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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

S olarius spent the next morning searching through his and Narissa’s belongings, trying to find her box of potions.

Their belongings from Windsong had arrived in a separate shipment, and since it was only two trunks of mostly clothing and personal items, he hadn’t bothered to sort through them yet.

But Narissa was in need of her collection for her meeting with Lady Aria, and he’d promised to help her locate it before they left for Galefell.

He stood in their bedchamber, hands fisted on his hips, surrounded by piles of clothing and various accessories, but there wasn’t a single box in sight.

Narissa said it was carved cherrywood with a bronze latch, a little larger than a book, and might make a tinkling sound due to the vials cushioned in rows of velvet.

But he’d sifted through everything, emptied both trunks completely, and still found nothing.

His brow furrowed.

Perhaps she’d misplaced it?

But she seemed adamant that she’d left it in Windsong with everything else when they made their hasty departure from House Galefell.

He supposed he would have to check the cottage for himself when they traveled back later today.

A stiff knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts, and his head snapped up.

“Enter.”

The door to the bedroom creaked open and Nyxian appeared, the charming aura floating around him dimmer than usual.

He shoved his unruly deep blue hair back from his face, and didn’t seem to care when it fell in the exact same spot.

“Hey, Nyx.” Solarius eyed his younger brother, noting the careless way he leaned against the doorframe, propping his shoulder against the solid wood.

He wore wrinkled gray pants and his storm gray shirt was partially untucked, like he’d slept in his clothing of choice, and then simply rolled out of bed.

Which, knowing Nyxian and his attitude toward expectations, was rather likely.

“What can I do for you?”

“Mother is in her sitting room.” He folded his arms across his chest, his blithe—if not slightly impetuous—personality all but diminished.

“She sent me to fetch you.”

Solarius had no desire to speak with the female who did nothing more than birth him.

“I am not a dog on a leash.” He started folding the heap of clothing on the bed in order to prevent himself from punching a hole through the nearest wall.

“And neither are you.”

Nyxian merely shifted his weight, crossing one ankle over the other.

It was clear he was still furious with Ariesian for planning his marriage to some twittering noble female, and from the looks of it, he’d taken to frequenting Celestine’s notorious taverns.

He stifled a yawn, but it did little to hide the red leaking into the whites of his eyes.

“What does she want?” Solarius asked, stacking his crisp shirts in neat piles.

“I don’t know. She never talks to me.” His tone dripped with resentment, and a line of irritation creased his forehead.

“Did you know she never once asked me or Tovian about our sailing trip with the High Prince of Faeven? She didn’t ask us about the realms we saw, the cities we visited, the people we met. Nothing.”

Nyxian shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, his gaze downcast.

“I don’t think she even cared that we were gone. If she noticed at all. She certainly didn’t miss us.”

His younger brother’s admission bruised Solarius’s heart.

He and Ariesian tried their damnedest to shield their siblings from their mother’s cruel judgment, but somehow she always managed to snake past their defenses, to snare them with disparaging condescension and dismissive remarks.

If there was one thing he could not bear, it was to see the light inside the souls of his brothers and sisters go dark.

“Tell me about one of your adventures,” he said, taking an armful of Narissa’s gowns to the dressing closet.

Nyxian sighed.

“I already have.”

“Tell me again.”

“You’re certain?”

Solarius nodded.

“Of course I’m certain. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”

A ghost of a smile passed over Nyxian’s mouth.

“Not as of late.”

“Smart ass.” Solarius smirked in return.

“Go on then, tell me a seafaring story.”

He listened intently as Nyxian launched into his favorite tale—one he’d regaled three times already—about a southern island where the waters are as green as precious jade and there’s nothing but miles of endless sand for as far as the eye can see.

Nyxian had fallen in love with the entire vibe, a balmy paradise where he could get drunk off rum-filled coconuts and lounge on a beach beneath the shade of a palm for hours.

To be fair, it sounded like a dream, the kind of place Solarius would love simply because Narissa would thrive.

Once Nyxian finished his story, Solarius stretched his arms overhead, popped his jaw, then headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Nyxian asked, stepping out of the way to let him pass.

“I’m off to find out why our mother hates us.”

Solarius strode into his mother’s receiving room without knocking and without waiting for an invitation to enter.

He knew it broke all sorts of social rules and norms, and he had no doubt Trysta would ream him for such inexcusable manners, but he no longer cared.

The sitting area was just off the main bedroom of the house—the one she used to share with his father—and though there was a small stone hearth where faerie fire sparked to life, a distinctive chill clung to the perfumed air.

It smelled of fragrant tea leaves and withered roses.

Navy brocade with silver-stitched constellations papered the walls, and a midnight rug stretched across most of the hardwood flooring.

A bay window surrounded by inlaid selenite overlooked the gardens at the rear of the house and two stiff winged chairs were perched on either side of a small round oak table where a tea service was spread.

Trysta occupied one chair, her lips pursed as though she’d bitten into a rotten lemon, her hand flitting toward the vacant seat.

Just looking at her made Solarius’s skin crawl with unease.

He was still furious with her after yesterday’s events, and his mistrust toward her had evolved into a festering wound he wanted to purge from his heart.

