Her game of deception was a pattern, guilty as it was. It was growing less so each and every time--at least with Stratos alone.

  Octavia had Stratos days. She had Mixoly days. Somewhere in the middle, there were tolls, smiles, and all of the pleasantries that came with astounding secrets she shouldn’t have kept--let alone harbored at all. Every toll to which she bore witness beneath the sunshine was simple, although many were expectedly gruesome and tragic. Each toll, too, was a frustration she couldn’t shake, and she constantly compared them to her one and only consistent failure.

  There’d even been a waver in her self-confidence as Octavia had headed into her first toll since attempting to witness Theo’s, by which she feared failure there as well. It wasn’t as though she could forget the motions of the task, and it went flawlessly in the end. Still, Mixoly’s dilemma was an itch she couldn’t scratch--or more akin to a rash that had crept over every inch of her skin. At least once, in the throes of deep contemplation for a solution, she did genuinely start ripping her hair out. Viola would’ve killed her if she knew.

  Truthfully, she’d grown so fixated on Mixoly that she’d stopped paying much attention to Tacell--sacrilegious as the thought was. Slowly but surely, the ranks of Maestros were decreasing day by day. She still lamented the way by which not every guidance was fully consensual, and many took notable coercion on the part of others.

  They’d officially exhausted every Maestro in a nearby radius outside of Tacell, be they in Selbright or any dwellings no more than a few miles adjacent. It left the remaining Soulful strategizing once more, they themselves strategically spared in part for such a cause. Octavia dreaded the idea of Viola departing again, should she see fit to contribute. She'd said as much, at some point. Her fears were met mostly with laughter and smiles of reassurance, even if the sentiments had been genuine. It hadn’t helped much.

  It wasn’t until River offered her a solid number that she realized exactly how far along she’d come, for as absentmindedly as she continued to proceed day by day. Forty-five had once been an unfathomable concept, given her starting tally of ninety-six. To consider that she had restored a total of fifty-one Muses and counting to the home in which they so rightfully belonged was heartwarming, in a way.

  It would’ve been more gratifying, perhaps, if she didn’t need to fear their conspiracy to use her as they wished. It was only out of obligation that Octavia could look them in the eyes--or lack thereof. She was still grateful for the Dissonance that had been thwarted by their singular returns, for as sparsely as each pocket of purity may have been bestowed.

  “Ambassador.”

  It drove Octavia insane that, several months into her stay in Tacell, there were still those who preferred to use her title over her real name. It drove her more insane to be pulled from whatever brainstorming she’d opted to engage in on Mixoly’s behalf, and it startled her to simply be caught with the Muse on her mind. It wasn’t as though anyone could peek into her thoughts--at least, given what she knew of the spider web. She didn’t entertain the idea of an alternative. To be fair, none of that was in any way Faith’s fault.

  Octavia resisted the urge to sigh, for as rude as it would’ve been. She forced a chipper tone, even devoid of a smile in the wake of surprise. “Faith,” she identified simply.

  It was off-putting, too, that two months hadn’t been enough to convince the Heartful girl to look her in the eyes when she spoke. Octavia was fairly certain that she wasn't intimidating--or so she hoped. Faith fidgeted awkwardly with words to match. “I…you’re…really coming along with your task.”

  Octavia was somewhat thankful that Faith didn’t follow her around for tolls as much anymore, for how frequent that problem had initially been. Today was the first time in a while. She could, as such, be forgiven--even if it was only at the very end of the deed. “Yeah. There’s forty-five of them left now, if I’m counting right.”

  There was a bonus Muse to be accounted for, in truth. It wasn’t one she could admit to. Octavia’s inability to so much as acknowledge the ninety-seventh Muse felt almost disrespectful.

  Faith nodded weakly. “Y-You’re…getting there, for sure. It won’t be long now. I know the Soulful are planning to make more excursions soon once you finish with the ones we have here.”

  “How many are still left in Tacell?”

  Faith shook her head. “I don’t know the exact number. It’s a good amount. Maybe another ten or fifteen.”

