The moment she was on the couch, everything left her mouth at once. She was amazed it came out in even slightly coherent sentences.
Octavia hadn’t realized exactly how much could be crammed into the span of several hours until she started laying bare each discrepancy aloud. Part of it was desperately slammed in front of Eleanor Vacanti, for which she felt somewhat bad. A fair amount more was for her own mental well-being, if not for the sake of dragging three more Maestros down with her into untangling every auction-born thread.
Renato’s ignorance was inexplicable--the Maestro kind, at least. Velrose was a mystery, Cadence left her floored, and the latter’s Harmonial Instrument was yet further a conundrum. She was relatively certain she was torturing Viola’s grandmother with how quickly she was speaking. She couldn’t help it, nor could she stop.
“Dear girl, slow down a bit,” the poor woman finally begged. “Let’s take things one step at a time.”
Octavia blushed, fidgeting as she finally found the drive to taper off. Madrigal patted her knee reassuringly.
“The lightning, then,” Viola began. “I’ve…never seen a Maestra with lightning before. Between the four of us, we’ve apparently got wind, light, ice, and fire. Lightning is new. Exactly how many different...things like that are there? Whatever they are.”
“Magic,” Madrigal whispered.
“Not magic.”
Eleanor smiled. “I’ve already told each of you what makes you special, correct?”
Harper nodded, crossing his legs comfortably. “Will of fire, right?” he asked, raising one finger to himself. “Will of fire, spirit of wind for Madrigal, heart of light for Octavia, and, uh...Viola was…”
“A soul of ice,” Viola finished on his behalf. “Though I’m impressed you memorized them.”
“Why do they call them that? Just to be fancy?” Octavia asked.
Eleanor shook her head. “Oh, no, they’re quite necessary terms. You do not simply possess light, my dear. Your entire heart is light. You carry it within you, and you are blessed by its warmth.”
Octavia blinked. That was even more confusing than the last time she’d heard it.
“So there’s a lightning version, then,” Harper continued.
The woman nodded. “It is called the essence of lightning. It is uncommon, just as lightning is fleeting. Those with its grace are rational and clever, if not somewhat skeptical. They can be…difficult. After all, lightning is dangerous to handle.”
Octavia scoffed. Cadence was difficult, alright.
“Is it just those five?” Madrigal asked, leaning down to poke the cat nestled at her feet. “Fire, ice, lightning, wind, and light?”
Eleanor shook her head. “There is but one more. The strength of sound resides in those who are brave, confident, and headstrong. It is startlingly powerful, and must be controlled with great care. It is not to be seen, and yet you will most definitely know its prowess from afar. I take it that the strength of sound is the last which you have not yet--”
“Renato,” Octavia and Viola deadpanned, more or less simultaneously.
Madrigal beamed. Octavia was fairly certain she knew why. “That’s amazing!”
Harper tilted his head. “Who’s Renato?”
“That’s why I couldn’t see him fighting, I guess,” Viola said with a shrug. “There was nothing to see to begin with.”
“About Renato,” Octavia clarified aloud. “He’s a Maestro we met a while ago, but he didn’t stick with us. He showed up again at the auction, and he brought his instrument--instruments?--with him. When we talked to him, though, he seemed to have no idea what a Maestro was. He didn’t even know what Harmonial Instruments were. He didn’t know anything, really.”
“But we saw him use it before,” Viola continued. “And he’s really…skilled. Despite that, he didn’t know his instrument’s name. Is that even possible?”
Octavia didn’t miss the way Viola gritted her teeth halfway through. She smirked.
The woman paused for a moment. “That…does sound strange. It’s odd for a Maestro not to know their instrument’s name, let alone to forge such a close bond in spite of that. I’m honestly at a loss. Perhaps keep an eye on that boy. There may be something more to him.”
That would involve encountering him a third time over. The thought was apparently mutual, and Viola rolled her eyes. The aggravation on the girl's face alone was enough to leave Octavia stifling a snicker.
“Cadence doesn’t want to be a Maestra,” Madrigal murmured sadly. “Why not?”
