Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Stryx helps me hoist Xavier onto the sofa, and I throw a blanket over him, his brow furrowed even in sleep. I start pacing, avoiding looking at him as I debate my next move.
“How could he know about the notes, Octavia?” Stryx whispers, chewing on her nails as she stares at him wide-eyed. “None of this makes sense.”
“I know,” I mutter, coming to a stop in front of her. “But there’s only one person who can give me the answers I need, and so far he doesn’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to being forthcoming.”
She inhales sharply. “You’re not seriously going to confront Riven now? After what just happened?”
“What choice do I have?” I huff angrily, throwing my arms in the air.
“I know I told Xavier it wasn’t him who killed Vesper, but since the murders were delayed, who knows if that’s true?
He admitted to sending those notes, so it’s not a giant leap.
If he somehow managed to get round that blood oath, then maybe Xavier’s right and he’s been playing me this whole time. ”
“Or maybe Xavier’s the one who’s been playing us,” Stryx breathes, her panicked gaze returning to him before flicking over to her shrine, to the mushroom he gifted her.
I pause, my eyes following hers as I consider that. My heart squeezes uncomfortably at the thought. “Either way, Riven is the only one who has the answers we need.”
I momentarily consider leaving right now, but one exhausted look through the window at the darkness outside makes me realise sleeping on this will likely benefit me. I turn to face Stryx over my shoulder.
“I’ll see him first thing in the morning. Keep an eye on Xavier while I’m gone. If Riven doesn’t want to talk, I’ll have to find a way to make him.”
I don’t wait for permission to enter Riven’s office, pushing past a disgruntled guard to find him.
“Why?” I demand as I burst through the door to his office, not bothering with pleasantries—we are both way past that at this point, and he knows it.
Riven is sitting behind his desk, slumped in his chair and nursing an already half empty bottle of some amber liquid.
His dark hair is disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it, his black shirt unbuttoned.
He looks pale, morose. I stop dead in my tracks at the sight, his current appearance at such odds with his usual decorum that I momentarily forget my purpose.
“Good morning, Detective Wren, how can I help you?” he remarks dryly, not bothering to look up from his bottle.
Faint dark circles surround his eyes and he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
I wonder if he’s been up all night. I flounder, curiosity sparking as I wonder what could’ve happened to make him take comfort in liquor, but then the images of Vesper’s death and Xavier writhing on the floor come unbidden into my mind, and my fury reignites.
Turns out sleeping on it did not help in the slightest.
“What gives you the right to curse people? For a moment I thought you may have had a streak of goodness in you, but you’re just a tyrant, aren’t you?
Have you been manipulating me this whole time?
” Nausea roils in my gut as I think back on our recent encounters and the tension between us that’s been slowly brewing.
I can’t believe I fell for it. But now, unstoppable doubt creeps in, and despite my reservations about Xavier, I can’t help but wonder if he was right.
Has Riven been trying to get me to warm to him so he can derail this investigation?
Between the two of them, I can’t tell what’s up from what’s down anymore.
He scoffs, looking up at me at last. “So, you’ve finally come to demand the release of my dear brother?”
I open my mouth, but stumble on the words. Instead I gape as the truth hits me and my stomach drops like I’ve been thrown to the depths of the Voyd.
“Ah, so he didn’t deign to tell you then.” He chuckles though his eyes remain cold.
“You’re—Xavier’s your brother?” I manage to choke out.
He stares at me deadpan, like it’s so obvious.
They look nothing alike, black hair being the only thing they share.
Though now I think on it, they do have the same nose, the same cut of their jaws…
fuck. It’s so obvious to me now, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
How could Xavier have hid this from me all this time?
Since we were children? I put aside the hurt, the revelation only serving to further my anger.
“How could you do that? To your own family? It’s deplorable!”
He stands and strides around the desk towards me, leaning close into my personal space. I start to back up, but he follows me step for step until I’m trapped between him and his desk.
“Do not dare to assume that of which you know so little, Miss Wren,” he snarls, his face inches from mine.
