Octavia was vaguely aware that her prior evening hadn’t counted as a “true” Stratos night--not for the wonderful, wonderful distractions that had come with it. It carried her presence, it carried him in her arms, and it carried his song in her hands. That was enough, surely. She figured it would suffice, and she was content to flip to the other side of the coin for yet more attempts at Theo’s toll.

  Octavia struggled to swallow the hint of fear that accompanied it, far off as it was from the daylight hours. She struggled to swallow the dread that came with the departure she’d feared, in turn, dangled in front of her torturously days prior. She loathed that Briar had come to praise Viola as a Maestra, for what pride the Soulful girl had come to take in her gift. It was a pipeline to contribution, and contribution was a pipeline to separation. Time was irrelevant. Distance was not.

  “You’re really doing this again?” Octavia whined.

  When Viola only offered her a playful smile, she knew she’d get nowhere by begging. “You’ll be fine. You got through it last time.”

  “Barely!” Octavia cried.

  At least her laugh was a beautiful compensation. “I’ll be back before you know it. We’re splitting up a bit, so we shouldn’t have to keep heading out over and over. The more Soulful go, the more ground we can cover in teams, and the…sooner we can be done.”

  “Yeah, and the more worried I can get waiting for you to come home,” Octavia muttered.

  Viola patted her cheek teasingly. “There’s lots of things you owe me, remember? Lots of stuff I want to go see with you after all this. Don’t make me wait too long, or I’m gonna be sad. And then I’m gonna cry. Do you want me to cry?”

  “I’m gonna cry,” Octavia only half-joked.

  Viola fished around in her bag quietly for a moment, bringing forth a small piece of wood Octavia was surprised to see that she still carried. “Recharge this for me, please.”

  With her eyes on the little balsa snowflake, once crafted for Viola alone with so much love, she tilted her head. “Re…charge it?”

  Viola shook the tiny snowflake playfully. When it sank in, Octavia blushed.

  “A-Again?” she stammered.

  “Look, it has to be fresh. It needs more Octavia Luck,” Viola argued.

  There was no such thing, really. She had plenty of the opposite to bestow, should Viola request that instead. “Do I have to?”

  “I really can cry if you want,” Viola joked.

  Octavia groaned. “This is so embarrassing.”

  It wasn’t enough protest for Viola to rescind her extended arm, the little sculpture inches from Octavia’s lips. Granted, it had been far more awkward the first time. Now, it was only enough to make her heart pound, and not entirely in a way she was uncomfortable with. Octavia was again grateful for her decision to forgo varnish and paint as she pressed her lips fleetingly against the wood. She somewhat lamented the firmness of balsa versus the softness of Viola’s skin. She wouldn’t admit to it.

  And when Viola turned the snowflake towards herself, pecking the exact same spot Octavia had laid her lips upon moments before, the Ambassador lit up in a scarlet nearly bright enough to paint the snowflake with its glow alone.

  “W-What are you doing?” she stammered, viciously flustered.

  Viola grinned. “Borrowing some of it.”

  “That’s so…you’re so weird!” Octavia cried, frantically tugging on her braids.

  It wasn’t often that Viola moved quicker than she did. When it happened, it was jarring, and it was typically a byproduct of distraction. Both were true now, and both accompanied the softness she’d been considering moments ago. It was fast, it was brief, and it was every bit as tender as she’d remembered from her tryst beneath false stars. Octavia was no longer jealous of the wood, as quick as the envy had passed her by. Part of her hoped no one saw. Part of her didn’t care. Part of her wanted more, and part of her desperately wanted to ask.

  Her fingers brushing against her own lips in the aftermath was a reflex. Viola’s thumb grazing her cheek was a plus.

  “I’ll put it back, then, if it’s that much of a problem,” Viola teased.

  Octavia couldn’t breathe. It was a good thing, for once.

  “Hold onto that for me.”

  Slowly, she raised her hand to rest atop Viola’s own. She battled for a smile in the midst of the stars that swirled in her heart. “I’ll give it back when you come home.”

