5. Walls Cracked and Hearts Open

5

WALLS CRACKED AND HEARTS OPEN

(RIVEN)

A s consciousness returns, the frost loosens its grip, and my limbs slowly regain motion. Outside the window, day is breaking, and on the stump in front of me is Rowena, eyes sharp and alert. No one, not even my parents, has seen me in my entirety the way Rowena has. Yet, she stares at me with hope and fire in her eyes, not the way my father looks at me every morning, like I’m an embarrassment for having a curse he birthed me into.

“You’re back.” Rowena giggled, sliding off the stump to crouch before me. She takes my hand as if she knows it’ll be stiff and cramped and begins to warm it up gently. “Imagine a beautiful girl being the first thing you see when you thaw. How lucky is that?”

I roll my eyes, hating the vulnerability in my soul. “The potion didn’t work. There’s nothing we can do, Rowena. It’ll never leave. I’ll never break free. If I have to drink one more portion, I may die.”

Her eyes flash angrily at me. “You’re not done, Riven. Not on my watch. We are just getting started.”

My eyes flare. “Why are you upset? It’s my life.”

“You’re my friend,” she says passionately. “And I won’t watch you in constant pain and not do anything about it.”

Friends? Hearing her say it gives me a warm, bubbly feeling in my stomach.

“Riven, we will keep trying. We will figure this out and get your freedom back.”

I release a deep sigh. “I should go home.”

“Not without tasting the soup I made specifically for you.” She rises to her feet and pulls me with her. “It’ll help you warm up from the inside.”

“Rowena, the witches and fae don’t eat the same food.”

She turns to eye me. “Don’t you know by now that my ways are different?”

When she opens the pot on fire, the aroma wafts up to my nose, and I groan, fighting back the urge to throw myself into the pot and drown in it. I can see vegetables and mushrooms swimming in the broth.

“No meat? I thought witches eat meat?”

She scowls at me and grabs a wooden plate, and I wait impatiently as she fills the plate with broth. “Like the fae, I only eat a strictly plant-based, vegetarian diet.”

“Really?” My respect for her grows.

“Yeah. I’ve never tasted meat. My mother didn’t let me.”

I reach out to take the plate, but she holds it out of reach. “Why should I give this to you? It’s not like you appreciate me for my help.”

“Why are you so dramatic?” I reach for the plate again, but she swerves while laughing at me.

“Rowena!”

“I’ll give it to you,” she says, shaking a finger in my face. “On one condition.”

“What?”

“Let me touch your hair.”

“What?”

“Your hair.” She nods. “It looks so silky; I want to feel it. Please.”

I fold my arms across my chest and eye her. “You’re so dubious. So you make me a pot of soup because you want to touch my hair.”

“Riven, it’s a fair bargain,” she answers unashamedly, and I almost laugh. “I was up all night making this soup. I even had to go into the forest in the dead of night to find mushrooms. All this while you were resting in my main room!”

I burst into laughter, and it’s so heartfelt, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. “Resting? Rowena, I was a stone. That’s hardly resting. My bones are cramped as we speak.”

“Fine.” She hands me the plate. “I’ll strike another bargain with you some other time. Take the soup. You really need it.”

I take two spoonfuls, and the sweetness bursts in my tongue, making me groan. While Rowena turns to plate hers, I set mine on the desk. My hair is in a tight bun, and I yank out the small ilek stalk holding it up, letting my mane cascade down my back.

“You can touch it.”

Rowena turns to me, her eyes wide and full of excitement. “Really?”

“Yeah.” My hair is a wonder anywhere I go; I’m not surprised she’s in awe.

Quickly, she drops her plate and hurries over to me. At first, her touch is tentative, feeling the strands with only the pads of two fingers. “Riven, it’s so soft.”

“How would you know when you aren’t feeling it?” I ask. “You can touch it, Rowena.”

She pauses for one second before sinking her two hands deep into my hair, accidentally stroking my scalp. My eyes drift shut, and I almost groan. This feels so good.

“Riven, your hair is perfect,” she breathes. “If I had hair like this, I’d never stop showing it off.”

I laugh. “I grew up amongst people with great hair, so it’s not a big deal. You should see my parents. My dad and I have the same hair. My mom’s hair is different but even better. It’s black and exceptional. I wish you could see it.”

“Queen Isolde?”

“You know my mother?” I turn to her.

“Everyone knows of her kindness,” Rowena answers.

“She’s very kind, that’s right.”

“Let me help you put your hair back in a bun,” Rowena says, and I nod.

As she sweeps up my hair, I see her standing on tiptoe and bite back a giggle. There’s a serious expression on her face, and I think how endearing it is to see her do mundane things like touching my hair. She called me her friend, and I agree with that. She’s done more for me than my own family. She’s more than a friend.

She takes the ilek stalk and holds the bun in place.“All done. Is your soup still warm?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s eat.”

We return to the main room to eat. Unlike the luxurious life in the palatial courts, this is a very ordinary life. But if you ask me, this is what I long for…

There’s peace here. Freedom. Friendship. And, it’s a bonus that I don’t have to see the throne every time I walk past the foyer.

“What are you thinking about?” Rowena asks.

“You’re so nosy.”

She laughs. “Tell me.”

I shrug. “I’m thinking of home. And how peaceful it is here, compared to the palace.”

“Seriously?” Her eyes widen.

“Yeah.”

She hums. “I’ve lived here all my life. Sometimes it’s home, sometimes it’s a prison.”

