Chapter 53
Thane was gone most of the next day, leaving Riven firm instructions to rest. It gave Riven ample time to mull over the heady and horrifying realization he’d come to the night before.
Thane returned just as Riven was finishing the last few bites of dinner—a bowl of something hearty and rich with meat and spices that clung to his ribs.
Aeris had insisted he eat every bite and watched with a glare until he obeyed.
The food helped. The world no longer swayed when he sat up, and the throbbing in his leg had settled to a dull ache.
Maris was perched in the chair beside his bed, legs crossed, braid coiled over one shoulder like a snake. She’d brought a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and was midway through teasing Riven about how absolutely feral Thane had been upon his return.
“I’m not saying he threatened to incinerate the entire security team,” she said, “but the man did walk through the main hall with murder in his eyes. Even Luca looked nervous.”
Riven chuckled weakly, leaning back against the pillows. “You’re making that up.”
“I don’t have to. Ask literally anyone. They all scattered like mice.”
The door opened with a quiet click.
Maris stopped talking immediately, straightening in her chair. Riven’s gaze was already locked on the figure stepping through. Thane, still in black slacks and a charcoal dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, throat bare. His hair was damp, as if he’d just washed away blood or sweat or both.
He looked tense, but there was a vibration to him beneath the surface, like something barely held back.
“Maris,” Thane said, voice sharp.
She rose immediately. “Lord Virellien.”
“No need for titles,” he said without looking at her. “Just leave us.”
Maris gave Riven a look that was part amusement, part warning. She offered a short, graceful vow and slipped out silently, shutting the door behind her.
Thane waited a beat before he crossed the room. His eyes swept over Riven, checking the half-finished dinner, the color in his face. Satisfied, maybe. But not comforted.
“There was no car,” Thane said abruptly.
Riven blinked. “What?”
“The one that brought you to the gates,” Thane clarified. “We checked every camera feed on every stretch of approach road, swept the forest perimeter. There was no vehicle. No tire tracks. No sign at all.”
The knot in Riven’s gut twisted tighter. “But there was. I was in it.”
“I don’t doubt you,” Thane said. “But I need more. Any detail you can remember. Anything to help us find the place they took you.”
“I didn’t see much,” Riven admitted. “I was weak. Bleeding. In the back of a truck, blindfolded most of the time. They carried me upstairs. Room was clean. Not new, just… sanitized. Big window with curtains drawn. I didn’t even get a look outside.”
Thane stepped closer, hands folded behind his back. His stare was sharp now, full commander.
“Think harder. There’s always something. A sound. A smell. A texture under your fingers. You were there for hours. Something stuck with you.”
Riven pushed himself upright, dragging in a breath. His head throbbed faintly from the effort of remembering, of shoving through the fog. The details were slippery. Hands lifting him. Voices low, indistinct. A sink. Towels.
And…
“There was a mural,” Riven said slowly. “On the wall. I remember thinking it was strange. A whole mural right across from the bed.”
Thane went still. “What kind of mural?”
Riven squinted, trying to summon the image. “A unicorn. Stylized. Very old-school—like it belonged in a children’s storybook. Blue sky, golden horn, a whole pastel fantasy.”
Thane’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air between them did. The silence turned heavy. Sharp.
“Was there a crack,” Thane asked, voice low, “in the horn?”
Riven looked up at him, startled. “Yeah. Diagonal. Almost like a lightning bolt. Faded, but definitely there.”
Thane didn’t move. Not at first. But his face—his face cracked.
Just a fraction. Just enough to make Riven freeze. “Thane?” Riven said carefully.
But Thane didn’t answer. He turned away and walked to the far end of the room, spine rigid, shoulders locked, as if holding himself in place by sheer will. He braced one hand on the windowsill, the other raking through his hair.
Riven watched, heart hammering. “What is it?”
Thane didn’t speak right away. When he did, it was quieter than Riven expected.
“There was a house,” Thane said. “In the Northern quarter. Old, forgotten. Abandoned after the Civil Fracture. One of my father’s properties.”
Riven’s mouth went dry.
Thane continued, voice rough. “He used to take me there when I was young. Said it was safer. Said it was where family matters were handled. I hated it. Hated the way it smelled. The way the floorboards groaned.”
He turned then, facing Riven again, and there was something in his eyes Riven had never seen there before.
Hurt.
“The mural was in my room,” Thane said. “That unicorn. I remember it. I remember watching it crack more every year and no one bothering to fix it.”
Riven felt a chill crawl down his spine. “You think they took me to your old house?”
“I don’t think,” Thane said coldly. “I know. That mural doesn’t exist anywhere else.”
Riven gripped the blanket tighter. “But you said the property was abandoned.”
“It was. Or so I thought.” Thane’s jaw clenched. “Which means someone has been keeping it ready. Which means this isn’t just about the Hollow Hand.”
“It’s about you,” Riven said softly. “It’s personal.”
Thane gave a small, bitter smile.
He crossed back to Riven, slow now, a kind of carefulness to his steps that had nothing to do with Riven’s condition and everything to do with what had just been confirmed.
Thane sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t speak again. Just reached up, ran a hand through Riven’s hair. This time there was no command in it. No lust, just desperate, gentle grounding.
“You’re sure?” Thane asked, as if hoping—despite everything—that Riven would shake his head and say no.
But Riven nodded.
“The horn was cracked,” he said. “I’m sure.”
And Thane closed his eyes.