Page 143 of Lana Pecherczyk
Ringing started in River’s ears. The cryptex. The wings. The admission of guilt.
“I know you blame yourself for Father’s anger. Don’t.”Rory’s words bounced around his head.“…restoring what Father took…”Faster and faster her words flew, blending with Cloud’s.“Fuck the mess. Tomorrow I’m bringing her home.”Merging with River’s memories.“Even with nothing, they dance like the mess can’t touch them.” Back to Cloud’s. “No matter how far I fly tomorrow, I’ll circle home. Always.” Rory:“I hope your friends like my gifts. With them, you’re never alone.”
River—“Bad birdy! No triad tattoo for you!”
Cloud—“You’re not ready for a mess.”
And finally, her warning:“Don’t come back. He will be waiting.”
River’s fingers went numb. He rocked unsteadily on his feet. Rory had warned Cloud away. He stole Nero’s secret cryptex, used it to save Ash, but she took the punishment. She suffered. For years, she suffered. Had her wings cut off, wings River never knew she had, but…
It made sense.
They always knew Rory had mana. It was how she’d lived far longer than the average human. Nero had siphoned her supply to keep himself young. Something about blood relatives made manabee consumption avoid the madness. Maebh andAleksandra were Rory’s mothers. One was the surrogate. One was the egg donor. One mutated into a vampire after the Fallout. One mutated into an owl shifter.
Rory had wings.
Wings.
River’s throat clogged with emotion.
Blake crouched and dusted the cover of a nearby book. “River, this is the originalGray’s Anatomytextbook.” She read the title on another. “Avian Surgical Anatomy and Orthopedic Management.” She slammed the book closed in her excitement. Dust bloomed as she picked up another. “More anatomy books. Surely there’s an inner ear diagram in one.”
Pages flipped as she kept talking, but River couldn’t hear. His body was shutting down from shock.
That night in the tavern, Cloud had come to them for help. He’d shared more with them than ever about Rory. And that moment, when Cloud had tipped his ale…
It was a test to see how River reacted, and he’d failed.
He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head against the knowledge. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to admit how stupid he’d been. Cloud, the one who kept his feelings to himself more than River, had been screaming for help. But River had spent that evening throwing shade on love. Telling Cloud she wasn’t worth the risk. She, who’d been mutilated on their behalf.
Fuck, he was an asshole, and he didn’t even realize it.
He pressed his hands into his stinging eyes and shook his head. No, none of this mattered. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change what happened in the end. Rory still tortured Cloud. His obsession with her never faded. It only became toxic. His betrayal cost the lives of so many innocent people. Thousands! All to lure Nero and Rory into Elphyne, all so he could manipulate a situation where he would have his vengeance … only to lose. Only to have it slip through his fingers.
“River, look.” Blake was in her own world, crawling along the ground back the way they’d come, collecting papers River had knocked off the wall. “These are regeneration experiments. Research notes.” Her tone softened. “He was trying to help her regrow what her father took. Maybe your wings?—”
“No,” River choked out. It didn’t matter.
“Yes, look. Here he wrote, ‘Regeneration possible if mana flow restored. Source must be pure.’”
Her words triggered a memory for River.
“The source is pure, Cielo,” he called, dropping sneaky crumbs between trinkets and making a path at midnight to the waterfall pool behind his roost.
“Come and see the shinies I found you,” he sang.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t rewrite the past.”
But Blake read on. “‘She winced today when drinking her father’s mana. Said it burns.’”
“It burns,” Cielo screamed, thrashing his head. “It burns!”
“Wake up. You’re dreaming.” Manfri ran to his friend’s bed.
He fought with tangled limbs and sweat-dampened sheets, but his friend kept screaming: “Stop, stop, stop.”
“Stop, Blake,” River growled, blocking his ears as if that would stop the deluge of memories. “Stop reading.”