  To hear the numbers growing ever smaller was a shock, in a way. It was almost impossible to process. Octavia offered her lines of thought aloud. “I mean, considering we have ten more between my friends, the Ensemble, and you, we already know where a lot of them are. It’s so surreal to think that this actually has an end. It…felt like it was going to last forever, when it started.”

  Faith was silent for a moment, the cool breeze filling the gap between the Heartful Maestras instead. “Are you going to miss being the Ambassador?”

  At the rate her life was going, absolutely not. “I don’t think so. I’m happy I was able to help, but some of the things I’ve seen have been…pretty rough. I don’t think I’m going to miss that.”

  “I…see,” Faith said softly. “Even though you won’t be able to talk to the Muses anymore? You’re the bridge between two worlds. You’re the closest a human could get to them. You’re not going to miss that?”

  If Octavia could get further away from them, at this point, that would be safer than anything. “They were never meant to be here. I was never meant to be able to do this in the first place. I don’t think I’ll miss that, either. I’ll just be happy when they’re home and the Dissonance is gone. Everybody wins.”

  For what little eye contact Faith had offered her once, she stole it back, casting it haphazardly into the grass. “Are you at least going to miss your Muse?”

  That was a loaded question. Octavia didn’t like it. She didn’t like trying to find an answer, for the lie it would’ve been either way. With him on her back as he was, the charade more than active in the light of day, there was little to do but err on the side of caution. “Yeah. It’s…gonna take a long time before I’m used to him not being here anymore. What about you?”

  “I don’t want her to leave at all,” Faith said a bit too quickly. “I want her to stay here.”

  Octavia winced. Of all the people who were going to make this process emotionally difficult for her, she’d hoped it wouldn’t have been anyone she was particularly close to. She at least tried to be empathetic, given that the day in question was still mildly distant. “Spend as much time with her as you can, then. Make the most of what you have with her. I think she’d like that a lot.”

  “Did you guide any of the other Heartful yet?” Faith asked instead.

  It was a quick change of topic, but a change Octavia didn’t particularly mind. She’d only guided one, so far, given how infrequently she’d stumbled across them. She was vaguely aware of an additional outwardly-visible Heartful Maestro in Tacell, somewhere, her own nightly concern serving as a completely separate entity. At the time, the chimes had been as cute as the young boy who claimed them. It was closer to what she’d expect from one of such a softly-named legacy.

  It was almost a shame that her legacy siblings were so hard to come by, for how inviting their presences always seemed to be--explicitly or otherwise. It was just as much of a shame that Mixoly held such a distaste for her own legacy brethren, by which the bitter words from her lips tainted the sweet flavor on Octavia’s tongue. The feeling was aggravating.

  “Yeah,” she finally answered simply. “One of them.”

  “I see,” Faith repeated. “What do you…plan to do once you’re done being the Ambassador?”

  Her questions were wildly scattered. Once more, Octavia suppressed the urge to sigh--even if it was an inquiry she was fairly happy to answer yet again. “I’m gonna spend time with my friends, probably. There’s lots of things I want to do together that we haven’t done yet. I’m really looking forward to it, and it’s good motivation.”

  “I see.”

  It was an awkward response every time, the silences that followed and her stolen gaze even more so. Octavia rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. There wasn’t exactly a good way to take her leave without being rude, and it wasn’t as though she had anywhere of merit to be before nightfall. Still, every long pause was starting to get to her. She contemplated making up an excuse to exit with.

  “Are you tired of being the Ambassador at all?”

  Distracted as she was, Faith at least caught her attention again. “What?”

  The Heartful girl fidgeted. “You don’t seem…very happy with the role. It sounds like it’s a lot to handle. I know you’ve done so much, and it’s amazing that you’ve gotten this far. Do you ever just…want to stop?”

  For once, Octavia did finally sigh. “Sometimes, yes, but I know I can’t. I know it’ll be over soon enough, and that helps me get through the--”

  “If you get tired,” Faith interrupted, her words quiet, “let me know.”

  Octavia blinked. “What?” she asked again.

  “If you get tired of being the Ambassador,” she clarified, “tell me. I-I can…help you out.”

