a hard line. “Though many believe his use of shadows warrants a new designation.”

I lower the book, my sore arms grateful for the reprieve. “Like what? Shadow Fae?”

He nods. “We refer to Marek and other shadow wielders as such, but there’s been no official motion to separate Shadow Fae from their other Fae lineage designations.”

“Wait.” My neck straightens. “Are you saying not all Fae in Astloria can wield shadows?”

“Correct. Only Marek and his followers wield that particular…skill.”