Chapter 11 Sadness Was in The Air
Sadness Was in The Air
Nikhail sensed River’s arrival before he beheld her. His spine stiffened, and an awareness crept down his back. There was a tug inside him, ensuring he was paying attention. Warmth unfurled in his stomach, and he straightened. Pushed back his shoulders. Stood taller.
Drawing in a deep breath, he kept his hands at his sides as he turned to the entrance.
A magnet drawn to his opposite pole. He’d sooner be able to stop the sun from shining than keep himself from moving.
To his left, the Representative was speaking in a low murmur with someone Nikhail didn’t recognize. Her words didn’t register.
His world was centered around the gorgeous water fae standing in the entrance.
River had stopped a few steps back from Ryker and his wife. Seeming to realize his sister was frozen, Ryker reached back, took River’s hand, and gently pulled her forward. River tucked her hand into the crook of Ryker’s arm. Clung to him, as if she needed him to stay upright.
Nikhail drew in a deep breath, which was good, because as soon as his gaze locked with River’s, it was as if all the air was sucked out of the room. His heart thudded in his chest. His lungs emptied. Had they ever contained air at all?
His body strained toward River, drawn by an unseen force. He yearned to get closer to her and assure himself that she was real. It felt as though years had gone by since he’d last seen her, not mere days.
Was this how the stars felt every night when they first glimpsed the moon? Awed by its beauty, drawn by its glorious majesty.
And gods help him, but even in her grief, River was breathtakingly captivating. It didn’t matter that her eyes were rimmed with red or that her skin was far paler than it should’ve been. There was an inherent beauty about her, an inner strength that shone despite the pain she endured.
River was gripping a small black clutch in her free hand. Even from here, he could see that her fingers were digging into the fabric.
Nikhail’s feet itched to cross the room and plant him at River’s side. That was where he belonged, after all. But he couldn’t. Not right now.
After all, Nikhail wasn’t here for a social visit, and he wasn’t standing behind Tertia Waterborn’s right shoulder for the view. He had a purpose here, and it wasn’t to visit with River, no matter how much he longed to get closer to her.
Sliding his hand beneath his suit jacket, Nikhail touched the reassuring weight of the gun holstered there.
It wasn’t his only weapon—he also had several knives concealed across his body, along with another gun holstered on his left ankle.
They were additional resources in the extreme event that the magic coursing through his veins wasn’t enough to protect the Representative and her family.
That was, after all, his purpose for being here.
As part of Chancellor Rose’s new security measures, Representatives would have a military guard at all times.
Nikhail was serving as one of the four soldiers who would remain at Tertia’s side until this order was lifted.
It was the Chancellor’s hope that this would deter the Black Night from their murderous cause.
Nikhail was filling in for another soldier, Tyson Stills, who had contracted a bad case of food poisoning the night before. With everything going on, Nikhail hadn’t had the chance to message River and tell her he’d be here.
His partner for the day, Maddox Fellows, stood on the Representative’s other side.
Maddox was a Death Elf, shorter than Nikhail, but bulkier.
The crimson mating mark that wrapped around his wrist stood out on his ebony skin.
Maddox looked like a soldier in every way, and he appeared extremely uncomfortable in his black suit.
Unaware that the reason for Nikhail’s existence had just entered the space, the Death Elf ran a hand through his black hair and surveyed the room, his stance rigid.
After a moment, Nikhail glanced back at River. He couldn’t help it.
She was coming closer, her hand still curled around Ryker’s elbow. And gods. He had clearly underestimated how it would feel to see River again. His magic strummed in his veins, getting louder with each step River took towards him.
No.
Not him.
Tertia.
Nikhail had to keep reminding himself of that.
Reaching within himself, Nikhail drew up a thread of magic.
With a flick of his fingers and barely a thought, he sent it towards River.
A heartbeat later, her hair fluttered. Her gaze, still locked on his, widened, and his magic buzzed as she inhaled sharply.
He felt her intake of breath as if she were standing next to him. Touching him, instead of his magic.
Being able to let his magic caress River soothed something inside Nikhail, but it didn’t calm his need to be next to her and take care of her. He was beginning to suspect that nothing ever would.
