I haven’t been here since I was a small child. My father brought me one summer to pick out an anniversary gift for my mother—a special window he had commissioned for their bedroom. Leiden’s main industry is glass, and the town is most well known for supplying stunning stained-glass windows for buildings all over Kastelia and beyond. “I want your mother to wake up every morning bathed in light,” he told me after he met with the artist. I rolled my eyes at the time—my parents’ affection for each other was beyond embarrassing. But still, my memories from that trip are filled with a sense of wonder.

I remembered it being beautiful, but I wasn’t expecting this. The pier is brimming with hundreds of glass sculptures—giant turquoise seashells gape open just enough for us to catch a glimpse of the pearly pink orbs inside. Delicate purple seaweed sprouts from the ground and seems to undulate in the breeze. An enormous yellow fish with black stripes and orange eyes bobs in the water alongside an emerald octopus. Trees made entirely of glass line the boardwalk. They’re rendered in a multitude of hues and in such intricate detail that the veining on each individual leaf is visible. Everywhere the pier is bursting with color.

It’s a feast for the eyes, and for several minutes we all gawk in stunned silence, turning in slow circles to absorb it all. But it would take hours to see every detail.

A flock of geese flies overhead, honking to one another as they pass, as if they, too, are entranced by Leiden’s beauty.

“Should we get started?” Jacey asks. We all gather around her as she pulls a single sheet of parchment from the leather pocket, her gaze roaming over the words.

Talon makes an impatient sound. “So? What does it say?”

Her brows pull together. “We’re supposed to stay at the Swallowtail Inn tonight, and the challenge will take place tomorrow at the Fortress.”

Beside me, Bram goes still. Rasmus is standing a distance away, but I could swear I see him flinch.

“What’s the Fortress?” Niklas asks.

“The Fortress is a training facility for select members of the Ivory Guard,” Bram says. But his tone suggests something more than that. Something darker.

“What kind of training facility?” Tessa asks.

Bram’s mouth is set in a grim line. “Let’s just say I’ve never heard anyone speak of the place fondly.”

“But surely they aren’t going to expect us to fight,” Talon says. “We wouldn’t need that kind of training to serve on town councils.”