So he waited, counting each beat until her unforgiving gaze flicked to him with impatience.

Until contempt dug its way into the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

Only then did he sit down.

She added two lumps of sugar to her cup of tea, then stirred, so the only sound was the clanking of the metal spoon against porcelain and the jingle of her excessive bracelets.

“I would offer you some tea.” Trysta placed a slim glass bottle with a worn label on the table.

“Though I know you prefer alcohol as of late.”

The insult struck true, burrowing itself into Solarius’s gut.

But then again, if his mother had paid him any attention over the past few days, she would have noticed he’d intentionally forgone any sort of alcohol consumption, save for when he’d beaten Calfair in a local tavern.

“I’ll have tea.” He bit the words off.

Trysta’s brows rose in surprise, and she reached for the teapot, pouring the steaming reddish-brown liquid into a cup for him.

“Do you still require honey or sugar?”

“No.” He hadn’t added a sweetener to his tea in years.

“Very well.” She placed the cup in a saucer before him and continued to stir her own, her movements slow and methodical.

“I would like to apologize to you, Solarius. Not only for my behavior yesterday, but over the course of the past few years. I fear I have not been the mother you and your siblings deserve, as I’ve never quite been the same since your father died.”

Solarius gripped the porcelain so tightly he thought for sure it would shatter.

He downed the hot liquid in one long dredge, taking comfort in the way it scalded his throat, its bitterness coating his tongue.

Of course, Trysta would find a way to blame her behavior on his dead father.

She would never admit her actions were of her own accord, that she was selfish in nature.

Her accountability was abysmal.

No, she would rather fault her actions on the death of a male she hardly loved.

“Let me guess,” Solarius drawled, leaning back in the rigid chair.

“You lost part of yourself when he died.”

His sarcasm was thick, but she cut through it, her own words like a serrated blade freshly pulled from a forge.

“On the contrary, my dear. I was made whole when that bastard died. It was like I was renewed. An awakening, if you will.” Trysta placed her teacup on the table, canted her head to one side, and the world tipped on its axis.

Solarius blinked, struggling to focus on the harsh, mocking lines of her face.

The colors of her sitting room blurred together, as though they were a wet painted canvas smeared in oil.

Beads of sweat broke out along his forehead and a heated flush crept up his chest.

He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, his gaze drifting to the hearth, where the fire had been snuffed out.

His blood churned and the empty teacup slid from his hand, tumbling onto the thin rug.

He watched it fall, his reflexes too slow, too sluggish to catch it before it shattered.

He knew this feeling, recognized this sensation.

For a while, he’d relished the rush of intoxication.

But not anymore.

“What have you done?” he asked, his words slurring together in a string of incoherence.

Through bleary eyes he blinked, watching as Trysta dumped the bottle of rum into the teapot.

“Right now, you’re likely feeling the effects of the amberwood and moon seeds. It’s a lovely blend, you see. Capable of producing the effects of mild drunkenness in a matter of seconds.” She left the empty bottle and cap on the table before him and when she stood, he slid toward the ground to go after her.

“Though, I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to drink the entire thing in one sitting.”

His mother chuckled then, a wicked sort of cackle.

“I doubt you’ll be conscious much longer, though that only bodes well in my favor.”

Solarius toppled out of the chair, grasping at the cloth fabric in an effort to haul himself to his feet.

But his body wouldn’t work.

It was as though his mind was demanding a reaction, yet there was too much of a delay.

His head lolled from one side to the other, he could barely feel his legs, and he was no longer sure if he was sitting up or lying down.

He opened his mouth to speak but the words were merely nonsensical gibberish.

His tongue felt thick.

His throat dry.

His mouth was like paper.

“You know…” Trysta’s voice sounded from somewhere above him, but looking for her was like trying to find the constellations on a cloudy night.

Everything was dark and murky.

Almost invisible.

“I would claim that my morals kept me from killing my own offspring. I suppose in some way I was slightly against it, though not completely opposed. I never wanted so many fucking children, but your father insisted we have a large brood to carry on the beloved Starstorm name.”

Even through the haze of forced inebriation, Solarius could hear the absolute disdain when she spoke.

“I imagine he suspected me after some time. Much like your wife, I’ve had quite the penchant for potions and tonics. It’s only been a matter of finding the right ingredients. And Narissa, bless her, always had exactly what I was looking for.” Trysta made a sort of tsk -ing noise and Solarius blinked, his vision caving in from both sides.

“In a way, I suppose she’s the one to blame for his death. After all, the deadly honeysting came from her garden.”

Her footfalls sounded distant, more obscure than before, and he recognized the creaking of the door to her sitting room.

“But don’t worry, my darling. Mother will be sure your sweet little siren pays for her crimes.”

A cavernous, guttural growl erupted from Solarius as he crawled toward the door.

He clawed at the carpet, his fingers biting into the stiff fibers, but it felt as though he was being crushed beneath the weight of a thousand boulders.

He had to get to Narissa.

To warn her.

To save her.

Again, his vision ebbed, and this time the world went with it.

Solarius collapsed onto the ground as the snick of a lock clicked into place, and he tumbled headfirst into the pitch of despair.