Page 155 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

To distract the Virendrellian population from their lack of mating prospects?

It doesn’t make sense.

“This contest has always been one of my favorites,” Helen remarks, shifting forward to walk at my side. “I enjoy the unpredictability. In all other competitions, the cunning and strong have the advantage. They see their challenge and meet it head-on. In the maze, intuition and fast reflexes are what separate the winners from the losers.”

An unsettling chill runs down my spine. “I see.”

We continue down the empty walkway. The observers who stood along the viewing platform are gone. A glance confirms they’ve descended to the ground level.

Is it because of Helen?

I wouldn’t be surprised.

Something about the Fae female screams of warning.

“I wonder,” Helen starts, her voice deceptively light, “how would you respond to such a challenge?”

Power trickles into my hands. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never used my magic in such a way.”

She tilts her head, the jeweled headband catching the waning sunlight. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Not while living under the scrutiny of unblessed mortals.”

She stops once we reach the midpoint of the platform, on the opposite side of the viewing box where we watched the contest.

My gaze trails the hedges below while hers remains focused on me, burning a hole into my face.

“Anders says you’ve shown interest in your home continent’s history.”

My skin prickles.

What else did he say?

Did he tell her about Calla’s diary?

I urge my power to flow to my heart to steady its rapid beat. “As a human, I was denied the opportunity to learn what happened in Astloria during the Shadow Wars. I’m grateful for the opportunity to discover the truth while in Virendrell.”

“Hm.” Her sharp gaze sweeps over my face, lingering just a beat too long. “What a…coincidence that you were discovered by none other than the Shadow Prince.”

Her words are an accusation.

But that’s not what makes breath lodge in my throat.

Iscan the area around us, afraid someone heard Helen identify Rian as the heir to the Shadow throne.

Afraid of what the powerful part Fae will do when they learn their enemy is in their midst.

Helen laughs softly. “Relax, my dear. I may not be as powerful as the Fae who came before me, but I still have tricks.”

She lifts her hand and flicks her fingers through the air.

The space around us ripples.

A shimmer blooms outward, delicate and translucent, sealing us inside a glistening shell.

“It’s a silencing ward,” she says. “I do not like my conversations to be overheard.”

Rian used a similar ward back in Verdanthia. In his tent. When he offered to help me with my magic.

A roar of applause rises from the elevated seating, unhindered by the magical barrier Helen put in place.