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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

N arissa 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 immediately been 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.”

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 the honeysting 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.”

Narissa’s heart skittered and her lungs caved inward, making it almost impossible to breathe.

She watched in horror as the wall behind Trysta and Calfair peeled back like curtains being drawn to reveal a glass enclosure where a dozen or so men and women idly lounged on sumptuous furniture.

They were sprawled like decadent works of art, draped in finery to give the appearance of a satisfactory life.

Their movements were slow and languid, their voices muffled beyond the glass, while mellow music filtered into the space, disguising their words.

But nothing could hide the truth in their eyes—the glazed, distant expression of a shell of a soul.

A lifeless creature.

“And how exactly did you find the moonshade?” Narissa asked, desperate to buy herself what little time she had left.

“It’s a rare plant and not so easily harvested.”

“That was the least complicated part of this whole ordeal.” Trysta’s gaze narrowed, and the lines crinkling around her eyes sagged with the weight of extra skin.

“Lord Calfair here is a most excellent supplier, even if he has been rather late on his deliveries recently.”

“Your lack of patience never ceases to amaze me.” Calfair folded his arms over his chest, an air of exasperation settling around his shoulders.

He stared at Narissa, his facial expression devoid of any sort of emotion.

“Your signature, Lady Narissa.”

She reared back, defiant.

“Absolutely not. I refuse to take the blame for a crime I did not commit.”

Trysta’s short laugh was punctuated by mocking ridicule.

“I must say, I do admire your resistance. It’s adorable that you think my plans will somehow be foiled. No one is coming to your rescue, Lady Narissa. I’ve made certain of it.”

Solarius.

Narissa’s chest caved at the thought of Trysta harming her own son.

Icy fear mingled with burning rage, and her nails bit into the firm fabric of the chair.

She wanted nothing more than to gouge Trysta’s eyes out and rip that smug smile clean off her face.

“What have you done to him?” Narissa demanded, pitching forward.

“What have you done to Solarius?”

“Nothing too outrageous. I didn’t poison him if that’s what you’re worried about. Though it was incredibly easy to slip the amberwood into his tea. I’m surprised he didn’t suspect a thing.” Her wrinkled mouth twisted to one side, and she dusted the tip of the feather quill against her cheek.

“Like father, like son in that sense, I suppose. Zenos never questioned me until it was too late, but by then I’d already married him and given him eight children.”

She shrugged then, bracelets tinkling as she rolled her sleeves and dipped the quill into the well of ink to wet the tip once more.

The stillness in the room wavered around Trysta.

“Whether you willingly sign this admission is neither here nor there, Lady Narissa. Either way, your signature can be easily forged. It would be lovely if you could pick your demise and get on with it, as Lord Calfair and I are quite busy.”

Narissa could feel Calfair’s lascivious gaze seeping into her skin and the tiny hairs along the back of her neck stood on end.

If she was forced to choose between a seemingly endless sleep or becoming one of Calfair’s pets for the remainder of her days, then there was only one obvious choice.

She could only hope her decision was not made in vain.

She snatched the vial off the table without hesitation and popped off the cork.

“Narissa!” Calfair lunged toward her, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Tipping her head back, she swallowed the smoky blue liquid in one gulp, cringing as the intense flavors of bitter florals and moonlit honey coated the back of her throat.

Narissa squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t take long for the effects to run their course.

The racing beat of her heart echoed in her ears, accompanied by the devastatingly familiar thrum of the mating bond tying her to Solarius.

He would find her.

No matter what, she knew he would find her.

As her thoughts turned sluggish and her body grew heavy, as though her blood had turned to sand, Narissa reached through the bond to Solarius’s mind, praying to the stars he could still hear her.

“The bracelets, ” she whispered.

The crush of nothingness slammed into her, pulling her under, and Narissa drowned.