Chapter 14
Fourteen
My world narrows at the sight of him. Dark, tall, his shadow thrown long against the wall by the flickering lamplight. His green eyes catch mine across the room, gleaming with something unreadable, something sharp.
“Octavia,” Xavier breathes, his voice taut with fury as he pants next to me.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Riven killed Cyril.
He stands tense, a stoic executioner, and my stomach churns.
Hurt him. The Shadow’s whispered demand leeches through my mind, and for once, I’m not tempted to resist, though something still keeps me rooted to the spot.
We’ve caught him red-handed. And yet, even as horror glues me in place, some treacherous part of me refuses to believe what my eyes scream to be true.
Xavier doesn’t wait for me to reconcile my thoughts before striding forward, reaching into his overcoat and producing a pair of iron manacles.
“Rivenéan Ashfell. By authority of the Division, you’re under arrest for murder.” His tone is full of contempt and I detect a tiny hint of satisfaction, like he’s been begging for the chance to do this for a long time.
Riven doesn’t even flinch. His lips curve into something halfway between amusement and disdain, the bloody knife loose in his hand as if it’s a mere quill, not a weapon.
“You think it wise to arrest me, Blackwood?” He spits the name like it’s something amusing, his gaze cutting towards Xavier. “Careful. You know what’ll happen if I decide to pull at that curse again.”
Xavier freezes, his jaw tightening. His face contorts with rage and humiliation. He doesn't advance, but he doesn’t lower the manacles either. He just stands there seething, shackled by something I don’t understand.
Hurt him. Now.
My thoughts reel so fast I barely have time to perceive them.
A curse? My eyes dart between the pair, trying to make sense of the venom hidden in those words.
But there is no time to ask, no time to unravel their secret war.
Cyril, one of the only people in this city I would call a friend, lies unmoving on the floor at my feet, and grief hits me in a tidal wave.
“You bastard,” I hiss, sorrow cutting my voice ragged. “He was harmless, he never hurt anyone!”
I swear Riven’s gaze softens a fraction, but it only serves to make me angrier. Before I know it, my blade is drawn and I lunge for him, my Shadow urging me on. Rage drives me forward, raw and unthinking. I want to see him bleed the way Cyril has.
Riven raises his knife, not in attack I notice, but in defence. His expression sharpens, but he doesn’t strike. His steel clashes with mine instead, the sound ringing off the stone walls. But before I can launch another attack, the pocket in my cloak flares with heat.
A burst of light splits the air as the phial cracks, the magic inside spilling free.
I stagger back as Stryx explodes outward and expands rapidly, first a gleaming coil of pale, shimmering scales and feathers, then collapsing down, claws folding into flesh, hair silvering, until she stands between us in her humanoid form, separating me from Riven.
“Enough!” Stryx’s voice thunders aloud through the chamber with otherworldly resonance.
The sight roots us all where we stand.
Xavier’s eyes widen, horror and betrayal carving across his face as though the ground has been torn out from under him. Riven’s brows arch, his knife lowering as he lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“Well, well. The detective keeps interesting company.”
My breaths leave me hard and fast, grief burning through my chest, my blade trembling in my grip, but Stryx’s presence helps to anchor me. If not for her, I might have joined Cyril on the cold floor. But in doing so, she has now put herself in unimaginable danger.
Gods. What have I done?
I’ve so rarely ever lost my temper, mostly thanks to my magic hacking away at my emotions, but now I’ve done it multiple times in the last two days alone.
My heart hammers relentlessly in my chest as the truth hangs out in the open like a blade at our throats.
My recklessness has torn Stryx’s secret from the shadows, stripping my friend of the anonymity we have fought so desperately hard to keep.
I can feel Riven’s piercing green eyes on us, an inevitable storm gathering in the silence.
His hand twitches at his side, as if caught between violence and restraint.
He takes a step forward, the weight of his presence filling the narrow space, and for a terrifying heartbeat I think he might end us all right here.
But Xavier moves first. He steps in front of Stryx and me, his broad frame a wall of defiance between us and the murderous Governor.
“Not this time,” Xavier says, his voice low but firm.
I bristle instinctively. Regardless of our conversation a mere ten minutes ago, he still has to be the knight in shining armour, like I can’t hold my own.
I open my mouth to snap, to tell him to get out of my way and let the women deal with it for once, but as he looks back at me I see the flicker of something rare in his expression. Regret.
“I know you hate when I do this,” he says quietly, returning his gaze to Riven, who studies us with a tilt of his head. “But I can’t stand by and let him hurt you.”
I clench my jaw, a thousand retorts burning on my tongue, but none of them come.
For once, I can’t bring myself to shove his protection away.
Not when Stryx is still exposed, when Riven stands like a predator poised to strike.
Just like Xavier predicted back at the Division– my recklessness has finally come back to bite me, and now I’ve put Stryx in danger.
So I swallow my pride, begrudgingly admitting to myself that this once, just this once, I don’t mind his shield.
We need a way out, not another corpse to mourn.
Xavier straightens, his voice harder now as he addresses Riven directly. “Here’s the deal. I won’t arrest you, at least, not now. In return, you’re going to let us walk away, and forget you ever saw Stryx. That’s the only choice you’ve got.”
The words hang between us and I hold my breath, waiting to see if Riven will let us leave, or if we will have to carve our way out with blood.
Riven’s gaze flicks between us, casting over my left shoulder briefly before settling on me, as though Xavier’s words haven’t even registered.
His eyes are sharp, almost luminous in the dim light, and the faint curl of his mouth is neither a smile nor a sneer, but something far more unsettling. Pity.
“You think you’re walking away,” he murmurs to me, like we are the only ones in the room. “But you can’t escape this. Your path has already been set.”
I stiffen, heat crawling across the back of my neck. His words make no sense and yet feel heavy all the same.
Riven tilts his head again, studying me in that unnerving way of his. “Careful who you trust, detective. The fog doesn’t just blind, it hides. And when it clears, it won’t be me you fear.”
The knife glints once as he lets it fall to his side, the threat lessened but the danger no less palpable. His eyes linger on me, an unspoken message simmering in their depths, before he steps back into the shadows as though he was never here at all.
I exhale shakily, only now realising I’ve been holding my breath.
Xavier still stands firm before us, his arm slightly outstretched as if to shield us from a ghost. But despite my anger, my grief, despite the fact that my friend now lies at my feet in a pool of his own blood, all I can think about is the weight of Riven’s words echoing in my skull, words that feel less like a warning and more like a prophecy.