Eleanor’s face fell the moment her eyes touched the Maestra’s sorrowful gaze. “My girl, Maestros and Maestras do not choose their fates. It is a blessing that each of you has answered the call, but not all who are granted Harmonial Instruments accept their destinies. There are those who choose to reject them, and their partners must wait for the day when yet another claims them again.”
Madrigal’s eyes shimmered painfully. “That’s so cruel,” she breathed.
“If it can’t be used by anyone else, is it just...useless until its owner dies?” Harper asked.
Eleanor nodded. “So long as their chosen Maestro or Maestra has the ability to play, their partner will wait patiently. Once they can no longer use them well, then and only then will the Harmonial Instrument choose a new partner.”
The idea alone was enough to make Octavia cringe. The concept of Stradivaria being alive, somehow, suddenly brought new context to confinement within a dark chest in the woods. She hoped she hadn’t taken too long.
As to whether or not Cadence felt the same, given her circumstances, she couldn’t say. Really, Etherion had been on Madrigal’s mind perhaps more than its Maestra’s own--in the moment, at least. It still bothered Octavia significantly. She was almost afraid to ask, lest she incur the same unsettling and monotone behavior. She took her chances.
“Madrigal, about...Cadence’s instrument. You said Lyra ‘wanted to know’, right?”
Madrigal nodded, a smile plastered onto her face.
“You could hear her? Like, in your head?”
Again, she nodded, the same smile eternal. Octavia’s eyes flickered to Eleanor’s expectantly.
She beamed. “That’s normal for those with a deep connection to their Harmonial Instruments. Someday, you will surely hear their voice in your heart. Still, it’s impressive that one of you has made it there so soon.”
Madrigal beamed. It should’ve quashed most of Octavia’s concerns, given that it at least gave context to an otherwise puzzling interaction. It mostly did, and she was content for a moment.
Don’t.
It didn’t fix everything. She couldn’t prove it. She had an extremely vague suspicion, for what had been settled gently into her backpack.
In truth, that line of thought was enough to make her raise an eyebrow. “Hey, Madrigal?”
Madrigal tilted her head. “Yeah?”
“Wasn’t…Lyra’s Repose here the whole time?”
She nodded.
Octavia paused. “How did you hear her from across the city?”
Madrigal’s face fell, her eyes cast high to the ceiling for several seconds. Eventually, the same satisfied smile sparked on her lips once more. “I guess we’re just that close!”
Octavia blinked. “But…you--”
“And these,” Viola asked, raising one little pink passport calmly. “Velrose. We got the basic explanation from Octavia, but we wanted to know if you knew anything. Do you think there’s Maestros or Maestras there? Have you ever heard of it in the first place?”
Octavia never got the chance to push Madrigal further, for how Viola’s volume overshadowed her own. Eleanor, too, continued atop her. It was as frustrating as it was necessary, possibly. “There’s likely Maestros and Maestras everywhere, dear. That being said, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of that place. I only know so many places in the world.”
Harper shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to start figuring things out for ourselves, at this point. Anyone here ever taken a train before?”
“You’ve never?” Viola asked.
“Have you?” he shot back with a smirk.
Viola blushed. “I mean...no, I’ve never gotten the chance.”
“Something Viola hasn’t done before!” Madrigal exclaimed, outright startling the cat.
Viola bristled. “Excuse you, there’s lots of things I haven’t done!”
“Yes, but in the short time I’ve known you,” Harper continued playfully, “I’ve watched you give Octavia this one really specific look every time she sees something new and shiny--all of us, really. It’ll be fun to do something new together, for once.”
“I do not give her any kind of ‘look’.”
“Liar.”
Ignoring the voice in her head was difficult. Ignoring the issue with Lyra’s Repose was difficult. At the very least, her fellow Maestros were warm, and their extended company was a welcome concept. It was a twofold benefit--every step forward left her slightly nearer to Priscilla, just the same. She smiled.
“If we’re going somewhere that far away, I really should let my family know,” Madrigal added. “I’ll tell them tomorrow.”
“You’re gonna walk all the way home?” Octavia asked.
Madrigal giggled. “No, silly, I’ll send a pigeon.”
Octavia flinched. “People actually do that? I thought it was a joke.”
“I should probably let everyone know I’m headed out, too,” Harper spoke over Viola’s snickering. “I need to let Domino know he’s in charge until I get back. If he gives me a hard time about it, that might…not be the only thing I need to give him.”