  Viola beamed. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  It wasn’t as bitter of a parting as the last time, and it didn’t burn quite as severely when Viola left her at the doorstep once more. The dichotomy of cool air drifting into the cottage and the warm sunshine caught within left Octavia mired in conflicting sensations, more surreal than unwelcome. It didn’t cross her mind to close the door yet, and she spent far too long with her fingers pressed against her lips. The absence of Viola’s warmth, so close to her skin, was the strangest change of all, and so vividly mourned. What the Soulful Maestra had left in its place spoke absolutely nothing as to the soul of ice she harbored deep within, for the fire it sparked in Octavia’s heart.

  She smiled to herself. She made for the comfort of the sunshine nestled inside, the door coming to a close behind her with a gentle click. Renato’s expression made her want to die.

  “Is, uh, is that new?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  She really, really wanted to die.

  For as nonchalant as he tried to appear, arms crossed casually and one foot propped against the wall, the notable blush was doing him zero favors. “I’m just gonna assume that’s new.”

  Either she could die, or she could kill him. They were both viable options. Octavia entertained the idea of both for long enough to stain her face a permanent red. It probably wasn’t healthy.

  Even knowing what she knew, there was still fear that came with the idea of tackling Theo’s toll again. It had new context. Octavia regretted to admit that it unnerved her as much as it did, nor was she willing to confess that to Mixoly. It was a struggle not to change her demeanor around She Who Brought the World to Ruin, given the trust she’d been granted. It would’ve been rude, for one, and it would’ve risked hurting the forsaken Muse. Above all else, it would’ve compromised everything she’d worked to foster between them thus far. Keeping a straight face was possibly even more difficult than deceiving Stratos, for as much success as she continued to have with that.

  Octavia still wanted to ask how it had happened. To pry as to the finer threads of the spider web would be a mess, let alone possibly distressing for Mixoly herself. It still didn’t ease her curiosity, nor the fear that came with uncertainty in turn. Given that the only other human who knew of She Who Brought the World to Ruin--fleeting as the discussion had been--was still left out of the conversation, Octavia couldn’t stop thinking about getting his sharp opinions.

  Theo had kept the secret close to his heart--for Mixoly’s sake, she’d rationalized. It left one other person who could dissect the spider web alongside her, shrewd as he was. His inquiries for the Muse, in turn, would've definitely been far more succinct than what she could concoct. It was just Josiah. It was specifically Josiah. Surely Mixoly would understand.

  It wasn’t exactly an awkward atmosphere between the three of them. Still, it was loaded, largely silent save for Octavia’s occasional grunts of frustration and concentration. She hadn’t counted how many attempts she could knock out in a single evening, for the time she had available. So far, she was three deep, and none were any more successful than before.

  She sighed, coming to rest on her heels as she caught her breath. “It’s…still just as bad,” Octavia explained with mild irritation. “Nothing’s changing.”

  “I cannot offer much more than my condolences, Ambassador.”

  Octavia closed her eyes for a moment. “I get it. It’s not your fault.”

  They were loaded words. She’d had to repeat them in too many contexts to count for Mixoly. The Muse apologized to her at least tenfold more than the others praised her, by comparison.

  “If you…don’t mind my asking,” Octavia tried, “why did you pick Lucian?”

  Mixoly tilted her head. It was a question Octavia hadn’t bothered to ask yet, and she gave it a shot for the sake of her puzzle. “Elaborate.”

  “Well,” she continued, “what made you choose him as your Maestro, I mean?”

  Mixoly was quiet for a moment. “A heart of light is not simple to claim, nor to witness within this realm. I had not the luxury of choice. It was as much of a blessing that that child answered my pleas as it was a curse for him in turn.”

  Octavia frowned. “I know there’s not a lot of Heartful Muses out there, but there’s…not a lot of Heartful people, either?”

  And again, she was quiet. She was quiet for long enough that Octavia was forced to press. “Mixoly?” she prompted gently.

  “This world has no heart.”

  Octavia blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  It never failed to amaze Octavia exactly how human every gesture Mixoly made truly was, for how fleeting her form had been. She held herself tightly, stealing her faceless gaze from the Ambassador once more. “This world is poisoned by malice and hatred. There...stands no place for purity. Those of a genuine heart are perhaps an irregularity in such a corrupted creation. You are one of few, oh Ambassador. Cling to your legacy, for what it is worth.”

  Octavia was somewhat speechless, at least temporarily. “You…think the world is corrupt?”

  “I do not think, but rather know it to be true.”

