Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
The darkness falls like a living thing. Dense, heavy, and absolute.
For a heartbeat, neither of us move. I hear my pulse thudding in my ears, a drumbeat against the suffocating silence of the Archives.
I instinctively reach my hand out, locking fingers tightly with Stryx’s hand and pulling her close.
Then, footsteps.
Rapid, deliberate, closing in fast.
“Run. Now,” I hiss.
We bolt, our boots skidding on the polished marble as we dart between the looming shelves.
Tomes crash to the ground as I misjudge the distance between the stacks and smack my shoulder into a shelf, parchment fluttering like frightened birds in our wake.
Keeping a tight grip on Stryx’s hand, I use my other hand to brush my fingers along the spines of books I know by heart, counting the turns in the dark.
Left at the stairwell. Right past the restricted aisle.
The map of the place unfolds in my mind having spent so much time here, even as panic claws at my ribs.
“Stay close!” I call. “Don’t let go!” Stryx’s grip is trembling, but firm, her other hand sparking faint gold as if her magic is instinctively flaring in warning.
A sudden crack splits the air beside us, followed by a flare of blue-white light that sizzles past my ear and strikes a nearby shelf. The wood splinters and a dozen ancient volumes explode into a cloud of burning paper.
“What in the damn Voyd–?” I gasp, ducking as another burst of light shoots overhead.
Stryx turns her head sharply, her eyes glowing faintly as her mortal illusion drops completely. “It’s not mortal magic,” she shouts over the chaos. “It’s—Gods, I haven’t felt this in decades. It feels ancient. It’s wrong.”
Another flash, this one closer. A blast of heat rolls through the stacks, toppling a case of scrolls. Even I can feel the weight of the magic now, pressing against my skin, sharp and cold, like shards of glass beneath the surface of reality itself.
“They’re throwing it,” I realise aloud, breath catching as I try to gulp down air. “Like—it’s like projectiles.”
Stryx yanks me forward as she sprints ahead of me. “Then stop thinking and move!”
We sprint through the maze, weaving between collapsing shelves as the Archives erupt around us.
Each detonation echoes like thunder, the light brief and blinding before sinking us back into black.
My lungs burn, my thoughts a wild blur, just the rhythm of my feet and the clutch of Stryx’s hand, desperately racing from the invisible whisper of whatever is pursuing us in the dark.
By the time we reach the gilded doors of the main hall, I risk a glance back, long enough to see a shape move in the gloom, robed and silent, eyes like dying stars.
The next blast shatters the floor where I’d been standing.
“Go!” Stryx screams.
But another ball of blue writhing energy comes at me before I can move, heading straight for my chest. I throw my hands in front of my face like a pathetic shield, bracing myself for impact, but it’s not the magic that hits me.
Stryx’s body collides heavily with mine as she jumps in front of me at the last second, the magic hitting her square in the chest and throwing us off our feet.
We burst backwards through the Archive doors, landing in a heap on the gilded floor. I heave Stryx off me and she falls limply to my side, a huge hole singed through her clothes where the magic hit, leaving a great red mark across her chest.
“Stryx?” I whimper, shaking her roughly but she doesn’t wake. “Stryx, please–”
I look down at my knees, a strange sticky wetness drawing my attention, and I realise we are lying in a huge pool of blood.
The Archive guards lie dead around us, their eyes wide and unseeing, each of their throats slit.
Behind me there’s another bang, and our looming deaths press in on me like an inevitability, momentarily paralysing me.
No. Not today. I refuse to die today.
Fuelled purely by adrenaline, I bundle Stryx into my arms, my shoulders and elbows protesting painfully as they start to grind in their sockets from the weight, threatening to dislocate.
I tense my muscles as hard as I can to keep them in place and I run.
I run like I’ve never run before. The fading life in my arms is too precious for me to stop, no matter the agony coursing through my joints.
My bones will heal with time, but never will I heal from losing my friend.
I slide dangerously round corners as my bloodied feet slip on the polished floor, gripping tight onto Stryx so I don’t drop her.
I finally reach the doors and burst through them, half-dragging, half-carrying Stryx, gasping in the cold afternoon air as the doors slam shut behind me, leaving the echoes of the dark still raging within.
I continue to run down the long road that leads to the Memosyne, only coming to a stop once I get us safely to the other side of the gates.
I collapse into the street, Stryx falling to the floor with me as I frantically check behind us, but whoever attacked us clearly didn’t risk following me out here.
The two guards at the gate run to my side, shouting over each other as they try to work out what happened.
“Help her!” It’s the only thing I can think to say, but thankfully they listen, falling to their knees to examine her. But from the nonplussed looks that cross their faces, my heart sinks.
“No, no, no, please–”
I search frantically around us for any clue, when my eyes catch on a familiar face across the street. Suspicion claws at the edge of my mind at his once again all-to-convenient appearance, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sheer, overwhelming terror that starts to consume me.
“Riven!” I scream as loud as I can, and his eyes instantly snap to mine. Within a heartbeat he’s kneeling by my side, ordering the guards away as his hand presses against Stryx’s pulse.
“I don’t know what this magic is,” I cry as I uselessly paw at her too still body. “Please help me save her, I’m begging you.”
“I thought you didn’t like being indebted,” he says seriously, his voice a low growl as his hand moves to her temple, pressing lightly.
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.
He looks at me pointedly like he can tell what I’m thinking. “I’m taking you both home.”
He releases my chin and we both rise, Riven turning to Stryx and bending to pick her up. I start to argue as he lifts her carefully into his arms, but he cuts over me before I get the chance.
“Do you really think you can get her home on your own? You can barely stand yourself,” he scolds me, and I feel my cheeks redden.
“I’m not some weak–”
“I never said you were,” he snaps. “If anything, you’re probably one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I’m not asking you to apologise for your pain, I’m telling you to acknowledge it and let me fucking help you.”
I pause, reeling over his words, his sudden anger taking me aback. “You—you don’t think I’m weak?”
“Of course not, why would I?”
“Everyone else thinks I am,” I grumble, a little more sullenly than I intended.
“Who?” he growls, his eyes darkening, and my breath catches at his intensity.
“Keep talking like that and I might think you actually care.”
“Yes, Gods forbid,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. Then he turns his back on me and starts marching down the street, barking orders at the guards to sweep the perimeter and leaving me to hobble after him.