Chapter 41
Forty-One
Guilt eats away at me aggressively, consuming me until I’m completely overwhelmed by it. I know Stryx will forgive me for going to the morgue without her, but I doubt Riven will be as magnanimous once he discovers I’ve ignored his warning.
I mentally slap myself.
He doesn’t deserve my guilt. Since his part time job as my relentless pen pal triggered the events that led to my dismissal from the Division, I don’t owe him anything, regardless of how my feelings may have softened for him a little.
My mind wanders back to our kiss in the morgue and my face heats.
Okay, maybe they’ve softened a lot.
I actually slap myself this time, earning myself bewildered stares from a couple walking past.
I grimace. Now is not the time to have an internal argument with myself, especially about a man of all things.
Gods, I look insane.
I feel insane.
Maybe the events of the last few days have all been some crazy nightmare, and I’m still in a deep sleep after Mindweaving without my circlet at the second murder…
I pinch myself, hard.
Nope still here. That’s unfortunate.
Guess I have to face my stupid fate and fulfil this stupid prophecy then. I sigh heavily. I really need some sleep before I continue spiraling any further. But I can’t yet, not until I’ve done what I need to do.
I move through the shadowed streets of Eidravelle with my hood pulled low, each step quieter than the last. I keep glancing over my shoulder, half expecting Riven to appear out of thin air and drag me back home by the elbow.
They will kill you…
His voice, rough with frustration and fear, echoes in my head with every step I take toward the Memosyne. But I keep going. I have to.
The gates of the citadel rise ahead, the spire of the cathedral currently swallowed by the descending dark mists of the Veil.
The air hums around it, volatile, and the hairs on my arms stand on end as electricity sparks through the clouds surrounding the gold-tipped spire. There’s another storm coming.
I slow, my breath misting in the cold, rubbing my damp palms against my cloak.
I hate that it’s working—Riven’s warnings, his certainty that walking into the council could be a death sentence.
I’ve always been a ‘march forward, deal with the consequences later’ sort of person, but since discovering that the fate of this city now apparently hangs in the balance of my decisions, I find his concern rooting itself in my chest, feeling indistinguishable from my own.
I never asked for any of this.
Half Echofae, half mortal. Illegal. A prophecy I never asked for. A destiny that could potentially be world-ending…then my thoughts once again turn back to Riven, his hands catching me in the dark, the heat of his breath against my ear, the way my heart leapt and crashed at the same time…
I grip the front of my cloak tighter.
“Get it together,” I mutter under my breath.
But my throat feels tight, and my breaths come quick and shallow. The closer I get to the gates, the more every thought claws over the next, a rising tide I can’t push back–
My Shadow appears and my knees nearly buckle.
I grab the stone wall beside me, fingers trembling as the street spins. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ground myself, but the fear keeps building, sharp and breathless.
“Go away,” I whisper, but the words come out thin.
I swallow hard and open my eyes. He’s still there in my periphery as always, never quite in view, but I feel him watching me closer now, like he knows I’ve figured out who he is.
No voice enters my mind this time, however, no commands I have no choice but to bow to.
He stays silent, watching, like he wants me to carry on with my plan.
That’s not concerning at all.
The gates tower before me, gleaming like a promise and a threat all at once.
“This is the only way,” I tell myself, trying to ignore the foreboding weighing heavily on my shoulders.
Maybe Riven was right, maybe this is all a trap.
But if I don’t do this, we won’t find the Codex, and that could be even worse.
More people will die. The prophecy is inconsequential compared to that.
My legs still tremble, but I force one step forward, doing my best to ignore my Shadow. Then I take another.
The guards straighten as I approach. Their eyes track me, not hostile, but assessing. Could they be part of this cult too? How many people are tied to this conspiracy? Overnight, everyone in this city has suddenly become a threat.
I inhale deeply, trying to steady the pressure closing in around my chest, and Amari’s words flit through my mind.
It doesn’t hurt to be the most powerful person in the room.
She’s right. I don’t need protection.
I’m Octavia Wren, the city’s best detective.
I’ve battled against the odds, clawed my way through life on my own and got to where I am now by fighting for everything I have, and I’m not about to stop now.
