Page 39 of The City Of Fractured Memory

“So what have you called me here for, then?” I demand, my hands curling into fists which I quickly release when pain slices through my shoulder. Riven frowns as I’m unable to stop my wince, and he slowly rises from his chair, making his way round the desk. He stops inches from me.

I suck in a breath at his proximity, my pulse rushing through my ears, and when he reaches out a hand, I instinctively recoil.

“May I?” he asks softly.

His gaze is so intense that I find myself nodding slowly, unable to think clearly. For such a tall, rugged man, his hands are surprisingly gentle as he strokes a finger over my shoulder, the sensation causing goosebumps to roll across my body in a wave, despite the pain. He raises his other hand and his fingers glide across my skin at the nape of my neck, but then he makes a sudden movement, and a snapping sound is followed by searing pain. I cry out, gripping my shoulder.

I grit my teeth, turning to curse him when I realise my arm is no longer limp. The lingering agony fades quickly and I flex my fingers in awe, rolling my shoulder to find it back to normal levels of pain. Well, normal for me anyway.

Without a word he returns to his seat behind the desk, and I look up at him with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. Infuriating man.

My fingers run across my neck where his had trailed along my skin moments ago, and they come away feeling…wet? My head whips round and I find a small amount of blood smeared across my shoulder and now my finger tips, but no wound. I look back up at Riven and discover the source, his hand still slowly bleeding from where the guard sliced it with his blade earlier.

“You’re hurt too,” I state, earning myself another maddening shrug from him.

“It’s of no consequence,” he replies, like a gaping wound in his hand is the least of his worries.

“It will be if you bleed out,” I remind him with a raised brow. “Why heal me but not yourself?”

“I’m tapped out,” he says, like that makes any sense.

I frown. “Magic doesn’t work like that.”

“I never said it was magic.”

My frown deepens, but my eyes keep constantly darting down to his hand, distracting me. There’s a beat of silence before I finally huff and hold my hand out to him impatiently. “Do you have medical supplies?”

He eyes me thoughtfully before nodding his head towards a cabinet in the corner. I rise from my chair and open the drawer, finding various bandages, ointments, threads and needles. I bundle it all into my hands and pile it on the desk before pulling my chair closer to his and gesturing for him to hold his hand out.

He does so obediently, continuing to watch me in that unnervingly intense way of his.

“Why not use magic?” he asks curiously as I pull his hand into my own and use a cloth to start wiping the blood away.

I scoff. “You think I’d do something as stupid as using illegal magic in front of the Governor of Aethermere? For all I know, you could be encouraging me to use it as a way of luring me into a trap. It would be your word against mine, and that’s not a game I’m willing to play.”

I thread a needle, my shaking hands forcing me to attempt it three times before I succeed. I press the point against his skin and carefully start stitching the wound closed, noting how he doesn’t even remotely flinch at what I imagine must be rather painful.

“Why help me at all then? The last time we met you tried to attack me for killing your librarian friend.”

I pause my stitching and look up from his hand to give him a fierce glare. “Do not mistake my aid for forgiveness, sir. Trust me when I say, I will make you pay for Cyril’s death.”

He smirks like the thought amuses him. “Then why–”

“Because,” I snap, “for some inexplicable reason you saved my life, and now you’ve healed me too. I detest being indebted to people, especially when those people are as dangerous as you.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Smart woman.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” I grumble, picking the thread back up and continuing my work.

He frowns. “On the contrary, Miss Wren. You’ll find I do not align myself with such outdated thinking.”

I try to disguise my shock with a shrug of my own. “Well, that would certainly be a first.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but my impatience gets the better of me at his idle chit-chat. “What am I doing here, Governor Ashfell?”

He leans back in his chair as I finish up the stitches. “I want to know what you’ve discovered about those murdered seers, and you’re going to tell me,” he states, unflinching, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to ask.