Page 37 of The City Of Fractured Memory

The leather sole hovers like a guillotine over my neck.

So this is it. Trampled in a brothel. What an embarrassing way to die.

I close my eyes in dreaded anticipation for the blow that will surely end me. But it never comes. A strangled gurgle fills the room instead, and I blink up through the haze in time to see the man’s body jerk, suspended in midair.

And behind him, with his hand outstretched, stands Riven.

Eighteen

Riven’s arm is locked tight around the guard’s throat, muscles taut, his expression carved from shadow. The green of his eyes glows like embers in a storm, and my stomach roils. I don’t know whether to be relieved by his sudden appearance or afraid.

The guard claws weakly at Riven’s grip, his free hand drifting down to another knife stashed in his belt. Before I can shout out a warning, the guard grabs the blade and slashes it across Riven’s hand, and he falls to the floor heavily as Riven jerks back from the onslaught. The guard scrambles to his feet, brandishing the knife erratically, but it is a useless defence. With frightening ease despite his injury, Riven surges forward, grabbing the man by his throat again and throwing him like a rag doll to the floor, his eyes not once leaving mine.

For a heartbeat I forget to breathe. The chaos in the room seems to blur, the noise dimming around the sharp silence between us.

My pulse thunders in my ears.

How is he here?

Riven tilts his head ever so slightly, as though he can hear the question. His voice is low, dangerous. “You really should stop finding yourself beneath other men’s boots, Little Wren.”

In the next heartbeat, there is a flash of light bouncing off steel, and the guard’s head drops limply to the side, his eyes wide and vacant as the blow of Riven’s knife kills him instantly.

A pair of hands grips my arm and I turn to find Stryx desperately pulling on me, trying to get me to my feet as another guard approaches us with vicious intent. He storms towards us, weapon raised, but in the next breath, a burst of energy surges through the room like an explosion and all the guards are thrown into the air, seemingly in slow motion. My head darts towards the source and I find Riven standing with his arms raised, his hands curling as the air glimmers around him.

Time seems to resume its normal pace, and the guards all slam to the floor, remaining motionless where they fall. Riven lowers his hands slowly, panting, with a look of pure ire spreading across his features.

Voyd take me, did he just openly use magic?

Before I can react, more men come marching into the room, but my pounding heart slows as I realise they are dressed in the familiar black of the Aethermere wardens. My relief is short-lived though, as seconds later we are hauled to our feet, manacles attached to thick iron chains binding our hands behind our backs. I look over to Xavier across the room, his bruised gaze firmly on Riven as hatred warps his features and seems to consume him entirely.

“How dare you. You have no authority to detain us, Ashfell!” he spits, his eyes narrowing as he tries to wrench himself free from the warden holding him.

Riven crosses his arms calmly, the only evidence of his recent magic use lingering in his breaths, still slightly laboured. “Detective Blackwood, you are aware that as Governor of Aethermere, I have jurisdiction over this quarter? I make the rules here, not you. So yes, if you insist on coming into my territory, threatening my patrons and starting brawls, I certainly will detain you.”

His voice is low, barely audible as he holds back his anger. My thoughts race, confusion capturing me in a chokehold. Will he use this as an excuse to kill us after we caught him murdering Cyril? It would certainly be a convenient way to tie up the loose ends. But if that is his intention, why didn’t he let the guards kill us and save himself the trouble? Doubt starts to slowly flood my veins, leeching into me bit by bit until I can’t ignore it any longer. He’s done such awful, cruel things, committed murder right in front of me, multiple times now. He radiates nothing but pure evil.

So why did he save my life?

His gaze snaps to mine and my eyes widen as I try my best not to flinch. He stares at me intensely like he can read my mind. The thought is unsettling, though I know in my bones it can’t be true. Even the greatest seers of our generation can’t do that, and given his black hair he’s certainly no seer. Still, he does seem to have a suspicious habit of turning up everywhere I go lately…

His eyes dart quickly to Stryx and I stop breathing altogether. He looks back and forth between the two of us, a slight frown forming on his brow as he seems to contemplate something. I instinctively take a step in front of her, and a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, before quickly dropping as his attention returns to Xavier who continues to fight hopelessly against his bonds.

“This ends now,” he barks before turning to address the wardens. “Take them to the compound.”

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed since we were thrown into the dank, musty cells in the basement of Riven’s estate. The neighbouring cells are empty, the air hanging heavy like it hasn’t been disturbed in an age. A slow, monotonous drip of water echoes intermittently through the silence, the shrill, repetitive sound of it putting my teeth on edge.

“What is he going to do, leave us here to rot?” I hiss, letting my head fall back against the damp stone wall as I close my eyes and try to breathe deep. The smell of mould hits me as I do and I hold back a retch.

“I can break us out of here if I shift,” Stryx insists, repeating the same offer she made when we were first thrown in here.

I shake my head firmly. “No. The fact that Riven already knows your secret is bad enough, I’m not letting the entirety of his guard in on it too. You only shift if it’s literally a life or death situation, understand?”

She narrows her eyes at me with barely restrained impatience. “Pretty sure this already seems like a life or death situation,” she grumbles under her breath, but she does what she’s told and throws herself down onto the cold, hard floor, crossing her arms indignantly.

I sigh heavily and let my gaze wonder about our confines; the torchlight beyond the bars sends flickering shadows across the floor, shadows that make the space seem even smaller than it is. Xavier paces like a caged hound, raking his hands through his hair repeatedly.

“What do you think he’ll do with us?” I finally ask, my voice low, unwilling to let it echo.