Chapter 12 Broken and Cursed #2
At the thought of her father, grief lapped at the fringes of River’s consciousness. Threatened to drown her. All it would take was one strong wave, and she’d go down.
She couldn’t let that happen. Not here.
Refusing to let the sorrow take hold, River downed this glass of wine, too. She took a few more canapés, more to appease Ryker than anything else, but they tasted like ash.
Her mother laughed again, and even though she hated herself for it, River sought Tertia out. How could she look away for long when her mother had positioned herself as the star of this farce of a funeral? Nikhail stood stiffly behind the Representative, his jaw clenched as he scanned the crowd.
Was he as bothered by Tertia’s behavior as she was?
River didn’t know, because even though the air fae kept looking at her, he hadn’t made a move to close the distance between them.
And that hurt.
Yours, Nikhail had said, but now there was a ballroom between them, and it felt like a chasm.
River wanted to cross the room and go to him. She would be safe in his arms, of that she was certain. He wouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable or out of sorts. Everything, including this, would be easier if she were by his side.
But she wasn’t.
River looked around for Ryker, but he was deep in conversation with a Representative from the Western Region. Brynleigh wasn’t far from his side, talking with a winged elf.
So River was alone. That was…
Definitely not fine.
She couldn’t even lie to herself.
River grabbed another glass of wine. This one was colder than the last, almost icy, but it slipped down her throat all the same.
She waited for Ryker to be alone before she walked back over to him. Forcing her feet to move in step with each other was surprisingly difficult. By the time she reached her brother’s side, she was woozy.
Ryker slung his arm around her, and she leaned against him. Absorbed his warmth.
Yes, she had been right earlier. Ryker was a tree, and a good one at that. Why weren’t there more people like him? People who others could depend on, no matter what.
“You know, I used to think Mom and Dad loved each other,” River admitted, peering into her glass. Empty, again. “I was sure of it when Dad was last awake. But this… Now… I don’t know.”
How could someone do this on the day meant to commemorate the loss of the person they adored? The one they had vowed to spend their life with, that they’d spent decades caring for.
Tertia had always dropped everything for Cyrus. She had been there when he was sick. She’d cared for him and kept him in Waterborn House because she had loved him….
Right?
“Mom and Dad did love each other,” Ryker said.
Fae couldn’t lie, which meant Ryker believed what he was saying. It was the truth, at least to him. But maybe Ryker had just fooled himself into believing Tertia was a better person than she actually was.
River tilted up her head to look at her brother. “Really?”
Even the cloud of alcohol couldn’t hide the doubt in her voice.
“I think so.” Ryker squeezed her shoulder. “I really do. I just think that Mom is…” He paused, seeming to consider his words. “She’s broken inside.”
River scoffed, gesturing to the party taking place around them. “You don’t say?”
“She is,” he insisted. “She just… doesn’t know how to grieve for him properly. Dad was her constant, even when he was sick. She relied on him. And I think that now that he’s gone, she doesn’t know how to feel the loss. This is how she’s coping.”
What happened to dealing with grief like a normal person?
The part of River that had gone through years of medical school, training for illness and death, knew that it wasn’t exactly fair to judge someone for how they chose to mourn. Every person was different, every loss of life unique in its own awful way.
That training didn’t help right now.
“Some people are cold,” Brynleigh said softly, coming to stand beside Ryker. Her wings were out, mercifully blocking Tertia from River’s view. The vampire held a glass of blood wine, and the corner of her wing brushed River’s shoulder. “Ryker is right. Your mother loved your dad, in her own way.”
She supposed that could be possible. Perhaps this was Tertia showing her love for her husband in the only way she knew how.
There was no doubt in River’s mind that Brynleigh and Ryker were right. There was something not whole about Tertia. She’d always been this way, for as long as River could remember.
Tertia rarely talked about her childhood. River didn’t know anything about her maternal grandparents, save for their names—Cordelia and Theodore—and the fact that they’d Faded a century before Ryker’s birth.
Was there something in Tertia’s past that had broken her? Or maybe…
Was she like River?
The thought was so horrific that River had never considered it. Her blood chilled in her veins, and for a very long moment, an eternity, really, she was frozen in place.
Was that it?
Was that the reason Tertia hated River? Was that the reason River had been deprived of maternal love and care?
It seemed so fucking simple that River could barely believe it.
If Tertia was broken because she was like River… If she, too, was cursed, then...
Oh, gods.
River’s fingers loosened around the empty glass. It was only because of Brynleigh’s vampiric speed that the flute didn’t shatter into a million pieces on the floor.
That didn’t seem to matter, though, because something inside River fractured all the same.
Cursed One.
It made sense. All of it did, in a dreadful, nauseating way that had River’s head spinning and her stomach churning. Bile rose in her throat, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.
“River?” Her brother’s voice was sharp with alarm, but it sounded like it came from down a tunnel. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t find the words to articulate the discovery she’d just stumbled upon. It made sense. Oh, gods, it made so much sense that River couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it until now.
Her vision blurred, and she raced towards the exit.
The pounding of her heels was a drum in her ears. She knew she shouldn’t be moving so fast, that by running out of here, she was causing a scene, but she was too far gone to care.
River bolted through the doors, passing a startled waiter. Gilded doors passed in a blur until she found the women’s bathroom. She ran inside, ignoring the shocked faces around her, and dashed into the first empty stall.
She locked the door and fell to her knees. Holding her hair back with one hand, she dropped her clutch and hugged the porcelain with the other. She lost the contents of her stomach.