Fabric rustled, and soft whispers swirled through the air as the Waterborns approached their matriarch. Mourners stepped aside, making room.
Despite the grief etched onto the lines of his face, Ryker moved with authority, leading his wife and sister.
They were a few feet away when River’s gaze slid from Nikhail to her mother. Her breath hitched. The sound echoed throughout the room, or maybe it just seemed that way to Nikhail. River shifted, clinging to her brother’s arm.
What Nikhail wouldn’t give to have River holding his arm right now. Clinging to him for strength. He would hold her tight and never let her falter. He’d be her rock, her support for as long as she needed it.
One day.
For now, all Nikhail could do was stand his ground and follow River’s line of sight.
She was staring at Tertia, or more accurately, at the easel on her left and the framed photograph it held.
The photo, which was of a younger Cyrus Waterborn, must’ve been taken several decades ago.
There was no trace of the Stillness. No sign of any illness at all.
From here, Nikhail could make out Cyrus’s happy expression. His resemblance to Ryker was striking, down to the slope of his nose and the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed at something out of frame.
He looked happy.
A sealed black urn sat on a table in front of the photograph. Hand-painted with depictions of the old fae gods, the ceramic container held all that remained of Cyrus Waterborn.
River’s lip quivered at the sight. Ryker, too, seemed moved. His throat bobbed, and he drew in a deep breath. He squeezed his wife’s hand before he stepped forward.
“Hello, Mother.” Ryker extended his hand towards the Representative.
“My son.” Tertia placed her fingers in his.
Ryker helped the Representative stand. Even with heels, she was still shorter than he was.
“Thank you for putting this together,” he said, drawing her in for a hug.
After a moment, the matriarch’s arms encircled her son. Tertia’s movements were robotic, stiff in a way that didn’t quite feel right.
“Of course,” Tertia replied. “Your father, the gods be with his soul, deserves to be remembered. After all, this is our way.”
Murmurs of agreement rose from the assembled crowd.
Nikhail could still remember the first fae memorial he’d attended—it had taken place a little over a year after his father abandoned him and his family, leaving them to fend for themselves.
Roberta Tulouse, or Grandma Bobbie, as she’d insisted everyone call her, had been an elderly fire fae who lived in the same apartment complex as Nikhail and his family.
Grandma Bobbie’s children and grandchildren had lived in the Northern Region, and she’d more or less adopted all the families in their building as her own.
Nikhail didn’t know much about her past, but even to this day, he remembered that Grandma Bobbie made the most delicious chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted.
When Grandma Bobbie had Faded, the whole building mourned her. They threw her their own memorial service, and the whole community had attended, even those who weren’t fae.
The memorial had been full of life and love. Laughter, even.
Grandma Bobbie had been loved and respected, a cherished member of their community. Nikhail’s mother had wept at the news of her passing. People had talked for hours at the service, exchanging stories of their favorite moments with the elderly woman.
This memorial was nothing like that one.
Sadness permeated the space. It was in the air, but also in every movement. The ballroom was packed, but there was no laughter. No smiles. Just a reminder that death had stolen a beloved member of the Waterborn family.
The space itself was cold and lifeless, and it made Nikhail’s gut twist. The amount of gold on the walls alone could feed a community for a year.
Nikhail had never met Cyrus Waterborn, and he didn’t know much about him other than what Ryker had shared over the years, but just from knowing his children, he knew that this wasn’t what the man would’ve wanted.
Eventually, Tertia pulled away from Ryker. She patted his cheek in a condescending way that only mothers seemed capable of achieving.
“You look like your father,” she said with a watery smile. A hint of warmth existed in her voice that hadn’t been present before. “He would be so proud of you.”
Ryker blinked several times, and when he spoke, his voice was gruffer than before. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot to me.”
“Of course,” she replied, sounding once more like the cold Representative Nikhail knew her to be. Tertia moved towards Brynleigh. “You came.”
“I did.” The vampire didn’t cower in the face of the Representative’s coldness.
She looked at Ryker, then at Cyrus’s picture.
“Your husband meant a lot to mine, and he was kind to me. What kind of wife and daughter-in-law would I be if I didn’t come?
Besides, Cyrus was a good man. The world will be worse off without him. ”