Eleanor nodded. “Viola, dear, while you’re in the city, would you like to--”
“No,” Viola spat. “I don’t. There’s no point.”
She sighed deeply. “I see. I can’t make you go, but just know that the option is there. I’m sure he’d welcome the company.”
Viola shook her head. “I don’t want to see him like that. I’ll see him when he’s free. You know that.”
Octavia didn’t dare pry. She could string together the context well enough. She tensed regardless, brief as the exchange was.
She had few preparations to make herself, given that she’d surrendered the safety of Silver Ridge what had felt like ages ago. It had left her with a soul of ice, a spirit of wind, and the will of fire at her side. It was a trade-off she was more than happy to make, if the violin she treasured wasn’t enough of a comfort already.
The wait until Sunday was going to be torture. Even so, it was still baffling to her exactly how long one day could be. After all, she’d started her morning in Minuevera. Under no circumstances was she resistant to rest. Three days would surely give her plenty of time for that, if nothing else.
Octavia didn’t dare admit she was nervous about the train. She’d had enough of Viola’s teasing for one night.
----------------------------------------
It was an immense relief that Sunday arrived uneventfully, given how much had been packed into the span of several days. She’d started the week as a normal girl and ended it as a Maestra, to say nothing of the myriad of crises somewhere in the middle. She had her time to explore Coda, granted, with the gracious assistance of her trusted local guide. Octavia didn’t dare leave Viola’s sight for a moment, lest she accidentally break her peaceful streak. Any day in which Stradivaria wasn’t stolen was a good day--to say nothing of cherry-flavored chaos, reckless lightning, or the horrors of screeching violet. It was much-needed bliss.
By the end of her stay, she was almost proud of the degree to which she’d grown used to the city. She could point out landmarks. She could lead the way to shops and restaurants. She still, under no circumstances, could find her way back to Harper’s camp on her own. She didn’t dare so much as attempt. It left her somewhat prideful to see the approval on Viola’s face at her newfound navigational confidence. Gone was the teasing she’d grown accustomed to, let alone the “look” that Harper had been so painfully correct about. She got her revenge the moment they reached the train station.
Every glance Viola took around the platform was one born of wide eyes and mild disorientation. She wasn’t alone, to be fair--the situation was fourfold and mutual. It wasn’t as though Octavia had ever been here. She very much did not care.
“Who’s the tourist now?” she teased, elbowing the Maestra playfully.
Viola rolled her eyes, outright hitting the back of Octavia’s head with the innocent little passport. Octavia only snickered. “Shut it.”
“It’s loud,” Madrigal whimpered, settling her hands over her ears.
Octavia didn’t blame her. Every rumble and screech of mechanical movement along rails and otherwise was enough to shake the planks beneath their feet. “Loud” was putting it nicely, by which even their raised voices were still somewhat failing them. The bursts of wind that periodically tortured her braids with every adjacent departure were as much of a novelty as they were annoying, and she gripped her rosy booklet ever tighter. If it were to fall to the tracks, she might as well follow it down at that point.
Harper took it well enough, one hand flat against his cap in resistance to the same overpowering gust. “Can’t say I ever thought I’d get the chance.”
“Where are we going again?” Octavia spoke well above the steady ambience of the station.
“Platform fifteen is what someone said at the auction,” she offered, her eyes flickering from sign to sign along the ceiling. For how tormented they were by the fierce rumbling of every departure, it was somewhat of a miracle none had snapped clean off their hinges.
“That one,” Madrigal offered. Sure enough, one pointed finger trailed to a flimsy, hanging iron sign, notably more weathered than the rest.
Harper tilted his head. “Doesn’t really look like it’s taken care of very well.”
Viola shrugged. “I mean, I get it. It doesn’t exactly sound like anyone goes here very often. That’s what Mr. Drey said, right, Octavia?”
She knew they were talking. Still, her attention was largely on the lovely rose pressed deep into the same color. She trailed the inlaid insignia with one hesitant fingertip, tracing every curve that dipped beneath her touch. She’d been excited, mostly. With her feet physically upon the platform, it was a different experience altogether.