“That’s how I feel about the palace. It’s just, there are fewer times when it feels like home.”

“Is it your father?” She never beats around the bush; that’s why it’s so fun to talk to her.

“Yeah. It’s my father.”

“Doesn’t he love you?”

I chuckle, thinking deeply about the question. “I’m not doubting my father’s love, but his ego and obsession with control are higher than his love for anyone else. We fight constantly because I refuse to relinquish control of my life. He hates that he can’t dictate my choices.”

“He does,” I answer. “I just wish he wasn’t so kingly to me if that makes sense. Sometimes, I just want a father. I’ve never had that.”

She shakes her head. “Should I be glad I never met mine?”

“Never?”

“Never,” she laughs. “And my mom never liked to talk about him, either.”

“You can’t be sad about someone you never knew. Right?”

She laughs. “You’d think so. But sometimes I think about him, wondering how my life would have turned out if he was there. Would I be any different? Would my mom be any different? So many questions.”

“I understand.”

We finish our meal in silence and I’m about to leave when I remember the reason I stayed in the first place. “Rowena, did you figure out what type of statue I am?”

She looks up at me. “I wrote down the things I noticed. Do you want to see?”

“Yes.”

She grabs a book from the shelf and opens it.

“Riven, your stone is made of granite,” she says. “It’s also very reflective, even of the smallest ray of light.”

“Is that all you noticed?”

“Yes.” She nods. “But it’s very helpful. I’ll read about granite stones, which will help me figure out how to undo the spell.”

I narrow my eyes at her, wondering whether she's just trying to give me hope or if she actually means it. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” She closes the book and watches me curiously.

“What?”

“I get that this is a touchy subject for you, but can I ask you some questions?”

“Rowena, you sat in front of me and watched my stony, unconscious body for hours.” I roll my eyes. “There’s no need to be self-conscious; ask me whatever you want.”

She giggles and slides closer to me. “When you’re in that state, how do you feel?” She asks. “Can you think? Are you aware?”

I shake my head. “I can’t think of anything. My head is blank. It’s like for those few hours…I cease to exist.”

“Oh.” She stares at me for a moment, and I can’t look away from the intensity in her eyes. One thing that makes Rowena easy to bear is her lack of pity. She looks at me with hope and confidence, making me believe this is a battle I can overcome. That makes it easy to talk to her and be vulnerable.

I love my mother to pieces, but I can see the pity and fear when she looks at me. She’s distressed about my condition, and deep down, I know she has given up.

“Does anyone know?” Rowena asks. “Besides family, that is.”

“Just you.”

Her eyes widen. “Just me? You’ve had this secret for years? Don’t you have any friends?”

“Well, my fiancée knew.”

She gasps. “You were engaged?”

“Yeah.” I don’t like talking about Kaelith and me, but Rowena doesn’t look like she’ll take no for an answer. “Her name is Kaelith. She was betrothed to me when she was born. I was a child myself, only a few years old. But we both grew up knowing that she would one day rule beside me as Queen.”

“So what happened?”

“My parents wanted me to hide the curse from her until we were lawfully married, and it was easy to do so because we never spent the night together, so she was always gone before the curse took effect.”

Rowena nods.

“But one day, I decided to show her the truth. It wouldn’t be fair if we got married and then found out after. She would hate me.”

I drop my gaze. “When I thawed the following morning, Kaelith was gone. For weeks after, she refused to see me. I guess she was terrified. When she came out of hiding, she broke off the engagement. My father was furious, and he still is. Kaelith’s bloodline is pure. She’s from the most noble family in the far kingdoms, besides the royal family.”

“You made the right choice,” Rowena says. “None of this is your fault, and until you’re fully healed, anyone who wants to be with you must accept you as you are.”

My throat clogs with emotion, and I jump to my feet. “I should go.”

Rowena looks like she has a lot to say, but she clamps her mouth shut. I’m tempted to sit with her and just talk, but I’m aware that if I do that, lines will blur. As great of a friend as Rowena is, she’s a witch. Witches and faes are like water and oil; we don’t mix. I won’t be surprised if, one day, she turns on me.

We don’t say goodbye to each other as I step out of her house and make my way through the forest back to the palace. I know I’m cursed when the first person I run into is my father.

He sniffs around me, and his gaze darkens. “Why do I smell a witch on you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I walk toward the stairway.

“Riven,” he growls. “You were gone all night. Your mother was very worried. You’ve just returned, and you smell like a witch?”

I turn to him. “So what if I smell like a witch? I thought the alliance was only a few days ago. Didn’t we pledge to live at peace with each other?”

My father growls, but just before he responds, my mom sweeps into the room, like she always does. It’s like she has a special antenna to detect when my father and I are going at it —which happens every day. I just wish she’d stop stressing about it. As volatile as my father is, I’m more than capable of handling him on my own.

“Faelor.” Mother cups my father’s face in her hands. “Weren’t you on your way to a council meeting?”

I turn away from them, eager to reach my room to take a nap. But my father’s words drift up to me, chilling my spine and causing my steps to falter.

“Your son is cursed!” He yells at my mom. “He’s such a disgrace to me! I wanted a normal son I could be proud of and not a semi-statue who only works in the morning.”

His words unleash a deep hurt inside of me, and my shoulders sag. For a long time, I’ve dealt with him blaming me for my curse, but I didn’t ask to be born into it. Instead of waiting around to hear what else he has to say, I storm into my room, deciding this is the last day I’ll let him speak to me this way.