  Octavia fidgeted uncomfortably. The questions that bubbled up into her throat weren’t quite ones she’d entertained asking any Muse in earnest. In a way, they were insulting. To Mixoly, maybe they’d harbor a different tone. She tried.

  “I know it’s not exactly Above, but do you dislike this world, Mixoly?” she asked softly.

  Mixoly’s answer was just as soft, her words bitter and biting in place of their volume. “I detest it in every manner.”

  Octavia winced. “Why?”

  Mixoly shook her head. “It was...not always so. Once, I loved. Now, child, I loathe. I lament that it has come to such.”

  “There’s got to be some things you like about this world,” Octavia said. “You like Theo, right?”

  There was a split second where she’d expected Theo to show concern for Mixoly’s pending answer. It was shocking enough that her harsh rhetoric hadn’t warranted a response in any capacity already, for how he was content to drink in the conversation in peace. His eyes flickered up to Mixoly calmly rather than with the anxiety Octavia suspected she’d find.

  She was immensely relieved to hear Mixoly affirm her question, at least. “I adore this child with all that is left of my heart. He is all that is yet beautiful within this realm. He is all that I…have.”

  Octavia nodded. “So, that’s one thing, right?”

  “And still, it is as I have stated, Ambassador,” Mixoly countered. “He is an irregularity, the same as yourself. To be Heartful is to be immune from such malevolence. There is nothing more.”

  “That’s not true,” Octavia argued, just a touch louder than she’d intended. “There’s lots of people who are kind and gentle that aren’t Heartful. There’s tons of them out there. Sure, there’s a lot of really awful people, too, but you don’t have to be Heartful to be a good person!”

  “It is the only assurance.”

  “It’s not a fair assumption. That’s where trust comes in, you know.”

  “There is nothing to trust.”

  Octavia bit her lip. Each subsequent line of questioning that waited eagerly for a turn was dangerous for a myriad of reasons. Again came the faint, lingering dread in her stomach that accompanied every consideration of Mixoly’s unfortunate title. Two inquiries took a burning precedence. It took a long time to settle on which one was safer.

  “Mixoly,” Octavia began hesitantly, “if…I wasn’t Heartful, would you still trust me?”

  Mixoly didn’t respond even slightly as fast as she would’ve hoped. When she did, she gave anything but a reassuring answer. “If you were not the Ambassador, I would not know you. I would…offer my trust to the Ambassador alone.”

  Octavia gestured to herself with slow words close behind. “You trust me as the Ambassador. I get that. Do you…trust me as a person? As a human?”

  Mixoly wouldn’t look at her. It hurt just as much as the silence that followed, and not for the reasons Octavia had expected it to sting. Her other question wasn’t even slightly safe. It was serrated, deadly, and consequential in a way she knew would slash a hole in her heart. It was invasive. It was a terrible, terrible idea. In the absence of Mixoly’s attention on her, she did it anyway, her soft voice a poor compensation.

  “Mixoly, what…happened to you?”

  Whatever Theo was signing to her, it wasn’t offered with gentle eyes. Given Mixoly’s continued silence, Octavia regretted the inquiry almost immediately. There was no translation to accompany his harsh gestures, and she watched the Heartful Maestro’s eyes dart to his wordless Muse from time to time. Logically, she didn’t need to know. She said as much.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she apologized weakly.

  It was enough to halt Theo’s aggressive gesturing, his sharp gaze still stinging her with reproach where applicable. It wasn’t enough to garner any outright reaction from Mixoly, who only appeared to curl in on herself further. Octavia sighed.

  Another attempt was an apology in action, she rationalized. She reached for Miracle Agony where her words couldn't reach its Muse. At the very least, useless as her efforts were, she was less likely to hurt others in the dark.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  For how many times she’d borne witness to the first half of the same toll repeatedly, Octavia had large swaths of it memorized. She was an expert on drowning, and just as skillful at coming back up from the same lethal abyss.

  She’d grown used to every word from every mouth, every step and every gesture, every smile that graced her gaze and left her stolen lips. In the slowdown of time that was the deepest depths of a toll, she swore she’d known Theo through Lucian’s eyes for longer than she’d known him through her own. If she didn’t know any better, she’d be at risk of confusing herself with Lucian, for how often their hearts were one and the same.