River heaved until there was nothing left within her, and still, she remained on her knees. She couldn’t move.
Cursed One, Cursed One, Cursed One.
Usually, the name cycled through her mind in her own voice, but right now, it was Tertia who was screaming it at her. That was fitting, in a way, since Tertia was the first one to call River cursed.
When had the name first been introduced? Had Tertia only started using it after the Incident, or had it preceded that terrible night?
A chill swept through River, as if she’d been dunked in the Black Sea. Could it be possible? Had Tertia been using the name before River’s magic came in?
She couldn’t remember. It felt like the moniker had belonged to River for her entire life. As if she’d always heard it and associated it with herself.
But maybe she was wrong….
Maybe the mentions of curses and magic and darkness hadn’t always been directed at River. A shadowy wisp of a memory beckoned. Begged River to pay attention.
River reached for it.
Hugging her book bag in front of her chest, because she’d just gotten home from school, River turned the corner on slippered feet. She’d removed her shoes the moment she entered Waterborn House, the way she’d been taught. After all, good girls did not track dirt through the house.
She had to be quiet. Dad was sleeping upstairs, as usual, and Mother hated it when she was loud.
Proper young ladies weren’t boisterous. They didn’t make noise or speak out of turn. They didn’t even talk unless directly spoken to.
At nine years old, River knew all about being a proper young lady. It was, after all, one of her main focuses of study at Highmountain’s School for Young Fae.
Quiet murmurs came from the study down the hall, and River’s chest constricted. She had to go past the study to get to her room. Usually, Tertia was still at the office when River got home from school.
River debated turning around and heading outside to the solarium that was her escape, but she didn’t want to bring her book bag with her.
She’d move quietly and drop off her things before going to her favorite place. If she was careful, Tertia would never know she’d walked by.
That was a good plan. River would rather skip dinner for a month than talk to her mother unbidden. Even on good days—and those were few and far between—her mother was cold and icy.
River drew closer. Her mother’s voice sharpened. Tertia was speaking on the phone, or so River thought.
She tiptoed forward. She held her breath, just as her mother barked, “…not enough. The magic is powerful, and if it gets out of hand, it will kill. There is a curse, and it cannot be ignored….”
The memory faded, and River drew in deep, gasping breaths. She couldn’t remember what came next, but she was certain that the memory was real.
If River needed proof that her suspicions were on point, then this was it. Tertia had been talking about a curse before River’s magic had come in. Fae kind had many abilities, but predicting the level of magic a child would possess wasn’t one of them.
And if Tertia hadn’t been talking about River’s curse, then she must’ve been talking about herself. Because she, too, was cursed.
River wasn’t sure how long she stayed on her knees in the too-tight bathroom. The door opened and closed several times as people came and went.
No one came to check on River.
She supposed she should be grateful for the privacy, but her mind was still reeling. Not only because of her mother’s curse, but also because of what Ryker had said before River ran off.
Her mother was broken inside. Cold. And if the way Tertia loved them was truly all she could manage, then maybe this was a sign. A prophecy of what River’s future would look like, should she try to find someone to love.
Maybe, if this distorted love was all Tertia had to give, then that would be all that would be available to River, as well. Maybe she’d never be able to fully give herself to anyone because she was too damaged.
It had been one thing to push Nikhail away for his own good. It was another entirely to realize that even if she were to open herself up to the air fae, it might be for naught.
What if she’d never be able to love him like Ryker loved Brynleigh? What if all she could ever give him was a tarnished sort of love?
An ache started in River’s chest. Her cheeks grew wet. Somehow, she wasn’t out of tears.
The clouds were coming back, and the world was darkening around River. Murkiness swam in the edges of her vision. Had they only been at The Lily for a few hours? It felt like a year had gone by since they’d arrived.
River knew she couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. Even with the darkness, even with these devastating realizations, she had to return to the memorial service. People would be talking about how the Representative’s daughter ran out, and that would surely anger Tertia.
River didn’t want to deal with her mother’s anger. Not today, of all days. She wasn’t sure if that made her a coward, but it was true.
River stumbled to her feet, wiping the heels of her hands across her wet cheeks.
She ran her hands down her black dress before unlocking the stall.
She made it to the vanity, complete with golden fixtures.
The space was blessedly empty, and River breathed out a sigh of relief, washing her hands and then rinsing out her mouth with water.
A basket of amenities sat by the sink, a reminder of the luxuries The Lily had to offer.
River sifted through it, picking a thimble-sized disposable shot of mouthwash.
She peeled back the wrapper and poured the liquid into her mouth, grimacing as it swirled around.
It tasted like she’d eaten three candy canes in a row before brushing her teeth.
The benefit was that by the time she spat out the mouthwash, the taste of bile was gone.
Gripping the sink, River met her reflection in the mirror. She was pale, her mourning dress not doing anything for her coloring, and her under-eyes were puffy. Anyone looking at her would know she was grieving.
“You can do this,” she told herself softly. “This isn’t for you. It’s for Dad.”
For the man who had shown her how a good parent behaved. For the parent who didn’t believe her to be cursed, even after she unleashed a storm.
Cyrus Waterborn had loved her. For him, River would gather herself and return to the party.
Drawing in a deep breath, River steeled herself for what was to come. Even with Nikhail’s advice of putting one foot in front of the other, it felt like a monumental task.
But she could do it. She’d deal with today’s revelations later. Right now, she just needed to keep moving.
When she was ready, she opened the bathroom door, took a step, and walked right into a hard, muscular chest.