  “Help me out…how?” Octavia pressed hesitantly.

  The look in Faith’s eyes seemed almost fatigued. Octavia hadn’t seen her since Velrose, and how she’d been faring since then was a mystery. She hoped the flame below hadn’t burned the girl too severely. “I can…take it off of your shoulders. I can finish what you started. You don’t have to do all of this alone. We’re…Heartful, both of us. We’re special. We have to stick together. If you’re struggling, I can help you. Okay?”

  Octavia couldn’t find the words to match her offer, for a moment. Each time she tried, they evaporated from her lips. Her mind went blank far faster than she’d expected it to, and the thought bothered her in more ways than it should've. She’d begged for helping hands in Velrose. The moment had passed. Now, the opportunity wasn’t quite so sweet. To pass the supposed deception of the Muses onto another was its own concern. The longer she considered it, the more it bothered her. It was to say utterly nothing of Priscilla.

  “I...appreciate it,” Octavia returned at last, “but I think I’ll be okay. I’ve made it through the worst parts, as awful as they were. It’ll be over soon, like I said. I can handle it from here. To have you by my side, though, that makes me feel better. It really is nice to have another Heartful around.”

  Faith was quiet for far too long. For a moment, Octavia wondered if she’d made the girl upset. Faith raised her eyes directly into the sun. It surely wasn’t the healthiest option.

  “I…see,” she nearly whispered. “If you…change your mind, I-I’m here.”

  Octavia nodded tentatively. “Y-Yeah. Again, I appreciate it.”

  That was enough for her Heartful sibling, apparently. She didn’t get a goodbye, and Faith left her in the clearing without words. It was a simultaneous relief from thoughts she didn’t want to consider and a regret for losing the companionship of a fellow Heartful Maestra. Octavia kicked herself. She wasn’t entirely sure over what.

  If she could shed certain aspects of the Ambassador’s burden, peeled with great care like a tender fruit, maybe she would’ve reconsidered. The idea of anyone but herself carefully navigating the spider web, the idea of anyone else battling ninety-six lying tongues for a cause only half-personal, anything she could come up with was too much to justify sharing. It had never truly been a privilege, granted, and it was now more of a curse than ever. The concept of hoisting it onto another made her stomach hurt, for all it would come with. If Faith knew, Octavia wondered if the offer would’ve stood.

  For the matter of Priscilla, at least, there was no question. It simply wasn’t feasible, tempting as it was. If she could cling to no other rationale besides the ultimate symbiotic reward of eradicating the Dissonance, she at least had her original motivation. To step out of Priscilla’s shadow was to do her a disservice. Octavia would prefer to drown in the dark, if that was what it took. If nothing else, there was less of it every day.

  It was a Mixoly night.

  She’d had at least six of them since her first encounter with Theo’s toll, and she was no closer to finding a solid solution. Even granted the one horrifically-short period of time bi-nightly that she had to experiment with delving into broken memories again and again, she struggled to make the most of that window. Octavia tried everything she could think of. Brute force was still a favorite, and she’d once gone over ten failed attempts consecutively before a fierce headache nearly did her in.

  She’d changed angles of approach--literally, as she adjusted Miracle Agony’s positioning in Theo’s hands largely against his will. She’d pressed for everything she could about Lucian, and Theo gave what he could. If he’d been Mixoly’s Maestro, he’d been Heartful. It explained a bit as to the boy Octavia had seen glow so brilliantly on so many occasions. His personality spoke for itself. His age was as Octavia had suspected, only several years off from her own. For all intents and purposes, according to Theo, he was a normal child.

  He wouldn’t say how Lucian had died. It was the one thing Octavia couldn’t bring herself to press Theo on. He’d suffered enough. For how beloved the boy had been, to ask was cruel.

  Each and every time, at the exact same point, Octavia encountered the exact same problem. Splintering cracks seized her eyes, blinding light seeped through each one, and the vivid wrath of hues she loathed and loved erupted in tandem with sounds she couldn’t stand. She’d resurface, panting and frustrated. The rug was steadily fraying beneath the byproduct of her scheduled aggravation, for which she felt mildly regretful. It wasn’t especially hers to destroy. She’d apologize later.

