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 holdinghisarm right now. Clinging tohimfor 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 feelright.
“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.