Page 8 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Darius snorts. “Weasel is an accurate word.”

“Would you like to make a bet on the subject?” Jaxon crosses his arms.

Darius tosses a second bedroll into a tent. “A bet on what?”

“On which of us can charm the most ladies tomorrow at port. I know you’ve been asleep for a few weeks, but surely your ability to converse hasn’t withered away like your muscles?”

A handful of leaves carried on a shadow hits Jaxon in the face.

I jump away from the scattering debris.

Jaxon’s eyes glint. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

Darius huffs. “Mother, I forgot what a prick you⁠—”

Draven stomps over. Twigs snap under his boots. “Is it your plan to alert the entire forest of our location?”

Behind him, feedbags are strapped to the horses’ necks.

“Don’t be such a grouch, Draven.” Darius slings an arm over the surly Fae’s shoulder.

Draven shrugs him off then shoves him aside. “I liked you better unconscious.”

“Aw, come on, big brother. You don’t mean that.”

Draven ignores him. When he turns to me, the slightest hint of amusement twists his otherwise stern lips.

“You should clean up.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I hear a stream through those trees.” He motions behind him, in the direction Rian went.

He hears it?

Draven continues, “It should be clear. Take some time to clean up.”

I look down at myself. Ferria and I had washed before leaving the Fae camp and changed into the dresses Juniper sent for us. The tawny fabric is dusty from the road, but not dirty. And my hands, too, are clean.

Is there something on my face? I wipe my hand over my cheek, but my fingers come away clean.

Darius snorts. “I see you’re as gentlemanly as ever, brother.”

Draven scowls. “Does she not wish to bathe?”

My cheeks heat when Jaxon and Darius chuckle.

“I’ll need soap,” I say.

“You can share mine, love.” Darius reaches into a rucksack on the wagon and hands me a brown square. “Then you’ll smell like me.”

The heat morphs into a blazing fire.

Shadows ripple overhead, and the slithering darkness blots out the sun. I stiffen, braced for an exertion of power, but the shadows fade like smoke on the wind.

“A death wish, I tell you,” Jaxon mutters, reaching into his own rucksack. “That’s what you have.”

He straightens and tosses a folded piece of black cloth in my direction. I catch it against my chest.