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But Riven wasn’t a target anymore, was he?
I doubted our alliance would be enough to forge a friendship between us. Not that I wanted that. But where did that leave us? I didn’t think it was possible for rivals to truly become allies.
Accomplices?
“You have a mage pen?” Riven asked, stirring me from my thoughts. He held the gold knife between his fingers. It looked so much smaller in his hand than mine. I pulled my cloak tighter around my body, purposely not looking at the pen.
“Yes,” I said, haphazardly throwing clothes into one of my saddlebags.
“How?” His voice was soft with wonder. “They’re very rare to come by, even for the Fae.”
“I stole it,” I said with a shrug. I didn’t have time to weave a creative lie.
His eyes widened with curiosity when he realized it was truth.
“From whom?” He twirled the pen in his fingers, studying the tiny, sharp point of it. A point that would never dull no matter how it aged or what it cut.
“Does it matter?” I shot back. Thinking about that night was something I tried to avoid, especially without a stiff drink.
“What’s wrong?” The curious edge to his voice had evaporated and all that was left was the analytical mask he’d worn ever since I pulled back his hood. Just how many faces did Riven have?
I stopped packing. I steadied myself with a deep breath, ignoring the burning at my throat. “There are things you do as a Shade,” I said, “and even more as the Blade, that tear at you. Rip you into pieces until you don’t recognize yourself anymore. I don’t like talking about them, so don’t ask me about that pen again.”
Riven placed the mage pen back on the table. “What did—”
I sighed, throwing the last of my clothes into the bag. “If we don’t stop having this conversation, Iwillstab you.” I tossed him a bag. He caught it with lightning speed.
Riven opened his mouth to speak again, but no words followed. Instead, he pulled the saddlebag onto his shoulder and reached for the second. I packed the rest and pulled my cloak over them.
“We need to go,” I whispered, extinguishing the faelights in the water basin. Riven opened the door, his long arm holding it open for me. We cut through the inn without being seen and Riven followed me into the night.
Neither of us spoke as we stepped into the narrow alley. I crept down the path. Riven followed behind me close enough that I could feel the rise and fall of his breath. The alley cut across one of the main streets, well-lit from the faelights that hovered below the bloomed canopy. I crouched low, peering out to see if the way was clear. Riven took a step forward but I reached out, feeling the hardness of his chest through his shirt. He tensed under my palm, and I dropped my hand. Violet eyes met my own and I pointed to the rooftops.
If Gerarda was surveilling the city, she would take the high ground.
Riven looked up, scanning the roofs, and nodded. He reached above my head. His chest stopped only a few inches from my face. I braced my hand against it to keep him from touching me. He didn’t move back or speak as I tilted my head up toward his face. His strong jaw and sharp cheekbones were silver blades in the moonlight. His scent wafted around me, warm and earthy with a hint of something familiar that I couldn’t place.
His eyes were closed and his hand was wrapped into a tangle of vines that hung from the green canopy. Where the plant touched his skin I could see the slightest shift of light pulsing through the vine, like its tendrils were basking in the light of the suns despite the blanket of darkness that covered the sky.
Magic.
Riven was using magic. Besides Feron’s attempts to comfort me into admitting the truth, I’d never seen a Fae use their power before. Compared to the stories of shapeshifting or lightning strikes, this was mild, but I was awestruck all the same. What was Riven doing with that plant? What other powers did he have?
Riven opened his eyes slowly. His irises had a vibrant glow before settling to their usual dark violet. His breath hitched when he realized how close our faces were. I pushed the thoughts of the last time we’d been this close from my mind. Riven’s mouth twitched and for a moment I wondered if that kiss in Cereliath had been more than a mistake.
“She’s waiting for you in the pub,” Riven whispered hoarsely, cutting through the tension that had settled between us.
“Did the vines tell you that?” I was only half joking.
“In a manner of speaking.” Riven stepped out of the alley, disappearing into the shadows. I rolled my eyes and followed him. When we reached the western outskirts of the city, his pace finally slowed enough for me to walk beside him.
“You’re not going to explain the thing with the vines?” I said, raising a brow.
Riven looked over his shoulder, eyes scanning the roofs, before turning back to me. He pointed to a small crevice between two abandoned dwellings and pushed me against the wall.
He grabbed my wrist. His grip was firm, but gentle as he pulled a vine from the canopy over our heads. He braided the vine around my fingers before placing his own through mine. “Every living thing can speak to one another,” he whispered as he called his magic forward. “Just as Elves speak to Fae, or animals speak to each other.”
I let out a breath in disbelief.
