Page 88 of All the Pain of Promises
Narissa shook her head, her wavy hair sticking to the sides of her face, the heat melting into the room suddenly unbearable. “I really don’t know?—”
Lord Calfair’s arm shot out and his fingers snared her jaw in a punishing grip. She bit back a gasp against his brute strength.
“Do not lie to us, Lady Narissa,” he warned. “Why don’t you use that pretty little head of yours? Feigning ignorance makes you look far less appealing.”
“Easy, my lord.” Trysta swatted his hand away. “Remember, damaged goods will be of little use to you.”
Calfair scoffed, and his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “I’d likely prefer her that way.”
Icy fear streaked down Narissa’s spine and dread curdled in her stomach. In the deepest part of her soul, she knew that whatever Calfair had planned for her was far worse than anything he’d done to her while she was drugged with dragon root.
“Now, Narissa darling.” Trysta held out her hand and Calfair pulled a rolled scroll of parchment from the brocade pocket of his vest. She untied the ribbon and unraveled it, sliding it across the table to Narissa. “This is an admission of guilt, because surely your conscience is weighing on you by now. Your signature is needed at the bottom.”
A feathered quill and pot of ink were placed before her.
Narissa clutched her hands in her lap, nails biting into her palms until she was certain to break skin. “And to what, exactly, am I admitting guilt?”
Trysta’s sickly sweet smile stretched across her face, thinning her lips. “For the death of Lord Zenos Starstorm, of course.”
“What?” She jolted forward, slamming both of her hands upon the rickety table. “That is absurd! I did no such thing!”
“But of course you did, darling. Don’t you remember?” Trysta tapped the parchment with brittle nails. “You supplied thehoneysting to Hespira, my former lady’s maid. Because of your lapse in judgement, we were able to mix the toxin it excretes into a cup of herbal tea for Lord Zenos, which he unfortunately drank without a second thought. Therefore, his death is entirely your fault.”
Narissa choked on a horrified laugh. This had to be some sick, twisted joke. A ruse meant to traumatize her and ruin her love for the one thing that brought her joy—potion making. Trysta was blatantly trying to contort the truth, to skew reality into having Narissa think the death of Lord Starstorm somehow fell on her shoulders. But she knew better.
“You poisoned him! You orchestrated the entire thing.” The accusation must have struck because Trysta bristled against Narissa’s sudden outburst. “I knew it from that day I saw you in the dress shop. I recognized your maid because she’s the same one currently employed by Lady Aria. I know I sold her the honeysting, I only wish I’d known at the time she’d been working for you, then I could tell Solarius the truth.”
Narissa’s gaze flicked to Lord Calfair, who stood with his hands tucked into his pocket and a condescending smirk plastered across his stupid face.
She turned her attention back to Lady Trysta.
“See?” Trysta crooned. “You have it all figured out. Which is precisely why I need you to sign this parchment and agree to the fact that you took Lord Zenos Starstorm’s life.”
“I will do no such thing.” Narissa lifted her chin in defiance.
Trysta loosed a sigh of annoyance and the candlelight wavered. “But you must. I cannot afford to have anyone know I use moonshade to create glamour. You see, I’ve woven a spectacular lie, I’ve crafted a life I wanted at the expense of those around me, and for that I hold no remorse.”
She flipped her wrists, her bracelets clinking together in a grating jangle. They glistened in the wobbling light as though they’d been coated with oil.
The bracelets.
They were the source of her glamour. They had to be.
“Sign the paper, Lady Narissa,” Calfair demanded coolly.
“Why?” She turned her glare on him, refusing to cower any longer. “How are you entangled in this web of deceit? What is Lady Trysta holding over your head?”
“You.”
His response sent a chill deep into her bones.
“What?” Narissa hated the bobble in her voice, her confidence fading quickly.
“I’m not quite sure you understand your options, Lady Narissa, so allow me to be clearer on the matter.” Trysta dipped the quill into the small well of black ink. “You are going to sign this, gladly I might add, and then you will suffer one of two fates. Either ingest a poison of your own making…”
She set a small, corked clear vial filled with a smoky blue liquid on the table. One Narissa recognized from her personal collection of missing elixirs.
“Or become one of Lord Calfair’s pets.”
