Page 87 of All the Pain of Promises
Kjeld’s hand fell away from his shoulder, and a distinctive coldness crept into Solarius’s bones.
“You cannot be serious.” Ariesian’s voice was hardened with disdain.
“I am incredibly serious.” Solarius blew out a harsh breath, trying to recall Trysta’s words, her threats. “She told me she never wanted eight children. You should have heard her, the way she spoke with such disgust. Such hate. Then she mentioned something about Narissa having honeysting and using it to concoct a poison. But Narissa would never, what reason would she possibly have to murder our father?”
“Narissa wouldn’t have a reason.” Tovian rolled his shoulders back, dark energy pouring from him. “But Mother would.”
“Tov is right.” Nyxian cracked his knuckles one at a time, his handsome features marred by a cloud of rage. “Father was powerful. Wealthy. It is no coincidence that he died suddenly and without a named cause the moment Mother secured herself a place in Queen Elowyn’s High Council.”
“If she had her way,” Ariesian muttered, “she would have me banned from the council completely. As it is, she complains that my attendance is of no use, thatshedeserves to be the High Councilor from House Celestine even though I bear our father’s title.”
“You think she’s behind it.” Sarelle swiped at an errant tear that escaped down her cheek and lifted her chin. “You think Trysta is behind our father’s death.”
“Yes.” Solarius spoke the singular word with coarse conviction. “I think she did it herself.”
He supposed on some level he’d always known she was the reason for their father’s untimely demise. Just as he thought perhaps a small part of him was never truly ready to admit it. All the warning signs were there—the lack of tears and regret, the disinterest in condolences and compassion, the ease with which she moved on afterward, like the gravity of his death wasn’t enough to hold her down. At this point, he didn’t even need her to admit it, he already knew. It was something he felt in his soul. Her culpability lingered in every word she spoke, it was in the sharpened glare of her eyes, the venom of her tongue.
“And now she intends to frame Narissa?” Tovian asked through a clenched jaw, his voice unusually low.
The very idea of their mother’s callous scheme made Solarius physically ill. “Yes. I must go after her. I will not allow her to suffer at Trysta’s hands.”
“But Sol,” Caelian interjected, her brow pinched in concern. “However will you find Narissa? House Galefell has so many levels, so many rooms. Even if we all go with you, it will take ages to search.”
Solarius shrugged. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing the bond will lead me right to her.”
“What!” Sarelle shrieked, at the same time Caelian shouted, “You’re mates!”
Nyxian tossed an arm over his shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Well done, brother.”
“Yes, well, we can all rejoice in the fact that Narissa is bonded to me some other time. Right now, I have to get to House Galefell as quickly as possible.” Solarius stole a glance out the window of the sitting room, where winter winds whipped against the glass, causing the panes to shudder.
Ariesian shook his head, his scowl deepening. “Eponians will take forever in this weather. There must be another way.”
“There is.” Caelian took a steadying breath, allowing her piercing eyes to travel over to the male who broke her so completely. And Kjeld met her gaze. Held it.
When their eyes locked, Solarius could’ve sworn the stars wept. Then Kjeld dipped his chin and turned away from Caelian, his voice rough with his Northernlands accent when he said, “I have a dragon.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Narissa gazed into the endless pitch. It was so dark she could scarcely tell if her eyes were even open. She blinked and long shadows stretched across her vision, slinking like serpents as she tried to peer into the painfully dismal light. Voices scraped against the walls, accompanied by the distinctive clink of metal. Excessive warmth suffocated her, each breath she took was like breathing in the heady heat of summer. Her back was pressed into a terribly stiff chair, but she was able to twist her wrists and roll her ankles, proof she wasn’t shackled, yet somehow she was still being held captive. She shuffled her feet, the heels of her shoes scratching against hardwood, and a hoarse, bitter laugh filled the air.
“Oh, good,” a feminine voice drawled, though she sounded far from pleased, “the siren has awoken.”
That voice.
It tugged at the back of Narissa’s mind, but each time she reached for it, the thread of familiarity slipped further from her grasp.
Without thinking, she reached up, rubbing at a tender spot on the side of her neck. She knew she followed Lady Aria out of the cafe, just as she knew she’d almost immediatelybeen attacked, stabbed by something the moment she stepped outside, and it had apparently left her unconscious for hours. There were only so many types of tinctures that could render someone numb and immobile for a great length of time. Anything with sun thistle or writhing bane would certainly do the trick.
Whoever thought to inject her with one of those definitely knew their way around herbs, salves, and potions.
Faerie fire sparked to life in front of Narissa and she winced, drawing back from the sudden flicker of bright light. Beads of gray wax dripped down the tapered candle, and the flame spat, highlighting the lower half of Lady Trysta Starstorm’s face. Her eyes glowed from within the shadows, shining pools of malice. She propped her elbows onto the wooden table across from Narissa, bracelets jangling against her thin wrists. The world shimmered slightly, the faintest warp of color and sound, as she steepled her fingers together. A cloying scent hung in the thick air—dried tea leaves and withered roses—coupled with an unsettling musty odor.
“We’re so glad you could join us, Lady Narissa.” Trysta wet her papery lips, gesturing vaguely to her left, where the air shifted and shadows swarmed. A moment later, Lord Calfair Skyhelm emerged, stepping into the dreary glow of light. “You see, Lord Calfair and I find ourselves in a rather precarious predicament. A scandal, to be sure.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Narissa shrank into the rigid chair, unnerved by the way Lord Calfair’s gaze slid over her, lingering on her curves for far longer than was respectful. He continued to stand, towering over her, his unnecessary nearness meant to intimidate and rattle her nerves.
“Oh, but you play the fool so well,” Trysta said with a caustic laugh. “Do not tell me you don’t have it all figured out by now. I know you are far more intelligent than you let on.”
