Page 98 of The City Of Fractured Memory

I swallow my nerves—and whatever that moment was—and follow him. He circles me again, this time keeping a careful distance, though I can sense the effort it takes him. He lifts his hand and a shimmering barrier forms around me like a dome of frost-kissed glass.

“Break it.”

I blink. “I—what?”

“Break it,” he repeats, sharper. “If you can’t force your way out of an enemy’s hold, you die.”

I scowl and slam my magic forward the way I used to, precise, but with force. The barrier doesn’t so much as flicker. Riven cocks a brow.

“You’re hitting it like a mortal,” he says dryly. “Try again.”

“Maybe if you stopped with the condescending commentary–”

“Then you’d be dead twice over,” he interrupts. “Focus.”

I grit my teeth and try again. And again. By the seventh attempt, sweat beads at my temple, my frustration simmering dangerously close to fury, so I take a deep breath, and that’s when I feel it: the thread of his magic pulling at me, coiling around my own, waiting to be joined—or crushed.

I gather my power carefully this time, and release it with a controlled push, allowing it to merge with the current of Riven’s magic for a second before I wash it away like a tidal wave. The barrier shatters with a sound like cracking ice.

Riven’s expression flickers with surprise, then he beams at me. “Good,” he murmurs. But he doesn’t let me bask in the victory. Not for a second.

He snaps his fingers and a spear of shimmering magic, dark as ink this time, shoots towards me. I yelp and instinctively throw my hands up, expecting pain.

Instead, my own magic bursts outward, forming a shield, a rippling crescent of light that deflects the attack. My heart slams against my ribs as I stare at my hands in shock. Riven lowers his hands, expression unreadable for a breath before he speaks softly.

“Very good.”

I breathe hard, stunned, and more than a little dazed. “I didn’t even think. It just sort of…happened.”

“Exactly,” Riven says. He steps closer, close enough that I feel his presence like gravity. “Magic is instinct. But instinct must be honed. You have the potential to be…extraordinarily dangerous.” His eyes flick to mine, his expression heated. “If you stop fighting yourself, that is.”

I swallow. There’s no arrogance in his tone or smug challenge, only knowledge, certainty, and something strangely gentle beneath it. I never imagined he could teach like this, with patience and genuine investment. I assumed someone like him wouldn’t have the capacity for it.

He shows me how to anchor myself using the pulse of the earth beneath the stone floor, how to gently pull magic instead of wrenching it, how to strike without letting fear drive my hand. His explanations aren’t flowery or philosophical, instead they’re methodical and frighteningly intelligent. Every question I ask he answers with clarity, which is a rarity for him. Every mistake, he corrects with a calm hand at my shoulder or a murmured reminder.

My earlier frustration at him has now completely dissipated, and I begrudgingly admit to myself that maybe he was right to insist we take the time to do this. I watch him as he moves with sheer mastery through each demonstration, and I start to see more of the man beneath the fearsome reputation.

Not just the governor who terrifies half the city.

Not just the killer I originally thought he was.

A strategist, a scholar. A complex, capable mind honed like a blade. Dangerous, yes—but not completely monstrous. There is far more to Riven than the fear he commands. And it’s getting harder to pretend otherwise.

When we finally take a break, my breath ragged and my limbs trembling, I find myself studying him differently. Curiosity tangled with something warm and willing coils low in my stomach, and I find my thoughts repeatedly returning to our kiss in the morgue.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to refocus my wayward thoughts. “We don’t have time to keep circling this. We need to find the Codex; where is it?”

Riven exhales, slow and controlled, like he’s been expecting it. “Alright. It’s likely with a member of the Memonic Council, which means infiltrating the Memosyne.”

I straighten. He wasn’t wrong earlier when he said I wouldn’t like the answer. “Do you know which member stole it from you?”

His jaw ticks once. “No.” His eyes flick away in frustration. “Whoever it was caught me off guard, used dark magic I’ve not seen before. Likely the Veyne.”

I release a deep breath before I step forward and reach for his chin, slowly bringing his gaze back to mine. “Then how many of them are corrupt? How many are involved in this cult?”

Riven’s stare hardens, something glacial drawing over his expression. “I’m not certain. Could be two. Could be all of them. The council is rotten at its roots, Octavia. But unfortunately, I don’t know where the rot starts. I know the majority of the cult’s members, but those who reside in the council have managed to keep their identities hidden. It’s…frustrating, to say the least.”

I drum my fingers against my arm, thinking fast. “I think I know a way to figure it out.”