  “Okay, I have to be missing something,” Octavia growled at one point, gesturing angrily to the little instrument in Theo’s lap. “It’s exactly the same as it was two weeks ago. Nothing, nothing has changed. I haven’t worn it down, not even a little bit. Is there anything you can possibly think of that I haven’t tried yet?”

  “My efforts would be lost, Ambassador,” Mixoly said.

  Octavia groaned, tangling her fingers in her braids. “I’ve been thinking about this constantly, and I still can’t come up with anything. Is there anything about this toll I should know about that I don’t know already? Any background context?”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “Elaborate,” Mixoly requested.

  She shrugged aggressively. “I don’t know! Like, anything more to it? You were there. You were part of his life. Don’t you know what else happens in there?”

  Mixoly was silent.

  “I mean, it always stops at you,” Octavia reminded, her tone somewhat accusatory.

  Again, Mixoly was silent.

  She was silent for long enough that Octavia raised an eyebrow.

  “Mixoly,” she began, her voice low, “you are telling me everything about this toll, right?”

  Nothing.

  “You wanted my help,” Octavia pressed. “If there’s something you’re not telling me, then I can’t give it. I need to know everything I can, or I can’t do this.”

  It had been long enough since Mixoly had spoken that even Theo was watching her in anticipation.

  Octavia narrowed her eyes. “Look. Nothing you’ve told me has left this room. I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I don’t plan to. I’ve gone out of my way to hide anything and everything you’ve said to me, because that’s what you told me to do. I trusted you. I even turned my back on my own partner to do that. If you don’t trust me, this isn’t going to work.”

  And still, Octavia got nothing.

  She was aware that she was nearly glaring. She couldn’t help it. “You do trust me, correct?”

  “It is not you, Ambassador.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Octavia insisted. “You don’t, do you?”

  Mixoly nearly turned her back to Octavia in full. It was almost pitiful. “There are…sins I have committed. I have brought about wrongs that cannot be undone. Forgive me, Ambassador, if they are not so easily spoken.”

  Octavia shook her head. “Mixoly, I’m not going to judge you. If something happened, that’s fine. Everyone makes mistakes. The thing is, if you don’t tell me what it is, there’s nothing I can do to help. I put myself at risk to trust you. I can’t…force you to trust me, but I want to help you. If you want my help, that’s what that comes with.”

  The glance Mixoly offered over her shoulder was, too, pitiful. Her body language was perhaps more markedly human than any Muse Octavia had ever met, even those in moments of utter vulnerability. It was as endearing as it was unsettling. “I have…reasons to hesitate.”

  Octavia nodded slowly. “Everyone does. That’s part of why trust is so special.”

  She heard Mixoly sigh. “I have wronged that child.”

  Octavia tilted her head. “Lucian?”

  When Mixoly nodded in turn, facing her once more, Octavia sat up straight. “What did you do?”

  “I do not…choose to be this way, Ambassador,” she murmured sadly. “I do not choose to curse others with such sorrow and suffering.”

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” Octavia asked.

  Even with Mixoly’s form explicitly overhead, Octavia was cognizant of the way Theo ran his fingertips gently along the length of Miracle Agony in reassurance. It was sweet, if not futile.

  “I am an exception,” she repeated, a statement echoed so many times over. “Where others may find comfort in our bonds, I bring only agony. I was a blight upon that child. It was not an error I could correct alone. To call oneself my own is to bear a burden beyond understanding. It was not he alone who has faced turmoil by my hands, and yet I bitterly regret his pain.”

  Octavia took a moment to process her words. “Mixoly, does something…happen to your Maestros?”

  She nodded, their difference in terminologies notwithstanding.

  “But…Theo is fine,” Octavia insisted, gesturing to the boy in question.

  And the moment he averted his eyes, gripping the piccolo just the slightest bit tighter, Octavia’s heart skipped a beat.

  “For what misery I would bestow,” Mixoly explained, “there is perhaps no child in the world I could better call my own.”

  Octavia’s eyes flickered to Theo, then Mixoly, and back to Theo once more with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of one plight, he is immune.”

