A good mother would’ve consoled her daughter, held her, and told her everything would be all right. A good mother wouldn’t stand back, motionless, as her daughter broke down in a room full of people who were little more than strangers.
Tertia Waterborn wasnota good mother.
A full minute passed before the Representative moved towards her daughter. She wrapped her arms around River robotically, patting her on the back twice. There were no words of wisdom, gentle murmurs, or quiet touches. There was no maternal warmth at all.
Rage burned inside Nikhail. A blazing fire that grew hotter with each passing moment. Copper filled his mouth as he bit back all the words he wanted to say to the Representative.
The only reason he didn’t was because causing a scene would only make things worse for Ryker and River. For them, he would hold his tongue.
After a few moments, the Representative released her daughter and approached the urn. Fae tradition demanded that the oldest living member of the family begin the mourning process.
A hush fell over the crowd. This was the moment the mourners were really here for, the one that would surely bewhispered about in the corners of ballrooms and in the privacy of homes later that night.
The great Tertia Waterborn, Representative of the Fae, mourning.
Since their kind was so long-lived, fae deaths were rare. It wasn’t often that someone related to a Representative passed, and certainly not from such a long, drawn-out illness. For most of the people here, this was a spectacle, nothing more.
Nikhail knew that. Ryker did, as well. There was no way Tertia wasn’t aware of that fact, either.
The Representative stood in front of the urn, and Nikhail forced himself to do his job and pay attention. He didn’t think the Black Night would be callous enough to strike right now, but the Chancellor wasn’t taking any chances.
He watched as Tertia knelt on the small stool in front of the table. Black velvet covered the seat pad—only the best for the Representative and her family. Thrice, Tertia pressed her fingers to her lips and touched the top of the urn. Then, she dipped her head. Her lips moved, her lamentations inaudible, even with Nikhail’s fae hearing.
Even if they weren’t, he wouldn’t listen in. The last exchange between a Faded fae and their loved ones was private. Sacred.
Several minutes passed before Tertia slowly rose to her feet. She dabbed a black handkerchief on her cheeks, drying tears that Nikhail couldn’t see. She made her way past the mourners and her children, reclaiming the chair she’d previously occupied.
Ryker went next. Kneeling in front of the urn, he repeated Tertia’s actions. He, too, spoke quietly for several minutes before ceding his spot to his wife.
Then, it was River’s turn. She drew in a deep breath and stepped forward on shaky legs. Nikhail could tell how much each step was costing River. His stomach lurched when she nearly tripped, steadying herself at the last moment.
Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks as she took her spot on the stool. Everything within Nikhail ached at the sight.
For a long moment, River sat in silence. She just… stared at the urn.
Nikhail felt helpless, watching from the sidelines. It was like his heart had been removed from his chest, and he was being forced to watch as it was pulverized.
River raised a trembling hand to her lips. She gently kissed her fingers before pressing them against the porcelain. A soft whimper slipped from her lips, the sound a pained cry to Nikhail’s ears.
His nostrils flared. Maintaining his distance had never been so difficult.
Three times, River repeated the action.
Three times, Nikhail felt like he was being flayed alive.
Her pain was his in a way that didn’t altogether make sense.
Then, River’s lips started moving. Her words never reached his ears, but he could tell by the devastation on her face that whatever she was saying, whatever goodbye she was giving her father, she meant it with her whole soul.
The sight broke Nikhail’s heart all over again. He should’ve been standing by her side, but instead, he was forced to keep watch for rebel activity.
No one rushed River, which was good. Nikhail wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if that had been the case. Even so, his attention was firmly locked on her. He monitored every inhale, clocked every tear that rolled down her cheeks, and noted every shaky whisper.
It felt like an eternity had passed as River said goodbye to her father.
When she was ready, she rose to her feet. She trailed her fingers down his photograph before she made her way to her family’s side on trembling legs.
A few feet divided Nikhail from River, but it might as well have been an ocean.