Was holding her hostage.
Gods fucking above, what a way for this day to come to an end. The joy River had felt only minutes ago was gone now.
What was Harringdale’s plan? Did he want to use River as a bargaining chip to get out of here?
He had to realize that wouldn’t work. The Chancellor had let her own son-in-law be murdered on television. She wouldn’t care that River was in danger. Wouldn’t care that a madman was threatening to kill her.
And when she refused to help, Harringdale would kill River. She knew that, just as she knew the sky was blue.
Oh, gods.
River whimpered as the reality of her situation set in.
“Imagine my surprise when you ambled past me,” Harringdale said, his claws tightening. Warmth trickled down her throat. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if your brother had walked by. The Waterbornheir.” Disgust dripped from his tone. “But you. I did not think I’d see you down here.”
His nose trailed along her hairline, and River wanted to vomit. “You’re far too pretty to be a soldier, Doctor Waterborn. This life isn’t for people who look like you.”
She hated the way he spoke about her, as if he knew her. As if he understood the troubles River had faced during her life.
“I know all about your family. Your mother, cold bitch that she is. Your brother.” The rebel leader tapped the tip of his claw against her neck. “And yourfather.”
River stiffened. She couldn’t help it.
A repulsive chuckle escaped Harringdale’s lips. The hand around her throat squeezed, cutting off her air. The arm around her middle tightened, drawing her flush against him, her back to his chest.
“You loved him, didn’t you? That’s what my sources say.”
Gods, how dare he speak about her father as if he knew her?
River tried to elbow him in the stomach, thrashing against his hold, but nothing was working. He was so much stronger than she was.
“Tell me, how did it feel to find your father dead? Did you scream when you saw him?” Harringdale clucked his tongue. “Or did you cry? I bet you look lovely when you cry.”
Disgust twisted River’s stomach. She would’ve thought that she would feel grief at the mention of her father’s passing. Sorrow, too. Shedidfeel those, but the emotions were muted.Overwhelmingly, River feltangry. It bubbled and churned inside her, growing hotter with each passing moment.
Howdarethis man speak of Cyrus Waterborn as if he knew him? How dare he bring up his death in passing, as if it hadn’t been one of the most devastating moments of River’s life? How dare he try to use River’s pain to hurt her more?
The anger was good. Useful in a way that her fear hadn’t been.
Her vision sharpened. The tears that had been threatening to fall dried up. Her stomach settled as fury became her primary focus.
How dare Gale Harringdale do this? How dare he hold her hostage after everything else River had already gone through? It wasn’t fair that this was happening now, when she and Nikhail were just at the beginning of their journey.
If she and Nikhail had had more time, they could’ve lived a wonderful, fulfilling life together. She could see it all now, unfolding in flashes in her mind.
Going on dates. Moving in together. In this hypothetical future, they adopted a cat. Got married. Bonded.
River imagined that in this alternate life, the one they would never get to live, she returned to Lakewater General Hospital. She became a successful surgeon, and when she came home, Nikhail would be there. Always supporting her, always in her corner. Perhaps, many years down the line, they might’ve added a child to their family. A young fae, gifted in either water or air, whom they could love and spoil and cherish.
They would’ve been happy in this other life. Of that, River was certain.
At least she had gotten the chance to tell Nikhail she loved him. She would hold on to that and treasure it, even when Harringdale’s plan to use her as a bargaining chip failed. Nikhail was the best thing that had ever happened to River, and shewould gladly let her last thoughts be of the air fae who had stolen her heart.
Death, River’s old adversary, lurked nearby.
She could feel it in the chill in the air. In the way her hair stood on end. In the cold that consumed her body, unwilling to let her out of its grasp. She and death weren’t friends—how could they be since, as a doctor, her life’s calling was diametrically opposed to death?
River was not death’s friend, but there had been points in her life when she’d wondered whether death would be better than dealing with the mess that was her life. It certainly would’ve been easier.