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 cursebeforeRiver’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 hercoloring, 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.”