  It wasn’t as off-putting of a thought as she would’ve expected it to be. For all intents and purposes, as many times as she wished, she was Lucian, and Lucian was her. It was a shame that she couldn’t do him the justice of capturing the remainder of his tragic fate.

  Once more did she suffer, and voyage, and struggle, and cling. It was the same routine she'd endured for weeks, and she traced Lucian’s undaunted steps into that moonlit field once more. Octavia followed his fingers downwards, she embraced Mixoly’s pleas by proxy, and she braced for the burst of sensations that would assail her shortly after. Even if she knew it would get her nowhere, it was still a peace offering to a wounded Mixoly. She made a mental note to apologize again when she came up.

  Octavia still lamented that she couldn’t recoil or shut her eyes to escape the blinding radiance that seeped through the very world itself. She still hated that she couldn’t raise hands that weren’t hers to block out the screaming and screeching that plagued her so suddenly. It was overwhelming in every way, no matter how she fought to push through it. As always, she did her best. She strained, as much as was possible in a state of zero input or physical sensation. It burned.

  There is more to be done.

  There is not.

  It burned for far longer than usual, her pupils practically screaming along.

  What have I left to give?

  It was brighter, the fragile glass in her eyes splintering wider and wider.

  I do not understand!

  It was louder than the screeching, distorted and echoing as it was. It was every bit as unnatural as it was achingly familiar.

  Please, help me!

  It wasn’t as immediately unmistakable as Octavia would’ve believed it to be, for how often she’d heard that voice as of late.

  I beg of you, help me!

  And when her vision gave way, it wasn’t fruitless, but rather with words she’d heard so many times over. Born of the same lips again and again, they were as seared into her mind by now as Lucian’s entire life was.

  Help me.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  ◆????????????????????????????????? ??????????????◆????????????????????? ???????????????????????????◆??????????????????????????

  Octavia had been largely still when coming up from her best attempts at Theo’s toll, save for her first encounter. Where frustration had typically taken hold and left her growling with irritation, she now outright flinched instead. It wasn’t enough to knock her back. It was more than enough to demand attention where she’d so humbly sought to earn it before.

  “That…that was different. Something changed,” Octavia insisted quickly. “Mixoly, something was different that time!”

  She finally garnered the gaze of the Muse she’d managed to deter. “Of what do you speak, Ambassador?”

  She couldn’t put it into words. Stumbling over them cost her precious moments of clarification. “I-I could hear…you, I think. I could hear your voice, a-and not just whatever Lucian had already been hearing. When he touched you, when it got to that part again, there was something else.”

  Mixoly tilted her head in the slightest. For how Theo followed the same motion moments later, it was almost an endearing combination. It was muted, somewhat, by the gravity of the situation, and Octavia had little time to feel sentimental.

  She thought to argue. She thought to demand, to think, to push Mixoly ever further. Instead, she experimented first. Gauging whether lightning would strike twice in the blackened depths was easier to do with her eyes than her words. She let her fingers against the length of Miracle Agony speak for her once more.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Octavia hardly even processed whatever led up to the moment in which Lucian’s world would splinter to pieces yet again. Part of her couldn't hold fast to the idea of success, somewhat concerned that her singular crumb of progress had been a fluke. If she were to go through the same exact routine this time around, if she were to terminate at the same point with no altered sights or sounds to show for it, she wouldn’t have been surprised--vehement disappointment and aggravation notwithstanding. She prayed that wasn’t the case, and steeled herself for the chance that it was.

  And when she reached the usual world-shattering point once more, the cracks and splinters on false glass assaulting her again, she battled the violent light and hateful colors. She braved the torturous sounds of suffering unseen. It didn’t need to make sense to be unwelcome, surreal as it continued to be all this time. So thick had those jagged deltas upon her stolen eyes become that she feared she’d come up like that, cursed to see through nothing but fractured crystal forever.

  You will regret your choice.

  I will not.

  Please, do not do this.

  Still, Octavia was rewarded for her troubles, out of sight and garbled as such fleeting treasures were.

  This is all that I can do.

  The cracks were there, slower and wider as they grew. The light was powerful, brilliant and abrasive as it was. Mixoly was Mixoly in every way, even at the bottom of darkness itself.

  Help me!

  It was perhaps just the slightest bit brighter, if that was even possible.

  Help me, please.

  ◆????????????? ???????????????◆?????????????????????? ??????????????????????????◆?????????????

