Page 38

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

“ T he bracelets.”

Narissa’s voice stole through Solarius’s mind, a swift and somber whisper, and though he reached for her in return, he received only unnatural silence as a response.

His wrath was soundless.

It stole through his veins, freezing him from the inside out.

He was numb to all other emotions, to all other sensations.

He could no longer feel the burn of the brutally cold wind against his skin as Svartos, Drake’s dragon, aimed for House Galefell.

The reins were wrapped twice around his hands, and he knew the leather cut into his palms, but that painful feeling had ebbed away the second he heard Narissa’s voice.

Now, there was only cold calculation.

He kept his gaze trained on the horizon, where the spires of House Galefell protruded through the inky clouds.

There was nothing save for the rushing of his blood, the steady hum of a bond still intact, and the harrowing screech of a dragon.

The seat he shared with Sarelle gave him an extended vantage point, and he glanced over to where Odryss flew alongside them, with Kjeld and Ariesian atop his back.

Svartos’s onyx wings stretched wide as he leaned into the gusting wind, the graying light reflecting off his shiny black scales.

Darkness chased them from the east, swallowing up the leaden winter clouds like spilled ink across a canvas of slate.

Odryss cut in front, and Kjeld guided them into a frozen courtyard surrounded by towering walls of pale blue stone.

Solarius was grateful for the maneuver, because even though he found flying a dragon to be much like riding a horse, it was also slightly more intimidating.

Horses didn’t breathe fire, for example.

Nor were they covered in massive scales with clawed wings and fearsome jaws capable of turning bone to dust.

Basically, horses, and even Eponians, were far less terrifying to control.

The dragons touched down in the courtyard, kicking up bits of dead grass and frost in their wake.

Solarius jumped down from Svartos’s back without hesitation, then reached up, helping his sister from the seat atop the dragon as the beast lowered itself to the ground.

He thought for certain they would be greeted by some malicious guards or an odious member of the household staff, but the last person he expected to see running out of the house, heading straight toward him, was Lady Aria Skyhelm.

Her usually bronze skin was pallid, as though it had lost some of its luster.

Tendrils of loose midnight hair whipped around her, having fallen from the intricate hairstyle she wore.

Wide eyes were framed with spidery lashes and her cheeks were flushed from the cold as she sprinted toward them.

“My lord.” She dropped into a hasty curtsy, amber eyes flicking toward Sarelle.

“My lady. You must come with me at once.”

Ariesian stalked toward them and Solarius didn’t miss the way a distinctive line of mistrust pinched across Lady Aria’s brow at the sight of his eldest brother.

Ariesian grabbed Solarius by the shoulder and halted him before he could take a step to follow.

“Not so fast, Lady Aria.” Ariesian positioned himself before her, shielding his siblings.

“Why don’t you first explain why our mother’s carriage is here at such an hour? Or at all, for that matter?”

“Mother is here ?” Sarelle asked, clutching Solarius’s sleeve and giving it an anxious tug.

“Why would she be here?”

“She’s conspiring with Calfair, there was talk of them framing Lady Narissa for the death of your father.” Lady Aria’s back snapped straight, she did not shrink away from Ariesian so quickly.

And her gaze latched onto Solarius.

“If I was the wagering sort, I would imagine your beloved is in grave danger.”

Kjeld stepped up on the other side, while Solarius shuffled Sarelle behind him.

Anger bubbled to the surface, foaming and frothing.

“Is that a threat?”

“No, my lord.” Lady Aria didn’t even blink when she said, “That’s a fact.”

“And how would you know?” Ariesian demanded, encroaching her space with his intimidating frame, looming over her.

“What part do you play in their scheme?”

“I play no part, I was merely an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The brown of her eyes heated and if looks could kill, Ariesian would be dead where he stood.

“Much like you, my lord, my brother controls all the pieces of my life. I am nothing more than a pawn. A bargaining chip. As you well know.”

It would appear as though Ariesian had already negotiated a contract with Lord Calfair for Lady Aria to wed Nyxian, and she was none too pleased about the idea.

“Enough of this.” Solarius interjected himself between them, turning his attention to the fuming female.

“Lady Aria, where is my wife?”

“The lower levels.” She cut Ariesian with another scathing look.

“And I would suggest you hurry. Queen Elowyn is already en route to accept Lady Narissa’s confession to the murder of your father.”

Shit.

Solarius didn’t waste another second of precious time.

He stole into House Galefell with the thunder of boots and voices behind him.

The bond he shared with Narissa continued to pulse, but the beating of her heart was entirely too slow, its dull thump sounding as though it might give out at any moment.

He followed its call like a siren’s song, like he could hear the sultry lull of Narissa’s voice through the maze-like corridors and spiraling staircases.

His chest heaved with each painstaking breath while he sprinted toward her fading summons, the air growing thick and violently warm as he descended into the lower levels of the house.

