Page 130 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

I don’t allow myself to wonder why.

My jaw sets, and I quicken my stride.

The Fae don’t stop sparring. They haven’t noticed me. They’re too focused on driving glowing blue steel at each other’s throats.

I cross the invisible boundary of their sparring ring, the packed dirt shifting under my sandals.

Still, I don’t stop.

Not until Draven’s sword descends⁠—

And my neck settles in its path.

24

Time slows as the blade whistles toward my throat.

I feel nothing. No terror. No despair. Only a hollow numbness carved out by everything I’ve learned—by the truth of what flows through my veins.

My magic stirs, stronger than it’s been in days. But now that I know what it is…what I suspect…it feels less like the gift I used to help my neighbors and more like my own disastrous curse.

Draven’s blue blade is nearly indistinguishable from the crystal sky as it draws closer.

The dark marks rake my forearms, and my magic shrieks in warning.

I close my eyes.

A rush of wind brushes the hair tickling the side of my face, followed by a thump and a hiss. A strong arm bands around my waist and yanks me off my feet.

My eyes fly open. I barely catch Draven’s horrified expression before the world around me blurs as I’m pulled away.

“What the hells were you thinking?”

I blink. The prince snarls in my face. Still, I feel…nothing.

No anger. No sadness. No frustration.

Nothing.

I don’t answer.

I keep thinking of my suspicions…what it all means. Not just for me. But for Ferria.

Gods…Ferria.

What will she think? We were raised to fear Fae—to avoid them at all costs. Yet here we are, our blood placing us in the thick of their world.

The Goddess of Fate has a wicked sense of humor.

Or perhaps I should begin to pray to The Mother…

“Elara?” Rian’s hands press down on my shoulders, one of them warmer than the other. “What is going on?”

My unfocused eyes blink down at Rian’s grip.

Crimson seeps onto my naked arm.

“You’re bleeding.”