  Octavia came up with confidence where confusion had once been. Lightning had, in fact, struck, whether in her eyes or otherwise. She caught breaths she just barely needed. There was no need for a third attempt, given what she'd found. Her fingers trembled somewhat as they curled inwards, reclaimed from Miracle Agony awaiting her touch yet again. She offered her eyes to Mixoly rather than the Muse's vessel.

  “That’s…you,” Octavia asserted plainly. “That’s your voice in there. I can hear it.”

  She appreciated that Mixoly wasn’t necessarily speechless. It didn’t make what she actually earned much more useful. “I…”

  In which case, Octavia continued in the timid Muse’s place. “Are those…your memories?”

  If lying by omission was still lying, then silence in place of confirmation was still confirmation.

  “They are, aren’t they?”

  “Ambassador, I…”

  “Is that…why I keep getting stuck?” Octavia murmured. “I’m stuck on your memories? Not…Lucian’s?”

  Theo raised his eyes to Mixoly alone, a silent gesture that left Octavia excluded. Even now, she had to wonder how much else the child knew that she didn’t.

  “I…do not know what to say, in truth,” Mixoly admitted, her voice tiny and meek. It was almost pitiful. “I apologize severely, Ambassador. I-I should not be…”

  The moment she trailed off, Octavia pounced on her hesitation. “Whatever I’m seeing, did Lucian see it, too? Did he see your memories like that?”

  “It is you alone, Ambassador,” she confessed.

  “It’s like you guys are…stuck together,” Octavia muttered. “What made it change, though? That was the first time I was able to make any progress.”

  The way Theo was not-so-subtly flicking his eyes back and forth between the window and her own was as frustrating as it was necessary. He wasn’t wrong about the time. It didn’t answer the question that burned through her brain. She ignored him in favor of Mixoly, her heart pounding at the reminder of the hour.

  “If I’m gonna see the rest of Theo’s toll, do I have to get through those? Can I move them, or…something?”

  “I cannot control them.”

  “Can I even see them? You’re a Muse. You’re not a person. That’s not a…toll.”

  “It seems as though you have already witnessed such recollections, somewhat.”

  “I mean, it wasn’t a lot, just…words. I couldn’t actually see anything,” Octavia explained.

  “Such may be for the best.”

  Octavia paused for a moment. “Do you…want me to see them?”

  There was her silence. Octavia had wondered how long it would take.

  “Mixoly, I keep trying to get to the other side of Theo’s toll, and that whole thing is what’s in the way. If I can’t see your memories, I don’t know if I can complete the Witnessing all the way through.”

  As to whether Theo was growing more urgent on behalf of genuine concern for her or out of irritation for Mixoly’s interrogation, Octavia wasn’t sure. She could believe both. The aggravated signing that followed wasn’t helping. Eventually, he was outright pointing at the door, rolling his eyes in exasperation when she only continued to speak.

  “If you want to go back to Above,” Octavia pushed, “I think this…might be how. If not, then it’s at least one more step towards figuring this out. I’m not trying to pry, but if you want this to happen, we have to work together. I already told you--if we’re going to get you home, then you’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Ambassador--”

  “Just…think about it, okay?” she pleaded softly, peeling herself off the floor at last. “I promise they’ll be safe with me. You have my word.”

  In reality, it wasn’t her place to beg or insist upon the memories of another person--let alone a Muse. Tolls alone were invasive enough, for what most private visions she dove into only half-consensually. Whatever objections Theo had to her request, even tender as it was, followed her with abrasive signs she couldn’t so much as try to make light of. She hoped he was satisfied she was heeding his warning to leave. Octavia, by comparison, would never be satisfied each and every time she left Mixoly quiet and uncomfortable in her wake. Even now, to turn her back on the Muse she continued to press so severely was painful.

  She remembered to check the windows this time, if nothing else. Even as she snuck into the cool night, choked moonlight peeking through the clouds above to guide her path, her blood burned where her skin was chilled. Given the highly specific tolls that had crushed her and torn her apart from the inside-out, she'd already come to the conclusion that nothing worse could await her in the depths. Drey had been enough. Sonata had been enough. An entire city laid to waste, still ripping her to shreds each night in her dreams, had been more than enough for the rest of her life. Of those tolls, at least, she'd had a personal connection that carved her heart out as a result.