Solarius was no fool.

He knew what Calfair kept hidden away beneath the excessive display of his family’s wealth.

The thought of Narissa being coerced or forced into becoming one of his pets, of her being dragged into that sickening world of sexual favors and servitude, made his stomach twist into unforgiving knots of dread.

Bile scalded the back of his throat, hot and sticky, but he swallowed the uncomfortable sensation down.

Blinking away the disturbing images from his mind, Solarius bolted around a corner, then drew up short.

He faced a crimson wall with no obvious windows and no latches for doors, but he could feel the tug of the bond coming from the opposite side.

Narissa had to be in there somewhere, but he had no clue how to get to her.

“There must be a way in,” he muttered, running his palms across the smooth red stone.

Sarelle stumbled into him, her heels sliding along the sleek ebony hardwood as she skidded to a stop, and Solarius grabbed her arm to keep her upright.

“Is Narissa in there?” she asked, throwing her arms out in front of her to examine the wall.

“Yes.” Solarius pounded one fist against the fiery stone.

“But I don’t know how to reach her.”

“Stand aside.” It was Kjeld who spoke, his rough voice echoing through the dimly lit hall.

He pulled an axe from the covered strap across his back, smacking the carved rustic handle against his calloused palm.

Runes were engraved along the neck of the weapon, and a paralyzing metallic tang hung in the air.

Sarelle gasped, her hand coming round her own throat.

“Is that iron?”

“It is,” Kjeld grunted and hoisted the axe over one shoulder, priming to strike.

Every fae knew that cold iron was practically a death wish—the metal was their greatest weakness.

It subdued them, dulling their magic until it was barely undetectable.

The burns left behind if it touched their skin took ages to heal without proper treatment.

And if left in close contact with the solid poison for too long, eventually, it would kill them.

But Kjeld had only recently become fae, and not by his wishes.

He would’ve preferred to die a warrior’s death.

Yet he continued to fight with the very blade that could end his life.

Sarelle opened her mouth to perhaps mention that exact bit of information, but Ariesian silenced her with a look.

“Mind your eyes,” was all Kjeld said before he swung the axe forward in a vicious blow.

The blade made contact with the crimson wall, splintering it like a faceted diamond.

The sound rattled Solarius’s ears, and he gritted his teeth against the noise.

Kjeld ripped the axe out and repeated the motion, sending bits of red glass flying.

Ariesian grabbed Sarelle, tucking her into his chest, and when Kjeld delivered the final blow against the wall of red, it shattered like a thousand broken rubies at their feet.

Solarius darted into the room, boots crunching over the shards of glass littering the floor.

The space was lacking furnishings save for an old table with a candle that had nearly burned itself out—its flame spat from a puddle of wax.

Trysta was seated in a wooden chair, her weathered face etched in severe lines of shock, while Lord Calfair stood nearby, rolling a scroll of parchment in his hands.

He, however, didn’t look the least bit surprised by their abrupt entry.

Instead, it was remorse that clouded his features, and when his gaze slid to the high-back chair across from him, Solarius knew why.

Slumped and lifeless in the chair, with messy golden waves covering her face, was Narissa.

“Rissa!” Solarius shouted, and it was as though the heated blade of a dagger fresh from the forge tore open his chest and ripped out his heart.

He rushed toward her, a swelling knot of panic clogging the back of his throat, making it impossible to breathe.

His palms were damp as he gathered her limp body into his arms, hating the way her head lolled and her eyes stayed closed.

Though he could feel the faintest glimmer of the bond, the thinnest thread of a connection, his magic churned with vengeful loathing as he turned to face his mother.

“You.” He spoke the word like he was the cold hand of death sent to deliver her fate.

“This is your fault. You did this to her.”

“Well, this has been a lovely little reunion.” Calfair let out a low whistle, tucking the parchment into the pocket of his vest.

“But if you would excuse me, I suddenly have somewhere more important to be.”

The heir of House Galefell had barely taken a step when swaths of shadows flecked with stardust circled around his throat, squeezing until Calfair’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“The fuck you do,” Ariesian growled, ribbons of glittering shadows pouring from the tips of his fingers.

“You’re going to stay right here, that way when Queen Elowyn arrives, she can see what a truly vile, insufferable prick you are and just how many Midsummer rules you’ve broken. I believe no kidnapping of mortals is at the top of the list, along with the assault of a lady.”

Calfair jerked against his shadowy bindings.

“You fucking?—”

“Watch your tongue, air fae.” Kjeld lifted his axe so the dull lighting reflected off the iron blade.

“Or I’ll cut it out.”

Calfair paled, his skin turning a sallow hue as his eyes tracked the iron axe.

“You,” Solarius repeated, gently setting an unconscious Narissa onto the chair.

He stalked toward his mother.