Each thought that peeked through the newborn fog in her head was equally fuzzy. There was an all-too-solid chance she didn’t know what she was doing. Velrose was a shot in the dark, taken solely on instinct to the tune of an absurd amount of Gold. Each glance at the pastel leather kissing her fingers was an echoing reminder of the same whim.
“Octavia.”
She jumped, her nails scratching against the leather in the process. The sensation was uncomfortable enough to leave chills tormenting her spine, and she winced.
“S-Sorry, what?” she stammered.
“You okay?” Viola asked gently.
Octavia thought to simply say yes, at least briefly. Instead, she was honest. “I’m just…not sure if this will get us anywhere. I’m worried I made the wrong choice. What if we get to Velrose and there’s nothing? What if it’s like Drey said, and we can’t even get in?”
“Then if nothing else, we followed a lead. We tried, and we ruled something out,” she comforted, settling one hand onto Octavia’s shoulder.
“And we went somewhere neat in the process,” Harper added with a soft smile.
Madrigal beamed. It was a beautiful contribution, versus the pitiful trickle of sunshine that slipped through the slats of the roof.
“First boarding call for the eleven o’clock to Velrose!” she heard well above the continued ambience, still ever-present and overpowering as it was.
“That’s us,” Harper interrupted.
Madrigal hugged the little pink booklet to her chest with delight. “This design is still so cute! Do we get to keep them after we use them?”
Viola smiled. “That’s sorta the point of passports. They’ll even give you a stamp, usually. I’m assuming Velrose is the same way.”
She assumed it was the conductor she was presenting her precious rosy leather to, for how carefully he inspected the insignia in her outstretched hand. It took her a moment to trail his eyes to her own instead, well past her passport and laced with something almost akin to judgment. She struggled to stand her ground. “Four for Velrose,” she offered shakily, never lowering her arm.
The man carefully claimed the booklet from her fingers, and she immediately felt vulnerable. He hardly looked at the barren little pages he leafed through so casually, his eyes on the Maestra alone. “How exactly did four kids your age get your hands on passports to Velrose, of all places?”
“We won them in an auction,” she stated plainly, struggling not to shirk beneath his gaze.
When he laughed, she was infinitely more relieved. “That sounds about right. They’re always looking to get rid of these things. You can hardly do anything with them. Not sure you’re gonna have much luck out there. You sure about going that way? They’re really not too kind to strangers.”
Octavia chanced one hesitant glance over her shoulder. Where her face offered only apprehension, she could at least steal three flavors of confidence from behind her. Their smiles got one out of her in return, as did the nod from Viola. She inhaled deeply.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Yeah. We’ll take our chances.”
----------------------------------------
It was her fault for truly and thoroughly believing that three days would come and go easily.
It took exactly six hours for second thoughts to settle in. It was not at all for the apprehensive reasons she’d thought she’d find the moment the train rolled its way out of the station and beyond the limits of Coda. Their cabin was cute and comfortable, and Octavia counted at least one blessing in that aspect.
It still left her with three days’ worth of painful waiting and contemplation, by which the suspense of the so-called Blessed City was going to eat her alive. It left her with three days’ worth of questions she had no feasible way of answering at the moment. It left her with three days’ worth of time with the one person infinitely more excited to be here than she was.
“It even comes with sheets! I kinda thought we’d just have to sleep on the mattress. Is that bad? And they’re really comfortable! They’re nice and soft. They’re also firm. Maybe they can be soft and firm at the same time. Is that possible?”
“Please be nice to the sheets,” Octavia begged weakly. “I don’t know if they’ll give us more if we mess them up.”
Madrigal was borderline torturing them, frankly. The innocent whites that clung desperately to the bed suffered somewhat beneath her ruthless tugging, and it had only taken six full hours for her to make it to the point of substantial wrinkles. She hadn’t even slept yet. Octavia somewhat wished she would.
“And I heard the conductor say there’s even somewhere we can bathe here, right?” she continued, absolutely undeterred. “How do they even keep water on trains? Is it hot water? Are we gonna have to take cold baths? I haven’t taken a cold bath in awhile.”
“It’s a steam engine locomotive,” Octavia deadpanned. “They’ve got plenty of hot water, I promise.”