  Whatever awaited on the other end of Theo’s toll was a burning mystery, built up endlessly for weeks in a way that had begun to fester. For all Octavia feared of the spider web, by comparison, there was perhaps no better way to fall into its grasp than to watch the world come to ruin herself.

  The Stratos night that followed was tense, as she'd expected it would be.

  Typically, it was Stratos nights she feared, for the delicate line she was forced to tread around him. With him in her arms and a song born between them, falsehoods of love and companionship were enough to keep Octavia's heart racing alongside every deceptively soft note. She dreaded slipping up, and the same dread was usually enough to keep her on edge for hours in his company.

  Her paranoia, extreme as it was, hadn't yet led her astray. It was still agonizing to foster. It probably wasn’t for the best that she'd begun to associate Stradivaria with distress, for the way her stomach would twist into knots in his vicinity alone. Part of her envied the ignorance she’d once had only weeks before. Part of her couldn’t imagine not knowing what she knew now.

  Tonight, her fears were inverted. It wasn’t so much that she feared returning to Mixoly as she feared whatever burden was to follow. Stratos nights were predictable. For unfortunate reasons, recently, Mixoly nights had been the same. Now, they were anything but, and it was exceedingly possible she was to see what wasn't meant to be seen in the near future. Even for the Ambassador, this was pushing it. If Mixoly was so different, she wondered what else could change in a toll. She wondered if it could hurt. The thought was absolutely terrifying to entertain, and her best attempts to stifle it were in vain.

  Are you alright?

  “W-What?”

  Your hands are trembling.

  Octavia's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't wrong. She could feel her fingers shaking against the strings, pressed right up against him. It was a new kind of paranoia she hadn’t yet nurtured.

  “I-I’m just kind of cold. The temperature at night has been getting lower, recently. It’s…gonna be winter soon, you know.”

  I see. If you must return inside, I would understand.

  Octavia sighed. “I’ll be okay. I'll get used to it after a little while.”

  Do you fare well during your walks each evening, then?

  Again did her heart skip exactly one beat. It wasn’t as though the question carried any accusations by default. “It’s not usually that bad. I’m alright.”

  You are gone for quite some time.

  Octavia was quiet for a moment. She opted for the pitiful route. “I have a lot to think about. There’s a lot of things that bother me, so it’s…nice to have time to go over it all, just a little bit at a time. It takes a while.”

  I see.

  More explicit confirmation of his belief in her lies would’ve been nice. “I’ve seen…thousands of tolls, now. Literally thousands. It’s insane, and it’s terrifying. It’s a lot to live with.”

  I understand.

  She knew he didn’t, really. For all she’d tried to be objective about her task with Mixoly, and for all the Stratos nights she’d braved, his empty words of comfort still stung just as sharply. Octavia desperately wished she could call him out on it, even now.

  Where do you travel to when you walk every evening?

  He didn’t usually ask. Her stomach did flips. She did what she could to attribute his inquiries simply to the natural course of the conversation.

  Octavia shrugged, an uncomfortable motion with him atop her shoulder. “Around. Tacell’s big. Sometimes, I get lost, but I normally find my way back home okay. It’s really pretty here, so anywhere I walk is nice.”

  There’d been a time when the small hum Stratos would offer her after remarks would be warm, perhaps endearing in a way that made her heart sing. Now, paranoia had poisoned it in turn, and Octavia lamented its loss. Part of her missed him. Part of her hated him.

  Octavia, there is…something I wish to ask, and I hope you would not feel my distrust.

  For as quickly as her blood froze over, there was an irony in that her trust in him was already long gone.

  Of the Heartful child you had encountered some time ago, he who assailed you.

  Octavia forgot how to breathe.

  At that time, of that place, I had instructed you to stay away.

  She nearly forgot how to play, her melody slowing to an absolute crawl.

  I apologize for my lack of explanation, and I recognize that my rationale was not succinct. With this having been said, have you…voyaged there once more?

  The sound of her heart pounding against her chest was far louder than any song she could’ve offered to the night sky.

  Be truthful. I will…not be angry with you.

  Under no circumstances did Octavia believe him.

  “Why would I go back there?” she asked with the weakest confidence she’d ever scrounged up.

  I would not know.

  “But you’re the one who told me not to,” she pushed.

