Her scent reached Nikhail. Its notes were bitter and distressed, and he felt like roaring to the heavens. Never had he hated his job more than this very moment.
Tertia stood. She started to speak, but Nikhail didn’t hear a gods-damned word that came out of her mouth. He split his attention between the room and River, keeping an eye on his water fae even as he watched for signs of rebel activity.
Finally, Tertia’s speech ended. She raised a hand, signaling someone out of sight. Moments later, waitstaff dressed in black entered the room. They were carrying trays of finger food and drinks. The air shifted. Lightened.
Everyone except for River, Ryker, and Brynleigh seemed to relax. Tertia appeared to be oblivious to their discomfort.
“Thank you for coming to celebrate my late husband,” the Representative said. “I know things have been tumultuous of late, and I’ve been preoccupied, but never fear. I have not forgotten my duties as your Representative. Eat. Drink. Please, enjoy this time and remember.” She paused and looked around the room. “The Waterborns are here foryou.”
Then, like a queen in front of her subjects, she moved towards the crowd.
CHAPTER 12
Broken and Cursed
River had been tasting bile ever since she walked into the ballroom, but now, her head was light, and she felt dizzy. It didn’t seem like her brother, who was standing next to her, was faring much better.
Their mother was holdingcourt.
River had never dared think about what her father’s memorial would entail—that felt intensely dark and macabre, even for someone cursed like her—but never in a million years would she have guessed her mother would do something like this.
Not only was Tertia acting like a queen, but she was throwing a gods-damned party. Because that’s what this was. It might’ve been wrapped up in the dark façade of a memorial, but there was no hiding the truth of what this was.
How could Tertia have done this? Save the black garments adorning every person here, and the urn containing Cyrus’s ashes—something that River wasn’t letting herself think about for too long—nothing here resembled a typical fae memorial.
After the waitstaff had appeared, a violinist had begun to play. The music reminded River of a ball, not a fucking funeral.
Herfather’sfuneral.
River curled her fingers into fists, and her nails cut into her palms. Each time her mother stopped chatting with someone else, her nails sliced deeper.
“I thought she was laid up with grief,” River murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Ryker stiffened beside her, his jaw tense. “She fuckingwas.”
“Then what?—”
“I don’t know,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “She was bedridden for days, River. By the Black Sands, she barely moved for days after Dad died.”
And yet she had time to make this happen.
“Did you know she was planning this?”
Ryker formed a fist. “No.”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s not.” Anger rolled off Ryker in waves, a reminder of the strength that churned beneath his skin. Not only was he River’s protective older brother, but he was also a captain in the army. A strong water fae in his own right. The Waterborn heir.
Tense silence swelled between them.
The longer River stood there, the more her stomach churned. She thought she might be sick, and wouldn’t that make this even worse?
Everyone would talk about how the Representative’s daughter made a fool of herself during her father’s memorial service. She wouldn’t be surprised if it made the news. River recognized a few guests who worked as reporters for various news outlets throughout the Republic.
Because of fucking course, Tertia was intent on turning this into a publicity stunt.
A waiter dressed in black walked by, and River grabbed a crystal flute off the tray. She didn’t bother to check the contents before she brought the glass to her lips and tipped it back.