“Since when do you know about trains?” Harper asked, kicking his feet lazily against the mattress.
She scoffed. “I know a lot of things. You know nothing of my vast collection of literature.”
“So intelligent,” he teased, resting his cheek in his palm. “A scholar among us.”
She struggled to control her smile. It was impossible. “I’ll have you know I happen to be an expert on fungi of all types and a great appreciator of the classics of fiction.”
“Mhm, I see,” he continued. “Mushrooms, then.”
“And lichens, even.”
“And magic.”
“The lichens?”
“I meant the violin, but I guess that counts.”
Madrigal peered up at the top bunk. “What’s a lichen?”
Octavia never had the chance to answer. The cabin door slid open, and a Maestra came to a standstill. Her eyes fell to Madrigal immediately. She raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing with the sheets?”
“Did you have a nice walk?” Harper asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
“It’s so empty,” she answered. “I walked up and down the length of the whole train and only counted maybe four other passengers.”
“That’s weird,” he offered. “Why so few?”
“I’m assuming it has something to do with how hard it is to get a passport,” Viola replied, settling down onto one bed comfortably.
Octavia rested her hands behind her head, throwing her eyes to the ceiling. “Or the fact that no one gets in, apparently.”
“When you say no one gets in, do you mean literally? Like, there’s a gate up front or something?” Harper asked.
“Not according to Drey,” she answered, turning her head to meet his eyes. “Apparently, everyone’s just…distant. It’s like they don’t want company.”
Harper shrugged. “Ready or not, we’re company.”
“Worst-case scenario, they’re under a legal obligation to let us in,” Viola clarified. “I double-checked at the auction, and passports are the sole requirement to enter Velrose. Even boarding a train with a Velrose passport is enough to qualify. We shouldn’t have to actually show it at a gate. We should just be able to walk right off the train--hypothetically.”
“What do we do for shelter?” Madrigal tried. She’d switched targets to the pillow, apparently.
“I mean, I would assume they have an inn or something. If they’ve got merchants or whatever regularly going in and out, there has to be a place they have open for travelers, or it wouldn’t really survive as a city. Would it?” Harper tried, his voice touched by uncertainty.
“Drey said he didn’t have much luck when he was there,” Octavia murmured. “With anything.”
“Well, according to you, that guy’s interested in coming home with ancient artifacts and stuff, and they’re an ancient city. Case closed on that one,” he said, stretching comfortably.
“We’ll play it by ear,” Viola offered. “Let’s get where we need to go and work our way up from there.”
“Never took you for the improvising type,” Harper teased.
“It’s contagious,” Viola sighed, her eyes flickering to Octavia with a smirk.
“I’m innocent,” the accused answered lazily.
Madrigal had, by now, somehow decided that unleashing the brilliance of the setting sun from behind every curtain was a good idea. Octavia closed her eyes for multiple reasons, the least of which was the mild overstimulation that came with overthinking the voyage. She drank in their voices and did what she could to stifle the same creeping suspense that battled to swallow her whole.
At the very least, she was able to test out her mattress the gentle way by comparison to a different Maestra. She found solace in a nap. Given the length of the trip, she had a feeling she’d be doing so often.
----------------------------------------
She enjoyed it, for the most part. She wasn’t sure at exactly what point she’d fallen asleep in the first place. She opened her eyes several hours later to starlight rather than the oppressive sun, simmering warmth replaced with flooding moonbeams through the window. The springs of her mattress creaked slightly as she propped herself up on her elbows. The height of the moon beyond was a solid indicator of the growing evening.
It took more than a moment to reacclimate to the steady, comfortable rumbling well beneath her, briefly mysterious. Her second thought came in the form of figuring out exactly how many days she had left to go. She strongly doubted she’d managed to sleep through all three.
“You missed dinner,” she heard quietly from below.
She peered over the side of the bed carefully. The absence of a little blue bow told enough of a story, replaced by a nightgown and glossy hair. Octavia winced.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” she apologized in a whisper.
It didn’t help that another pair of sleeping Maestros were opposite her bunk entirely. She was lucky her awakening hadn’t been fully contagious. It took effort to inch her way towards the ladder with careful movements, the skirt of her dress sticking to her thighs uncomfortably all the way there.