  I am aware.

  Octavia was playing with fire. She was exceedingly well aware of the risk that came with being anywhere adjacent to this conversation. Still, she stood on the absolute threshold of her finely-woven lies, a spider web of her own making. The temptation to pick apart the threads of the one that didn't belong to her was too great. It was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, provided she could maintain her mask of ignorance.

  “And you still haven’t told me why.”

  At that time, I had asked for your trust. I apologize, truly, but I must ask for your faith once more.

  “You want my blind trust, then?” she nearly spat. “What’s so special about Theo’s cottage that you can’t tell me?”

  Octavia, know that my request is for your safety alone.

  It was laughable. Octavia wondered if her ire was seeping into her song.

  “I can keep myself safe!” she growled. “If I’m in danger, tell me what I’m in danger from! Theo’s a Maestro, Stratos! I’m gonna have to go there eventually!”

  You will not.

  “Yes, I will!” Octavia hissed. “I have to perform the Witnessing, correct? If he’s a Maestro, there’s a Muse, and if there’s a Muse, I have to let it go!”

  I assure you, you do not. Continue as you are. Do not concern your--

  “Why? Why am I supposed to ignore that one? What, is Theo just supposed to stay a Maestro forever? You’re asking me to just trust you without question, but is this not my job as the Ambassador? I’m not supposed to be leaving any of you behind, right? I don’t understand!”

  Octavia was more than aware her aggravation was compromising her cover, let alone her composure. Still, she prayed it was enough to uphold her veil of innocence. If she were him, it would be believable. If she pressed harder than he did, perhaps he wouldn’t notice. She at least hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat, nor that he could sense the way her blood burned with something besides his light for once.

  It has…been some time since I have heard you speak of my true name.

  Her song screeched to a halt, a shrill squeak piercing the night air as the bow stilled suddenly over the strings. Her heart did the same.

  You are…dissatisfied with me, are you not?

  Octavia thought to protest. She could barely piece a sentence together. It left her still and silent, the cool evening seeping into her bloodstream and freezing her from within.

  You are cross with me.

  It wasn’t as though he was wrong. She had no excuse.

  I will ask once more. Have you returned to that place?

  And in playing with fire, in focusing so much on the flame she'd handled with such care, she had lost her footing. Only now did she trip over the spider web at her feet.

  Octavia had to at least attempt damage control, for all she'd put into making it this far. “Why does this bother you so much?”

  Answer.

  “Why is this so important to you?” Octavia nearly shouted, yanking Stradivaria from the comfort of her shoulder. “Why does this matter?”

  Your deflection is an answer enough.

  She’d wondered how long it would take to get to this point, truthfully.

  “What’s going on with you?” Octavia snapped. “You’re seriously asking me to completely ignore a Muse who needs help just as much as you do? Just as much as all of you? That’s not right! Stratos, that’s not why I agreed to be the Ambassador! I don’t want to pick and choose! I’m sorry, but I can’t leave her there in good conscience! Theo has a Harmonial Instrument, and that Harmonial Instrument has a Muse. That’s enough for me. Plus, Theo’s Heartful, just like me! Just like you! Whatever Muse is in there, they’re from your own legacy! Isn’t that cruel to just…say you’d be willing to leave them behind like that?”

  Octavia hoped it burned. She knew it wouldn’t. Even now, she gave Stratos the grace of his lie of choice, for what she claimed of agreement to her role. She thought to imagine his reaction when he realized she knew. She wondered if there would ever be a good time, let alone a safe time, to hunt for it. Even this conversation was dangerous enough.

  ‘Her.'

  Octavia tensed. “What?”

  You have met this Muse, then.

  Octavia could’ve collapsed on the spot, for how violently she shook.

  I understand now.

  Never since she’d first laid her fingertips atop his strings with tenderness and love had Octavia felt anything but warmth towards Stratos. Never had she feared him. There was a first time for everything, and her first time hit her with a pressure that folded her heart in half.

  She has spoken of me, has she not?

  Speechless as she was, her crumpled heart still threatened to burst.

  Octavia, I know she has made claims of me. I know her. What has she told you?

  And even so, she could do nothing but let him press, helpless to do more than tremble under the deceptive softness of his every word.

  She has made you fearful of me, has she not? Octavia, please. You must not listen to what she says. She is a danger to you.