Stubborn determination consumes me, renewing my motivation, but as I approach the guards to request entry, my heartbeat is still a frantic, thunderous drum in my ears.
I’ve made my choice, and there’s no turning back now.
The doors to the council chamber stand ajar, frantic whispering hissing through the crack. I told the guards at the gates of my intentions to receive an audience—no doubt they relayed the message to the council ahead of my arrival.
I guess it’s now or never.
My determination falters for a brief moment, and for the first time since discovering my magic, I feel utterly, terrifyingly mortal. But I straighten my shoulders and shove away the insecurities that threaten to stall my feet. People are counting on me.
The great golden doors of the Council Chamber slam behind me as I enter, the sound echoing through the domed hall like a warning bell. I step across the threshold before I can talk myself out of it.
Instant silence.
The council chamber rises like a gilded illusion, an immense domed hall shaped like a golden amphitheatre, its tiered platforms gleaming beneath lattices of enchanted light.
Tall, fluted pillars support the sweeping curve of the ceiling, every surface polished to a mirrored sheen as though no dust has ever dared to settle here.
Intricate mosaics coil across the floor in spirals of gold and white marble, and the ceiling is covered in frescos depicting the city’s supposed glory, a stark contrast to the crumbling streets and smoke-choked alleys outside these walls.
It is decadent, opulent and impossibly pristine, so extravagantly removed from the squalor of the world beyond that stepping inside feels like I’m crossing into an entirely different reality, one built on denial, power, and the luxury of looking away.
As I enter, every councillor in the semicircle of elevated seats turns to face me—twenty pairs of eyes, sharp as blades and twice as cold. Their robes shimmer with iridescent thread, draped over bodies that have never known manual labor, or humility…or, I note, femininity.
Twenty men and not a single woman. Not shocking. Disappointing, but not shocking.
My jaw tightens.
We’re changing that. After all this is done. If I survive it.
The only way I’m going to be able to figure out who is compromised, is by compromising myself.
I have a plan, but it’s a risky one. I force my stride to remain steady as I walk toward the centre dais.
I've never been allowed inside this chamber before, but today, I didn’t bother asking permission. I guess I’m kind of past that now.
A ripple of whispers start up again between the councillors, quickly stifled as I lift my chin.
“Councillors,” I say, my voice echoing round the cavernous space. “I’ve come with urgent information regarding the Codex of Thorns.”
All of them stiffen.
Three avert their eyes. One on the far left goes very, very still.
Good. Keep reacting. Show me who you are.
The Councillor of Records—Meredin, I believe his name is—leans forward, his mouth twisting, the open book icon woven into his robes betraying his identity. “You are not permitted to speak on matters of classified relics.”
“Luckily,” I reply, my voice calm even though my pulse is thrumming loud enough that I’m sure they must hear it, “I didn’t come to ask permission.”
A few gasps.
A scoff.
“Insufferable girl–”
I continue, louder. “I am aware of our history, that Augustus was tasked with keeping the Codex hidden, for the safety of our city. This was the inciting factor that birthed this council. I have reason to believe the Codex’s location has now been compromised.”
A tremor of alarm flashes across two faces at my carefully chosen words. They school it away quickly, but not quickly enough.
There they are.
My heartbeat spikes.
Meredin slams his palm onto his lectern. “Impossible. The Codex is secure, as it has always been under this council’s protection.”
I let out a thoughtful, sarcastic hum, though I wonder how far I can take this before I tread too far. “Is that so? Then, of course, its current keeper won’t mind confirming its whereabouts.”
A chorus of outrage breaks out like a flock of startled birds.
“You overstep–”
“You presume too much, girl–”
“This is not a matter for–”
“Enough!” one of the councillors bellows, rising to his feet. His robe flares with the movement, spilling at his feet across the marble. His eyes bear into mine like hot irons. “You will cease this line of inquiry. Immediately.”
The chamber goes deathly quiet once more, a silence so penetrating, all I can hear is a faint ringing in my ears.
I meet his glare without flinching, even as adrenaline coils through my limbs. “Because you’re worried I’ll find something I shouldn’t?” I ask softly. “Or because I already have?”
A ripple of unease shoots across the council.