“They’ve still got hot food left over, I think. Sorry we didn’t wake you up. You seemed pretty comfortable,” Viola apologized back, grogginess painting her tone. “Go wash up or something if you want.”
Octavia landed on the carpet with a thump that was notably louder than intended. “I’ll try to be quiet coming back in.”
Viola had already rolled away from her, more than comfortable herself. “Make as much noise as you want. We’ve got plenty of time to sleep. If you need me, you know exactly what I’ll be doing.”
Octavia stifled a laugh, gathering her clothes in her arms as quietly as was possible. Already, Viola’s limbs were entangled in a mess of blankets with startling complexity. She’d earned her rest, at least, questionable as her methodology was.
One hand on the handle of the door still left her hesitating. It took her several seconds to pinpoint why, given her general comfort with the atmosphere and stillness of the evening. She chanced one more look behind her over every unconscious Maestro in turn. It eventually clicked.
The last time she’d abandoned a sleeping Viola in the dark of night had ended in outright disaster. Speeding into the depths of the evening as they were, she strongly doubted lightning would strike twice. Even if it did, help wouldn’t be far--threefold as it now was, although she prayed it wouldn’t come to that regardless.
She still didn’t feel right leaving Stradivaria in her wake. It took effort to balance the case and her clothes at once, let alone to shut a sliding door quietly with her foot. It was a necessary sacrifice.
Madrigal had been wonderfully correct about the hot water, although Octavia doubted she would’ve been wrong in the first place. She took her time bathing, given the way by which she was blessed with both privacy and isolation in the face of a train so shockingly desolate. She didn’t particularly look forward to the process of her hair drying. Given the trade-off that was glorious steam kissing her skin for what was objectively far too indulgent a length of time, it was, once more, a necessary sacrifice.
Dinner was passable. Madrigal’s was still better. The lack of company in the empty room was unnerving, for how every last movement she made echoed slightly. She ate faster than she should’ve, and not solely secondary to the mediocre meal. It still wasn’t long enough for her hair to dry, and that was an annoyance in and of itself.
The aisles weren’t as uncomfortably desolate by comparison, although she partially gave credit to their narrow size. The darkness she’d expected to find so late was shattered by the spilling moonlight, every beam bursting through broad panes beyond splashing upon the carpet. She enjoyed the glow they came with, following their guiding lights out into the vast world that passed her by.
It was largely a blur, if she were to cast her eyes straight down through the glass. Forward, at least, she caught the shaded crests of mountains on occasion. In the depths of the evening, it was hard to follow little but the stars. Even those were appreciated. Just as in Minuevera, the night sky that trailed her unsteady path was identical the world over. It was a comfort she embraced with her heart, bound to the whims of a speeding train or otherwise.
Her boots didn’t touch the floor when she sank into the booth. It left her with a solid view, at least, for how she could claim the moon beyond for herself with a simple turn of her head. It left her space for yet more, by which Stradivaria’s case hit the table with a thunk.
“Okay,” Octavia muttered aloud.
The violin was sleeping just as peacefully as those she’d left behind, and she unzipped the case with slow movements that may as well have spoken to the same. She cradled either portion of the instrument with care, offering up a deep breath.
“Talk to me.”
She got silence. She absolutely saw it coming.
It felt ridiculous. Frankly, she was lucky she had as much isolation as she did, lest she be cursed to experiment in front of three other Maestros. It would open an entirely new avenue of teasing, possibly--to say nothing of the sparse passengers who may have witnessed her outright conversing with a violin.
In her defense, she was fairly certain at least two of them didn’t have the capacity to converse, either. Madrigal was, apparently, an incredible exception, if the astonishment of Eleanor Vacanti was anything to go by. If Octavia’s interpretation was correct, the Maestra had somehow earned full conversations. Were it Priscilla, she probably would’ve long since figured out the same. Getting the magical violin to talk was going to be a puzzle in and of itself. She sighed.
“I’m Octavia,” she offered nervously, patting the base of the instrument with reassurance far from necessary. “I mean, I’m sure you know that by now. We’ve kinda been through a bit together at this point. Sorry I haven’t really stopped to actually talk to you. I’m, uh, hoping this is a good opportunity to get to know each other?”
