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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

S olarius was dying.

Either that or he was suffering from quite possibly the worst hangover in existence, but that was practically the same thing as dying, was it not?

His head was aching.

No, throbbing.

Pain hammered at his temples, pulsing to the back of his neck, and behind his eyelids.

His throat was raw, like he’d been forced to swallow gravel and sand.

Though he couldn’t be sure, he thought he was still breathing.

Air continued to fill his lungs even though each breath was an agonizing feat of resilience.

The beating of his heart was a slow thump, as though his blood was sludge moving through his veins.

He felt lethargic, his bones too heavy, his muscles too limp to even move.

To function.

Something cool and solid was pressed against his cheek.

There was a good chance it was the floor.

He groaned as someone peeled him from the ground, propping him up into what he assumed was a sitting position.

His head lolled from side to side, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite open his eyes.

It was like they’d been sealed shut with an adhesive.

“Come on, Sol.” Ariesian’s voice drifted over him, a familiar pull to his subconscious.

“I need you to drink this for me.”

The putrid stench of muddled herbs and sea kelp filled Solarius’s nostrils.

He recoiled, but someone’s fingers clamped the sides of his face, forcing his mouth open.

The foul-smelling liquid slid down his throat and he swallowed, almost choking, grateful for the faint mint aftertaste that lingered.

Consciousness bled into him.

He could flex his hands and stretch his legs, and it no longer felt like his bones were so brittle they were about to snap.

The pounding in his head rolled to a dull ache, a minor inconvenience given the gravity of the anguish he’d already suffered.

Gradually he cracked one eye open, then the other, blinking the fog of confusion from his eyes.

He was definitely seated on the ground while Ariesian held him up with one arm, an empty brown mug in his hand.

Dim light slanted in through the window, illuminating five other figures yet obscuring most of their faces.

It made no difference.

Solarius would recognize Sarelle, Tovian, Nyxian, and Caelian anywhere.

And given the strand of tension suffocating the space, the other hulking frame belonged to General Kjeld Holtstrom.

Easing out of his brother’s hold, Solarius rubbed his temples and worked his jaw.

“What happened?”

“From the looks of it, I’d say you drank yourself into a stupor.” Tovian lifted an empty bottle of rum from the round table, then peered into the full teapot.

He gave it a quick sniff, his lip curling in disgust.

“But that’s not the case, is it?”

“Not in the least.” Ariesian stood, hauling Solarius to his feet, while his body protested the abrupt movement.

“We all know Solarius prefers whiskey over rum.”

What in the damned stars were they talking about?

He blinked again, taking in the heavily papered walls, the nearly snuffed out coals in the hearth of what he assumed was his mother’s sitting room.

It was a rarely used space, and he had no idea what he was doing there.

Taking in his surroundings, he discovered the door was splintered, with chunks of wood missing, as though it had been busted open with an axe.

Filtered evening light illuminated the mirrored looks of distress upon his sisters’ faces—Sarelle gnawed at her bottom lip, eyes wide, while Caelian looked ready to punch a hole through the nearest wall.

Her fists were curled at her sides and her small frame wavered with untempered rage.

Nyxian stepped forward, lines of dread tormenting his usually dashing face.

“I’m sorry, Sol. I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know what she wanted.”

Solarius sorted through the fog of his mind, grasping at bits of information as they slipped through his fingers.

“What who wanted?”

“Mother.” Nyxian swallowed, his throat working, and all the color drained from his face.

“I had no idea she laced the tea with amberwood.”

Amberwood.

Moon seeds.

Recollection of the past few hours slammed into him with brute force, each image tumbling into the next with startling clarity.

Trysta’s artificial apology.

The tea.

Her outrageous claim that Narissa was somehow responsible for his father’s death.

Narissa.

The bond fired through him, hot and flaring, and he whipped around in a small circle, searching her out.

“Narissa!”

Sarelle flinched.

“She’s not here, Sol. She left.”

“She left ?”

“Yes. For House Galefell. You…you were supposed to meet her.” The depths of Sarelle’s deep blue eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

“When you didn’t show, she went ahead on her own.”

“And you let her?” he boomed, his voice thundering through the small space.

“You let her go there by herself?”

“Of course not!” Sarelle cried, throwing her arms out in exasperation.

“I offered to go with her, but she refused my company.”

“Why didn’t anyone try and come find me?” Solarius raked his hands through his hair, pacing, his stomach roiling with nausea that had nothing to do with amberwood and everything to do with the fact that Narissa’s life was possibly in danger.

“You have no idea what Calfair is capable of, what he’s already done to her. Our own fucking mother intends to ruin her, to trap Narissa in an outrageous scandal.”

He shook his head, chest heaving.

“I have to find her.”

A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, halting his frantic, jerky movements.

“We’re here now.”

He tossed a careless glance over his shoulder to find Kjeld holding him in place.

The former general from Brackroth rarely spoke these days and when he did, it was calm and with purpose.

“We will find your wife.” Kjeld inclined his head, his dark blond braided hair falling forward.

He met Solarius’s gaze and held it in a silent vow.

“What’s she planning?” Caelian demanded, a storm brewing in the depths of her deep blue eyes.

For the first time in months, she didn’t seem to care that she was sharing the same space of the male she loved, she didn’t care if Kjeld was a few feet from her, staring at her in some strained mix of awe and loathing.

“What is Mother attempting to hold over Narissa’s head?”

“Father’s death.”

His words hung hollow, carving out years of pain that had been carefully buried beneath mountains of false bravado and feigned contentment.

The sitting room was silent, save for the air stirred by uneven breaths, shaken exhales, and unsettled heartbeats.

Each of his siblings looked as though they’d had their chests ripped open, their grief exposed for all to see, bare and unencumbered.

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, that she deserves 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.”