Page 77 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed.

Other than the soil in potted plants and the gardens, I haven’t seen a speck of dirt in Virendrell. Nearly every surface is made of glistening white material or painted. Everything is perfect. Too perfect.

We reach a stone landing that stretches out in front of us, as wide as the training yard outside Verdanthia’s barracks. It spans the space between us and a pair of large, dark-brown, arched doors.

My steps falter as I take in the grandiose building. Smooth, slender white pillars support the domed ceiling. Large windows are set in the walls, reflecting the sun’s light, preventing me from seeing inside. I count three levels, but each one is at least twice the height of my cottage in Verdanthia.

It’s…breathtaking.

Darius gives my hand a squeeze. “Come.”

I drop my gaze and mutter, “Sorry.”

He smiles with understanding, then leads me toward the massive doors that the others have already stepped through.

Another courtyard spreads out before us. The building stretches upward three stories, railed walkways circling us like tiers of a viewing pit. At least a dozen people line them, draped in the same flowing, sheet-style garments as the mayor and his wife.

Every step we take across the mosaic-tiled floor draws their attention. They stop. They stare. Intrigue, and something uncomfortably close to awe, flickers across their faces.

I stare down at my drab slippers moving over the colorful stones.

I’ve never seen so much open space built into a building.

In Verdanthia, space is a luxury we can’t afford. The beasts in the Forbidden Forest keep us penned in, claws and fangs ensuring our town can never spread beyond the tree line.

Every inch of land is used. Every structure pressed close. Only those who need ground to grow food or cultivate herbs are granted yards at all.

And even then, none of it truly belongs to us.

The Elders can confiscate land at a moment’s notice. I suppose General Ironheart holds that power now.

The mayor and his wife turn right, guiding us into a chamber with a soaring ceiling. Above, a painting of a golden sky stretches wide, clouds brushed in soft shades of pink. Slender pillars rise to support the artwork.

The rest of the room is bare, save for two broad chairs positioned at the far end.

The mayor and his wife move with practiced grace, lowering themselves onto dark-green cushions.

Rian stops six feet away. Draven and Silas post up on either side of him. Darius and I, once again, stay a step behind.

“Well,” Helen drawls, crossing one leg over the other, resting her manicured hands on her lap. Her voice is just as airy and light as her husband's. “What brings the infamous Shadow Prince to our shores?”

“Our ship was attacked by a Pelagor,” Silas answers without ceremony, once again assuming his role as our group’s spokesperson.

“A Pelagor?” Augustus’s brows rise. “Mother, save you… It’s a miracle you survived.”

“Yes, Mayor.” Silas inclines his head. “While we regret intruding on your land, our vessel requires repairs. We wish to commission a ship and crew to return us to the wreck with the materials needed to make her sea-worthy again.”

Augustus hums, leaning back in his chair to rest an ankle over his knee. “And what is the Shadow Heir doing so far south? Last I heard, your uncle has big plans for you in the coming months.”

The shadows along Rian’s back writhe. “Your spies are misinformed.”

“Are they?” Augustus’s eyes gleam.

“Yes.”

The mayor’s mouth curves in a slow grin as his gaze slides past Rian, locking onto me.

“I heard there was a mishap in Verdanthia,” he says mildly. “Tell me, is that where your companion hails from?”