Page 50 of The City Of Fractured Memory

What the hell is he doing, asking me for Gods-damned permission? I grab the collar of his coat and shake him roughly, forcing his eyes to mine.

“For her I would do anything. She’s the only family I have, the only thing in this cruel world I’ve ever loved. I can’t lose her,” I choke, tears streaming down my face. “I would sell my soul to the Voyd for her.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Little Wren,” he says softly, his eyes darkening.

I look at him fiercely through my cascading tears. “Right now, I don’t care who you are, or what you’ve done. Just. Save. Her.”

His eyes linger on mine for a second, like he can see something he doesn’t quite understand, before he shakes his head and turns back to Stryx.

Her skin shimmers faintly, gold fractals of light spiderwebbing across her veins from the red mark where the foreign magic struck.

“Stryx, stay with me, please–” My voice cracks as I kneel beside my best friend, shaking her shoulder. Stryx’s breaths come in shallow bursts, her eyes closed, but her lips start moving in barely audible whispers.

I glance up at Riven, his cloak rippling in the breeze, half of his face hidden by the collar, and for the first time since I’ve met him, I don’t feel anger or confusion—only desperate hope. The faintest frown touches his mouth and I swallow thickly as anxiety crawls over me like a thousand insects working their way under my skin.

“This isn’t mortal magic,” he murmurs. “It’s older. Wilder.”

“Ancient,” I sniff, remembering Stryx’s trembling voice.

He nods once, glancing briefly toward the startled guards who are still gathered behind us by the gates. “Get those people back,” he orders curtly. “No one comes near this courtyard until I say so.”

They hesitate, until he turns his gaze on them fully, cold and commanding. The guards scatter instantly, forming a perimeter far enough away that the three of us are left alone.

Then Riven exhales deeply, and something in the air shifts.

I feel it before I see it, almost like a vibration in my bones, a low hum beneath the skin of the world. That pull I’d felt towards him the first time we met reignites with such ferocity my breath leaves me in a gasp. Riven spreads his hands above Stryx’s chest and the space between them seems to warp. The air grows heavy with the presence of magic, luminous tendrils of energy coalescing into spirals of pale gold, blue and black. His voice is low and resonant as he mutters words I don’t recognise.

The magic slithers into Stryx’s body like ink drawn back into its bottle. She gasps once, arching, her veins flashing bright, then goes still, her breathing steadying.

I stare transfixed, heart hammering. I’ve never seen magic behave like that, so precise and contained. Not like mortal spells that claw and burn away at you. This is something different, purer. It feels…alive.

“You–” I stammer. “That was–”

Riven’s dark expression doesn’t change as he stands and looks down at Stryx. “There are things about magic that mortals have forgotten,” he says quietly. “Things we were meant to forget.”

I blink, trying to make sense of his tone, something between reproach and melancholy.

“It’s not mortal magic?” I ask, half in awe, half in accusation.

He turns to me then, eyes sharp as a blade. “There are many things you don’t know about your magic, Octavia Wren. It’s time you learned.”

The way he says my name—low, deliberate—sends an involuntary shiver through me. But before I can respond, Stryx stirs weakly, whispering my name, the fading shimmer of Riven’s magic hanging in the air around her like starlight. I fall back to her side, wincing at the pain in my joints, though it’s nothing compared to the relief that washes through me in a violent rush.

Riven turns to leave, but he hesitates as his eyes meet mine. “You’re in pain,” he states, biting his lip as indecision crosses his features.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, turning my attention back to Stryx, but she’s fallen unconscious again, her breathing slow, but thankfully even. A shadow falls over me and I look up to see Riven standing over me, his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t lie to me. What happened in there?”

I shake my head at him, trying to avoid his gaze, but he crouches down and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. His head tilts as he studies me, and I suddenly get the urge to hide from his intense stare, his proximity making it hard to think.

“You were attacked, yes?” he presses. “And I’m also assuming there’s more than a few incapacitated guards in there considering no one followed you or helped you?”

I nod weakly, not finding it in me to neither deny nor elaborate.

“When was the last time you slept, Detective?” he asks, his suddenly soft tone throwing me off guard. Again I don’t answer, mostly because I can’t even remember. When I collapsed after the second murder, maybe?

Voyd take me, that was three days ago.