“Explain yourself.”

She shoved out of the wooden chair, using it as a barrier between them.

“I’m quite sure the circumstances already explain themselves.”

“Do they?” he mused, tilting his head.

“Because it looks to me like you’re trying to pin my father’s death upon my wife, when you know damn well it was your doing.”

Trysta laughed then, short and bitter.

But her eyes were rounder than usual, filled with a shadow of worry.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What benefit would I receive from poisoning Zenos? Besides, honeysting is almost impossible to find.”

“How curious,” Sarelle drawled, planting both of her hands on her hips, rounding on Trysta’s other side, blocking her in.

“I don’t recall father’s cause of death ever being determined. Yet you know he was poisoned, you even know the exact plant used to lace his tea.”

Trysta’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut.

She took a hasty step backward, bumping into the table behind her.

“Nonsense. I was only repeating what Narissa already told me.”

She grabbed the edge of the table and her bracelets jangled noisily.

The bracelets.

Narissa’s voice replayed in Solarius’s head.

Fuck, the bracelets.

Of course.

The lunarstorm whipped through Solarius and razor-sharp bolts of moonlight formed at his fingertips.

He was sick of his mother’s games.

Sick of her lying and her wretched behavior.

More than anything, he couldn’t stand what she’d done to their family.

She murdered his father with little remorse, shamed Solarius and his siblings for showing any sign of grief.

Hatred spewed from her mouth, proof she never wanted them.

Never loved them.

He threw his arms out, aiming each swirling shard at those damn bracelets she always wore.

They scoured the air, spinning in dizzying circles.

The fractals of moonlight hit the gold bangles with precision, cracking them, fracturing them into dozens of tiny pieces that fell to the floor like dust.

Trysta screamed, a haggard screech as the air shimmered, and the glamour she’d crafted for years fell away.

She stood before them as nothing more than a hollow husk of a decrepit female.

Her snowy white hair turned ashen and thin, falling to her waist in stringy clumps.

Her skin was blotched and discolored, sagging to the point where it hung off her sharp bones.

The gown she wore displayed the wicked curve of her back as she hunched over, barely able to hold her head up.

She was archaic.

All the years of aging caught up to her in one fell swoop, stealing away the remnants of her life.

Sarelle gasped, horrified, clamping one hand over her mouth.

Ariesian simply stood there, dumbfounded.

Solarius wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his brother rendered speechless before.

Ariesian always knew what to say and how to say it.

“What are you looking at?” Trysta cried, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

She pointed a bony finger at Narissa’s unmoving form.

“Your wife is dead!”

“She’s not dead!” Lady Aria stood among the shattered red glass of the wall and raised one arm high, a singular vial in her grasp.

“She took a sleeping draught of dreamshade. I swapped it with the honeysting poison when I learned my brother was an absolute disgrace to the Skyhelm family name.”

She glared at Calfair, her boldly painted lips curled in disgust.

To his credit, he didn’t dare move, as Ariesian’s shadows were still tightly wrapped around his throat.

A sleeping draught.

The tension coiling through Solarius’s body instantly relaxed, eased to where he could finally breathe.

That was why the bond still hummed.

She was only in a deep sleep, saved by a potion of her very own making thanks to the wit and cleverness of one Lady Aria Skyhelm.

“I owe you the entirety of my gratitude, Lady Aria.” Solarius bowed his head.

“I am not sure I can ever repay you for saving her life.”

“Think nothing of it.” She lowered her arm, sighing quietly.

“Lady Narissa is a wonderful fr?—”

But Lady Aria’s words were lost as Trysta lunged toward her, snatching the vial from her grasp.

It was like watching the world move at a pace that was so much slower than normal.

Everyone’s voices blurred together in a stream of incoherent words and shouts, a discordant melody.

Their movements were drawn out and disorderly.

Sedated.

Solarius watched, catching only air as Trysta uncorked the vial of honeysting and swallowed it in one gulp.

The vial slipped from her hand, shattering against the hardwood floor.

Seconds bled by in an excruciating pace.

It was as though time was nonexistent.

There was only a collective breath of shock and the in the next moment, Trysta crumpled to the ground in a heap of bones and heavy silks.

Her body twitched once.

Then twice.

A spasm jerked her leg and shoulders, causing her brittle form to flinch.

Her final breath wheezed out of her in a wet, sucking sound, and then the matriarch of the Starstorm bloodline was no more.

A strange sense of calm passed over Solarius.

There was no sadness, no devastation, no gaping loss.

Only a quiet understanding of retribution.

He scooped Narissa’s sleeping form into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

Words were lost to him, for all he cared about was taking her home and waiting for her to return to him.

He would wait for her forever.

Lady Aria gently placed her hand on his arm, a ghost of a smile edged around her lips.

“She’ll awaken, my lord. I promise you, she’ll awaken.”