“Your parents died when you were a child, and for that I am truly sorry. But because you lost them so young, you seem to have retained an infantilised ideology of the concept of family. Sharing blood does not mean anything. Being born into a family rarely comprises of hugs, kisses and unconditional love. It is often brutal, competitive and savage. I learned this the hard way, and now so will he.”
I think back to what Xavier told me before, about the Ashfell family being the most dangerous in the city.
Is that why he goes by Blackwood? Did he change his name to distance himself from his awful family?
It would certainly explain why he never let me meet any of his family other than Vesper.
But surely that’s not reason enough for Riven to curse his own flesh and blood.
“Vesper didn’t deserve to die for it,” I hiss.
He recoils slightly, a deep frown forming. “What do you mean? The curse doesn’t kill, Octavia.”
His look of confusion seems so genuine, it makes me stumble. “So I was right? You—you didn’t kill Vesper?”
“No,” he breathes. “Of course not.”
I frown, and he leans in further, his lips caressing the shell of my ear. “Why would I kill either of them, when watching them suffer is endlessly more enjoyable?”
I flinch as a chill skitters down my spine at his words and I jolt away from him, making him smirk as I try to steel myself.
“Why are you doing this?”
He studies me silently, pain flashing in his eyes despite his cruel words.
I exhale slowly, letting his previous words envelop me until my bias towards his siblings wavers enough that I can carefully consider what he’s been trying to tell me.
There’s only one thing that could explain this, but if I’m right…
For once, I don’t want to be right.
“What did they do to you?” I whisper, the words barely audible, though the slight incline of his head tells me he heard just fine.
“You don’t want to know,” he whispers back before leaning away, and I resist the desperate urge to gulp down a breath.
His proximity is more than overwhelming, my mind working overtime for me to think clearly.
He goes to turn from me, but I instinctively grab his arm, pulling him back.
Xavier has been one of my closest friends for so long, but now I have my doubts…
I need to know the truth about this, even if it kills me. I can’t bear it.
The slight rise of his eyebrows is the only sign of his surprise at my contact before he recovers himself and stands tall before me.
With surprising gentleness, he takes my hand from his arm and lowers it back to my side, his fingers lingering slightly too long, like he doesn’t want to let go.
The feeling of his skin against mine sparks the tension that starts to rise between us once again.
I have a harrowing feeling everything is about to change irrevocably. But it doesn’t stop me.
“Tell me,” I urge him and he sighs heavily, indecision clear on his face. After a minute he straightens his shoulders and I hold my breath, his silence agonising.
“There is a secret project within the Memosyne,” he starts, his voice deathly soft, avoiding my gaze.
“Mortal magic is banned for good reason, but it doesn’t stop people craving it all the same.
Some within the Memonic Council believe that magic can be transferred from one being to another, and they have been experimenting with the idea for the last century.
They think that mortals can assume the power of the Echofae which would allow them to wield magic without consequence, and they have been torturing them to do so.
My family are the ones responsible for it. ”
My heart stutters at the horror of it, desperately hoping it’s not real, though as I look into his eyes and see his pain reflecting back at me, I can see it’s the truth.
“My mother and father were singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of over one hundred and fifty Echofae slaves over the last decade alone, and Xavier and Vesper were at their side through all of it,” he snarls.
I shake my head in denial. “But if you were raised together, wouldn’t you have been a part of it too? What made you suddenly grow a conscience?” I accuse.
“I gained a conscience when I discovered that the woman who I thought was my mother was nothing of the sort,” he spits at me, and my blood runs cold.
“No, it turns out my mother was someone else entirely. Our father wanted to know what would happen to the magic if an Echofae and mortal were to crossbreed, so he offered himself up as a willing ‘sacrifice’. She had no choice, but to succumb to his advances until he discovered she was with child, and when I was born, he slit her throat and threw her away like garbage.”
Tears start to well in my eyes, and I choke back a sob.
“You’re—you’re not mortal?” I breathe, and he shakes his head slowly.
“Why do you think Xavier hid me from you all these years?” He lifts his hands, curling his fingers in the air, and a familiar blue aura surrounds us as an illusion falls from his face, revealing pointed ears and his once black hair to be a dark, teal blue.