  “You’re lying.”

  They were the only words of her own she could scrounge up. They were pitiful, tiny, half-hearted as they slipped from her tongue. They were weeks in the making.

  I am not.

  “You’re lying!” Octavia screamed.

  She didn’t care who overheard. She didn’t care who in Tacell could hear her, nor which bedbound companions within could bear witness to her echoing accusation. Octavia absolutely could not take one more false word from him.

  The pause Stratos offered her was the only relief she got. There’d been a time when she’d adored his voice, smooth and silky as it was. Now, it was haunting.

  Octavia, he began quietly, that…Muse is unlike those you have met thus far.

  “I don’t care,” she bit back.

  She has done something which cannot be undone.

  “I know, and I don’t care!” Octavia growled.

  You know?

  “Yes, I know! I’m well aware! I don’t care what she did in the past! You yourself even told me it was a mistake! What happened to that, huh? You hate her that much?”

  I do not hate her.

  Octavia squeezed her eyes shut. For how hard she gripped the handle of the bow, she worried she might snap it clean in half. She wondered if she’d even regret it. “Then what the hell is your problem?”

  She will say and do whatever would guide her towards salvation.

  She wanted so, so badly to point out the hypocrisy in his words. “Is it so wrong to want to go back to Above? Doesn’t everyone?”

  She will speak to you whatever will lead you to her.

  “I don’t believe you,” Octavia argued.

  For what she has surely told you, I am not surprised.

  “She’s honest with me!”

  Octavia, she is not.

  She wanted to shake him. Of his vessel, she nearly did. “You’re the one who’s not being honest!”

  Octavia, she seeks to divide us. She would turn you against me.

  “Then why would you keep her a secret if you were so worried about me?” Octavia countered, venom tinting every syllable. “You wouldn’t even tell me who she was! Even if you don’t want to talk about her, the least you could do is tell me I’m supposedly in ‘danger!' You wouldn’t even do that! You don’t care what happens to me, you just don’t want me talking to her!”

  Octavia, please.

  “Stop it! If you have a problem with her, that’s on you!”

  Stratos sounded almost hurt. She couldn’t believe it to be true pain. Why would you cling to her words with so little hesitation? You, who have been by my side for so long? You, whose heart and my own are one?

  And that, too, Octavia couldn’t stand anymore.

  “Because you’re hiding something from me.”

  I am not--

  “Yes, you are,” she interrupted, her voice low and wavering. “And I know that with absolute certainty, with or without her.”

  Octavia liked the way Stratos hesitated to argue, the way the denials in her head fizzled and died beneath the hidden moonlight. It was a weight off her shoulders that left her light and almost joyous, riding a high of justification that almost overshadowed her fear. It didn’t necessarily make her any safer. The spider web was still more than present in the dark, each string obscured by what she still couldn’t get him to speak. She could try. It was a risk. She was already very, very much pushing it.

  Octavia, listen to my words. You cannot, and you must not, guide her path.

  “You can’t stop me.”

  It was the most dangerous thing she could’ve possibly said. It was pure spite. It felt good.

  His words were slow, strained, and nearly desperate. You must not guide her.

  “She’s a Muse, and I’m going to send her home. If you want to hate her, hate her. If you want to be mad at me about it, then be mad at me about it. I’m the Ambassador. This is my job. I agreed to save all of you. She’s one of you.”

  You are in danger.

  It was hilarious, coming from him.

  “She deserves to go back to Above, and I’m going to send her there. You can’t stop me,” Octavia repeated.

  Please.

  “Nothing you say is going to change my mind, Stratos.”

  Octavia made sure it stung. She hoped it did, at least. Never had she thought to weaponize a name she’d once found beautiful, shunned in favor of an alias filled with far more love. When he fell silent, his soft pleas fading in turn, she was satisfied with her poison.

  Stratos didn’t offer her another word more. He didn’t beg, he didn’t justify, he didn’t argue, and he didn’t threaten. He didn’t so much as call her name. She’d called his own more tonight than she could remember doing ever before--and without a shred of endearment. Octavia bundled the violin up in her arms and made for anywhere except the vulnerability of stars she couldn’t see.

  For all the paranoia she’d suffered, she knew she’d surely reap the consequences. For now, Octavia braved each and every step into the spider web that rapidly wrapped around her throat.