Page 64 of The City Of Fractured Memory

“Help me!” I cry out, but Stryx is already here, kneeling beside me, her hands glowing faintly with magic.

“It’s the Hollow Blood,” she hisses. “The curse is feeding on his grief, his rage.”

Xavier’s eyes flutter open for a heartbeat, his pupils blown wide. “He’s doing this,” he rasps. “Riven—he knows we’re close. He’s—he’s trying to stop me–”

“Xavier, stop talking,” I implore him desperately, pressing a hand to his shoulder to keep him still. “Save your strength.”

But he grabs my wrist with shocking force, the black veins crawling beneath his fingertips. “You have to end this,” he whispers. “You have to stop him before–”

His body arches once more in agony before he goes limp, the dark lines retreating slightly under Stryx’s trembling hands as she fights to stall the curse’s progression.

I sit frozen, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst straight out of my chest.

Stryx’s voice breaks the silence, low and shaken. “He’ll live. But it’s getting worse, Octavia. Whatever Riven did to him, it’s accelerating.”

I stare down at him, the man who’s been by my side for twenty years, broken, cursed, lying pale and sweating in my arms. And yet I can’t shake the thought clawing at the back of my mind. If Riven truly wanted Xavier dead, why isn’t he already?

I stare at Xavier’s face, my brow furrowing as I try to use logic to explain his slip up about the cult and the notes. But try as I may, I can’t make any sense of it. If he knew about the tattoos being linked to the cult, does that mean he led us to the brothel on purpose to derail the investigation?

There must be a logical explanation for how he knows. There has to be. I shake my head angrily, desperation for Xavier’s predicament taking precedence over everything else. I’ll figure this mess out later. Right now, nothing else matters other than saving him from this fate. And there’s only one man who can stop it.

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.