Page 86 of The City Of Fractured Memory

Stryx studies me a little longer, then nods slowly. “You always were stubborn.”

“And you’re not?” I laugh, my friendship with Stryx feeling even stronger now I’ve come to learn how much we truly have in common.

A small, weary smile passes between us, fleeting, but real. Outside, the rain deepens, tracing patterns against the glass. The sound fills the silence between us, and for a moment, it feels almost peaceful.

Then I stand, pulling my cloak from the chair.

“Come on. If I’m going to be the child of a prophecy, I might as well start acting like one.”

Stryx sighs with a wary chuckle, snatching the cloak back out of my hands. “Even the child of a prophecy needs to sleep, Octavia. We’ll go in the morning.”

Her tone offers no negotiation, so I try a different tactic. “Fine, as long as you tell me what the deal is with you and Osiris.”

She throws my cloak back down onto the chair in a huff. “There is no deal. We’ve been friends since we were younglings, and he’s convinced we’re mates, that’s all. He’s delusional.”

Mates?

I gape at her. “By mates, you mean–”

“Destined to be together forever, all that rubbish, yes,” she finishes for me, and I laugh incredulously.

“And the feeling isn’t mutual, I’m assuming?”

“Of course not!”

I bite my lip, my eyes darting to her little shrine in the corner. “So, care to explain why that mushroom he gave you has pride of place?”

Her eyes widen. “How do you know about that?” she hisses, marching over to grab it and shoving it in a different spot. I continue laughing, refusing to answer, and she narrows her eyes at me.

“This conversation is over,” she says firmly, pointing at me. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I put my hands up in surrender, trying to stifle my laughter. “Sure, see you in the morning.”

As soon as her bedroom door is closed, my smile instantly drops, the awful weight of everything immediately bearing down on me again. Now I’m alone, the noise in my head quickly becomes overwhelming, and it’s only a matter of minutes before I can no longer bear it. Before I can change my mind, I grab my cloak, shove Quill into a pocket and walk straight out the door into the night.

I wave goodbye to the Eidolon Moth, hoping my message is swiftly answered as I march through the darkened streets of Eidravelle towards the morgue.

I lied when I said I wasn’t focused on everything I learnt in Lunoreth—it’s been eating me alive. And right now, for some inexplicable reason, despite everything he’s done, there’s only one person I want to see. The only person in this world who can understand what I’m going through, who knows what it’s like. I only hope Stryx forgives me when she wakes up and realises I’m gone.

I push down the guilt that threatens to strangle me and straighten my shoulders. I’ve got a job to do, and finally a means with which to do it.

Quill wriggles in my pocket incessantly, trying to squirm his way free, but I know better than to risk anyone seeing him, even in the dark of night. I don’t want to perform any Mindweaving anymore—the thought alone terrifies me—so from now on, I’m insisting he joins me everywhere I go on this case so he can take meticulous notes instead.

The Division is quiet at this hour. The corridors that by day hum with footsteps and chatter now lie still, echoing only with the hollow drip of that damn leaking pipe somewhere deep in the walls. I move soundlessly through the gloom, my cloak brushing my knees, my hood still secured to conceal my white hair, the faintest flicker of candlelight tracing my path.

I finally let Quill free and he floats above my shoulder as I walk, his white feathers twitching with what I assume to be irritation.

“Give it a rest,” I whisper sharply, glancing toward the end of the hall as I swat at him half-heartedly. “You can whine about it to Stryx later.”

He ceases his fidgeting and I shudder as the morgue door creaks open beneath my hand—the chill always takes me by surprise no matter how many times I visit. A single lantern burns on the side table, its light barely reaching the rows of shrouded bodies. It’s certainly been a busy couple of weeks for Maevick.

I swallow thickly and force myself forward. I don’t exactly feel like I’m trespassing—whilst my presence is still unwelcome to most, no one can punish me for being here anymore. Yet, as I move between the tables, the chill that crawls up my spine reminds me I’m no longer entirely mortal, and ironically I feel like more of an intruder now than I ever have.

“All right,” I murmur, setting Quill’s parchment down on the table as I try to recall what Amari told me before we started trying to unlock my magic. “She said I’d have to open the channel first, then focus on what was taken. Intent is the key.”

I locate one of the bodies, take a deep breath and spread my palms over the seer’s temples as Quill writes dutifully on his parchment. The magic hums beneath my skin, faint at first, like static. My eyes constantly dart towards the door, but my message remains unanswered for now. I try to push him out of my mind and concentrate.

It takes me three attempts before my magic starts to respond, which is a serious improvement to the hours it took me before. The air prickles and the lantern’s flame shivers as a faint blue aura begins to seep from the seams of my hands, tracing delicate filigrees across the dead woman’s skin.