  Again, Octavia met Theo’s gaze. Slowly and calmly, he gestured to his ears. Her eyes widened.

  “Mixoly, exactly what happens to your Maestros?" she pressed again. “What do you do?”

  “Those who would…share a bond with myself are cursed by that which was never meant to be seen nor heard by humankind. It cannot be stifled, and it cannot be undone, so long as the bond is true,” Mixoly clarified, her words solemn.

  “Theo can’t hear,” Octavia rationalized. “So does he…see things?”

  When Theo nodded in the absolute slightest, her stomach twisted into knots. She couldn’t bring herself to break eye contact.

  “How often?” she pressed hesitantly.

  He, too, hesitated to sign back, his hands moving slower than usual. Mixoly, at least, translated in a timely manner. “‘Always.’”

  “What…do you see?” Octavia tried.

  His answer was anything but straightforward, conjured in strained movements after what felt like an eternity of silence. “‘It’s not as bad in the dark,’” Mixoly aided.

  Octavia wanted to push. Something about the look of deep discomfort on Theo’s face stopped her short. She chose her words for Mixoly carefully. “Is that what Lucian saw, then? Whatever’s going on in that toll, is that because of...what happened to him as your Maestro?”

  “As to what stifles your success, I could not believe it to be so.”

  “How did you get like this?” Octavia asked bluntly. “This couldn’t have just…happened. That’s not normal. At least, I don’t think it’s normal.”

  When Mixoly fell back into her pattern of extended silence, Octavia wasn’t satisfied. Still, she at least tried to be gentle this time around.

  “Mixoly,” Octavia began, “you’re…different. You’re different from every Muse I’ve ever met. You tell me things I shouldn’t know, and you look out for me. You’re honest with me. You’re…isolated. You told me they don’t want me to know you. You keep saying there’s something wrong with you, and that you’re an exception. Your tolls are different. Apparently, your Maestros are different.”

  She paused. She scanned for absolutely any reaction out of Mixoly. When Octavia was greeted only with further silence and a blank, faceless gaze, she pressed further.

  “You’ve never told me why they don’t want me near you--not in plain terms--and I’ve asked again and again. Why am I not supposed to know you? Why can’t I get through this toll?”

  It was Theo, of the two of them, who tensed significantly. His hands stiffened. Octavia did what she could to focus on the Muse alone, off-putting as the distress on his face was.

  “Mixoly,” she asked gently, “who…are you?”

  Theo narrowed his eyes, curling in slightly on himself as Miracle Agony somewhat slipped from Octavia’s view. Mixoly was significantly calmer than he was, given that she was the subject of Octavia’s questioning instead. It was an unsettling sight.

  There is no need.

  They weren’t words meant for her. The labored breaths Theo took a bit too quickly were all the confirmation Octavia needed.

  I would gamble my trust. I have told you long ago.

  His eyes upon Octavia’s harbored a hostility she hadn’t seen in some time. He signed rapidly, his hands almost shaking in the process. She almost recognized the last gestures at the end of each string of motions, for how often they were repeated. She’d seen the same unspoken words at the end of many of his prior threats to her. At this point, Octavia prayed it was empty aggression.

  Beloved child, I truly mean as I say. Temper your fears on my behalf.

  Theo raised his panicked eyes to her, shaking his head fervently. It hurt just to watch. As intrusive as Octavia knew herself to be at the moment, she still did what she could to intervene.

  “Whatever you have to say is safe with me,” she reassured quietly. “Whatever you want to tell me, I won’t share with anyone. I’m the Ambassador. I swear on that. I promised to help every single Muse, and that includes you. Let me help you.”

  Theo’s eyes darted nervously between the Muse and the Ambassador, his fingers trembling around the length of Miracle Agony. His distress, indiscernible to a degree, was still contagious. Octavia did what she could to breathe deeply.

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  Every pause and silence Mixoly had ever cursed her with never failed to gift her with fresh, anxious butterflies in her stomach. For how long she kept Octavia waiting on the cusp of a request so heavy, the swarm that fluttered about inside of the Ambassador was almost nauseating. She clung tightly to the hem of her dress in anticipation.

