Page 82 of All the Pain of Promises
“I am not a dog on a leash.” He started folding the heap of clothing on the bed in order to prevent himself from punching a hole through the nearest wall. “And neither are you.”
Nyxian merely shifted his weight, crossing one ankle over the other. It was clear he was still furious with Ariesian for planning his marriage to some twittering noble female, and from the looks of it, he’d taken to frequenting Celestine’s notorious taverns. He stifled a yawn, but it did little to hide the red leaking into the whites of his eyes.
“What does she want?” Solarius asked, stacking his crisp shirts in neat piles.
“I don’t know. She never talks to me.” His tone dripped with resentment, and a line of irritation creased his forehead. “Did you know she never once asked me or Tovian about our sailing trip with the High Prince of Faeven? She didn’t ask us aboutthe realms we saw, the cities we visited, the people we met. Nothing.”
Nyxian shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, his gaze downcast. “I don’t think she even cared that we were gone. If she noticed at all. She certainly didn’t miss us.”
His younger brother’s admission bruised Solarius’s heart.
He and Ariesian tried their damnedest to shield their siblings from their mother’s cruel judgment, but somehow she always managed to snake past their defenses, to snare them with disparaging condescension and dismissive remarks. If there was one thing he could not bear, it was to see the light inside the souls of his brothers and sisters go dark.
“Tell me about one of your adventures,” he said, taking an armful of Narissa’s gowns to the dressing closet.
Nyxian sighed. “I already have.”
“Tell me again.”
“You’re certain?”
Solarius nodded. “Of course I’m certain. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”
A ghost of a smile passed over Nyxian’s mouth. “Not as of late.”
“Smart ass.” Solarius smirked in return. “Go on then, tell me a seafaring story.”
He listened intently as Nyxian launched into his favorite tale—one he’d regaled three times already—about a southern island where the waters are as green as precious jade and there’s nothing but miles of endless sand for as far as the eye can see. Nyxian had fallen in love with the entire vibe, a balmy paradise where he could get drunk off rum-filled coconuts and lounge on a beach beneath the shade of a palm for hours.
To be fair, it sounded like a dream, the kind of place Solarius would love simply because Narissa would thrive.
Once Nyxian finished his story, Solarius stretched his arms overhead, popped his jaw, then headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Nyxian asked, stepping out of the way to let him pass.
“I’m off to find out why our mother hates us.”
Solariusstrode into his mother’s receiving room without knocking and without waiting for an invitation to enter. He knew it broke all sorts of social rules and norms, and he had no doubt Trysta would ream him for such inexcusable manners, but he no longer cared.
The sitting area was just off the main bedroom of the house—the one she used to share with his father—and though there was a small stone hearth where faerie fire sparked to life, a distinctive chill clung to the perfumed air. It smelled of fragrant tea leaves and withered roses. Navy brocade with silver-stitched constellations papered the walls, and a midnight rug stretched across most of the hardwood flooring. A bay window surrounded by inlaid selenite overlooked the gardens at the rear of the house and two stiff winged chairs were perched on either side of a small round oak table where a tea service was spread.
Trysta occupied one chair, her lips pursed as though she’d bitten into a rotten lemon, her hand flitting toward the vacant seat.
Just looking at her made Solarius’s skin crawl with unease.
He was still furious with her after yesterday’s events, and his mistrust toward her had evolved into a festering wound he wanted to purge from his heart. So he waited, counting each beatuntil her unforgiving gaze flicked to him with impatience. Until contempt dug its way into the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.
Only then did he sit down.
She added two lumps of sugar to her cup of tea, then stirred, so the only sound was the clanking of the metal spoon against porcelain and the jingle of her excessive bracelets.
“I would offer you some tea.” Trysta placed a slim glass bottle with a worn label on the table. “Though I know you prefer alcohol as of late.”
The insult struck true, burrowing itself into Solarius’s gut. But then again, if his mother had paid him any attention over the past few days, she would have noticed he’d intentionally forgone any sort of alcohol consumption, save for when he’d beaten Calfair in a local tavern.
“I’ll have tea.” He bit the words off.
Trysta’s brows rose in surprise, and she reached for the teapot, pouring the steaming reddish-brown liquid into a cup for him. “Do you still require honey or sugar?”
