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.”
“Sheleft?”
“Yes. For House Galefell. You…you were supposed to meet her.” The depths of Sarelle’s deep blue eyes glossed over withunshed 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 theair 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.