  “Ambassador.”

  The first words Mixoly gave her were soft and firm all at once. “Y-Yes?” Octavia stammered weakly.

  Each word Mixoly chose was slow, careful, and level. “This…may be a frivolous request, but would you be so kind as to begin our introductions anew?”

  Octavia blinked, confused--as was so common in Mixoly's company. “I…if that’s what you want.”

  Mixoly nodded. Octavia didn’t rise, although she did offer one hesitant hand over her heart. “I-I’m Octavia. I’m the Ambassador. It’s nice to meet you, and I…look forward to working together.”

  Even embellished as her second introduction had been by comparison to her first, Mixoly didn’t question a word. There was a slight confidence in her voice, wavering as it was, versus the timid greeting Mixoly had once graced her with. It would almost be welcome, were the dichotomy between the two introductions not somewhat startling.

  Octavia attributed it to relief, perhaps, as to whatever weight was to leave the Muse’s shoulders. Mixoly, much the same as herself, brought one hand to where her heart would’ve rested, bowing her head notably deeper than she had not so long ago.

  “I am Mixoly of the Heartful,” she began softly, “and I had once brought the world to ruin.”

  Octavia didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She drank in Mixoly’s visage in the moonlight peacefully, an ethereal scene she compared and contrasted in her head with their first greetings. There was most definitely a trust in her tone that hadn’t existed last time, and Octavia was more than grateful for it. It was gratifying, in a way. It was consequential, devastatingly so.

  She wondered if she’d misheard. She thought to question whether the expression was hyperbole, as was once the case on Seliza’s joking tongue. She didn’t know enough to entertain horror. She feared to even ask as to whether she should be afraid.

  All she could do was clarify, for how her thoughts battled to outrace her heart.

  “You’re…She Who Brought the World to Ruin?” Octavia breathed.

  The small, solemn nod Mixoly offered her birthed fears she hadn’t even known she could foster.

  Octavia raised one hand in a plea for a moment of contemplation. “Wait a minute, so you’re say--”

  It was too fast, apparently, and Theo was faster. It was the first time Miracle Agony had been a threat to her in weeks, raised so quickly to his lips that she hadn’t had time to blink. Octavia froze instantly, her heart threatening to burst in the path of his ruthless light. His shoulders shook and heaved all at once, his eyes narrow and piercing as they bored into Octavia’s own. Theo’s hands were trembling perhaps more severely than hers, and it wasn’t a comfort. She didn’t move. Neither did he.

  “Leave her be, my child.”

  Theo shook his head, never parting from the Harmonial Instrument.

  “Please.”

  Even as the Muse implored, it still took him time to oblige. When Theo did so, pulling the little piccolo down from his lips, his relentless gaze was still a worthy threat. Octavia shuddered beneath it. For how close Theo and Mixoly were, she wondered what served as his breaking point. Mixoly was the only thing between Octavia and annihilating radiance. It was one of the most chilling thoughts she’d had in this place.

  At the very least, she answered what little could be anticipated of Octavia’s endless questioning to follow. “I had once made a grave decision that brought destruction to all. I cannot express enough my bitter regrets with every word the tongue could speak. I am to blame for all that is, all that was, and all that has fallen upon you, oh Ambassador. More than Stratos, I have wronged you. More than our Lord, I have wronged you. More than all who would plead for your aid and lead you astray, I have wronged you in every conceivable way. I do not deny my sins. I will not…beg for your forgiveness.”

  “Mixoly,” Octavia could only murmur with disbelief.

  “I have once told you,” she spoke sadly, “that I am no miracle.”

  All she knew, in truth, came from Ethel. On the spot, it was all Octavia could do to rack her brain for everything she could remember of the spider web--both of them, as was necessary. It was impossible to ask outright as to whether she was in danger. It wasn’t as though she would’ve ever had the foresight to ask Ethel himself how dangerous She Who Brought the World to Ruin would still be, should they meet face-to-face. It wasn’t exactly a possibility she’d ever entertained, and Octavia kicked herself in retrospect for not being more imaginative while she had the chance.

