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. Solariuswasn’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.