  For as much of a risk as Mixoly had painted Stratos to be, there was no one to shine light on the safety of Mixoly in turn. She was on her own. She shivered, and she prayed it was subtle. Every inquiry from here on out was a gamble. Octavia paced herself.

  “How are you…here?”

  “I have succumbed to the same fate, of my own making as it was.”

  “The other Muses in Tacell. They…know?”

  “They could not be mistaken.”

  “What about the Maestros?”

  “It is doubtful even that they would know the tale, for what would be compromised by such knowledge.”

  “And that’s why the Muses don’t want me to meet you? Are they afraid you’ll hurt me?”

  “On the contrary. They fear that you would aid me.”

  Octavia paused. “Why?”

  “They would hope I would not return to Above,” Mixoly answered, “for what sins I have committed. It is perhaps a fair punishment.

  “But that’s your home, too.”

  “I do not disagree with you, Ambassador.”

  “Did…Theo know?”

  It was nearly in tandem that the Ambassador and the Muse turned to the young Maestro, who shrunk somewhat under their pointed gazes. Still, his hands filled in where his uncomfortable eyes couldn't.

  “‘Don’t tell anyone,’ he says,” she interpreted.

  Octavia’s head was spinning. The entire exchange was making her dizzy, its implications grand enough to leave her convinced she was in a dream altogether. She could hardly think straight, and poring over each and every facet she could recall of the spider web wasn’t helping. The dread in her stomach was a different flavor than that which she’d grown used to outside of Theo’s cottage. To experience this much paranoia both inside and out was going to be torture, should this become a regular problem.

  “Are you furious with me, Ambassador?”

  “N-No,” Octavia stammered.

  “Are you fearful of me?”

  That was harder to lie about. She tried anyway, just as unstable. “N-No.”

  “I will not harm you, nor do I have the power,” Mixoly reassured. “I never harbored such intent to harm to begin with. I do not wish to threaten, nor to cause anguish. I am no danger to you, Ambassador.”

  Mixoly read her like a book. For all the trust she’d demanded from the Muse, Octavia wished she could reciprocate the same just as easily as she had over the past several weeks. Still, with one unfortunate title alone, surely claimed against her will, Octavia’s confidence in Mixoly’s words had been all but shattered. She fought to trust in the Mixoly she knew--at least, for now. She couldn’t quite fathom them as one and the same just yet. She didn't want to try in the first place.

  “That’s why...Theo’s toll is messed up, then,” Octavia struggled to rationalize, pushing whatever blaring concerns echoed in her mind to the wayside. “That’s why your Maestros are cursed.”

  “It is true.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain why it cuts off like that,” Octavia insisted. Her hands were still shaking, and it was getting annoying to try to stifle. “Is he seeing something? Am I seeing something? What’s supposed to be there? I know there’s stuff past it, of course, but what’s actually…there, at that spot?”

  Mixoly shook her head. “From what you have described to me, I suspect it may be that which does not belong.”

  Octavia tilted her head. “In the…toll?”

  “I was a poison unto that boy,” she reminded. “That I would poison him so even in death is perhaps despicable for me.”

  It was Octavia’s turn to shake her head. “Nothing you did was on purpose. Don’t say that. We’re…gonna figure this out. I don’t care how many times I have to try. As long as you trust me, I’ll do it as many times as it takes.”

  Mixoly’s voice was soft. “You would still indulge my wish, even after I have told you of--”

  “I don’t care who you are or what you did,” Octavia insisted. “You’re a Muse. I’m the Ambassador. You’re good to me, and I want to be good to you in return. The…Dissonance can be fixed. It can be stopped. What was left here can be repaired. Let me help you, like I keep asking. Don’t…hide from me.”

  Theo’s eyes stung where Mixoly’s gaze was gentle. It was a contrast that made Octavia shudder, their dispositions practically night and day. Theo hardly breathed. Mixoly hardly moved. When at long last she spoke, it was with the same timid tone Octavia had once heard from so far away.

  “Then I ask of you, Ambassador,” Mixoly requested quietly, “please save me.”