Again, she found nothing. She groaned. She felt mildly insane.
“So, about that Dissonance,” she continued, eyes flickering around the room absentmindedly. “Scary stuff. You really helped me out back there, both times. Appreciated it. I think we’re a good team.”
Nothing. Moderately insane.
“Oh, and, uh, sorry about--what was his name? Domino? The whole, uh, letting you get stolen thing. It was an accident. Good thing Harper was there. He’s super nice, have you met him?”
Of course not. She was literally talking to a violin. Significantly insane.
“Everyone’s been really nice so far. Viola is amazing, Harper is sweet, Madrigal is…well, Madrigal, and Renato is…definitely there. I guess I kind of have you to thank for letting me meet everyone.”
She sighed. She hadn’t yet entirely processed the way by which only several days had passed. At the moment, it still didn’t make her any less insane.
“I wonder if Priscilla had anyone she traveled around with. I mean, she was always really good at making friends. I can’t think of a single person who didn’t love her right away. I know she was always going from city to city, but I hope she had a few people she could confide in. I assume it gets a bit lonely on the road all the time.”
She kicked her feet lazily beneath the table. “I tried to play you a few times when I was little, do you remember? You were too big for me to actually hold. Priscilla was patient about it. I feel bad that I didn’t have a lot to show for how much she tried to help me figure you out. At least give me credit for effort.”
She stroked the neck of the violin, relishing the cool sensation of copper strings beneath her fingertips. “I guess I just never had the talent that she had. I mean, granted, you were the only violin she ever wanted, so now I wonder if she just honestly couldn’t play without you. I feel like being a Maestro lets you cheat a little at being a musician.”
“I don’t even know where she got you from,” Octavia continued, propping her elbows up on the table comfortably. Her face followed suit, cheeks settling comfortably into her hands. “Everyone found their Harmonial Instrument in their own ways. Miss Eleanor said it’s a special thing, and everyone’s different. I had a box. I had the same stupid box dream every day for a full month. Did you know about that? It was driving me insane.”
She paused. “Were you calling me, even back then? I feel like that’s the only time we’ve really connected outside of playing together.”
It wasn’t entirely true. She still couldn’t prove it. It didn’t make the echo any less haunting, nor the tone any less memorable. She’d replayed that singular syllable in her head dozens of times over. She couldn’t curb the thought, haphazard of a guess as it still was.
“Was that you, at the auction?” Octavia asked quietly. “Calling me?”
The silence she found was expected, if not still disheartening. The steady rumbling of the voyage into the night filled the gap where words failed her. She exhaled deeply, trailing one fingertip along the rim of the mahogany.
“I know you were with Priscilla the whole time. You saw what she saw, and you two went through the same things together. I’m sure of it. I just…want to know what it was you saw together. I want to know what happened.”
To be a part of it would’ve been wonderful, if not for just a moment. If she pleaded aloud, she wondered if she would’ve gotten her wish.
“It doesn’t happen overnight.”
The voice she found was far from the one she’d expected, given how hard she was straining to catch so much as a syllable. She jumped, stifling a yelp as she nearly fumbled the violin in her panic. Keeping her balance was of second priority, and she scrambled to remain upright in her seat.
“God, please don’t scare me like that,” she begged.
Madrigal winced, recoiling a bit at the sight of Octavia’s mild panic. “I’m sorry! You never came back to the cabin. I was getting worried about you.”
Octavia sighed, smoothing her slightly-wet and now unfortunately-frazzled hair. “It’s alright. Sorry if I worried you guys. I’ll head back in soon.”
Madrigal tilted her head. “Can I sit with you?”
Octavia nodded. With a smile, Madrigal settled down across from her with notable energy, bouncing slightly against the booth cushion with a bit too much enjoyment. The delicate golden sparkles that trailed in her wake were notable against the streaming moonlight. It was the second time she’d seen the little harp crowned by the lovely glow of night, actually.
“You brought Lyra’s Repose?” Octavia asked.
Madrigal’s smile brightened, and she nodded once again. “This is our routine. We like enjoying the moonlight together.”
Octavia returned her smile. “You two are close, huh?”
She hugged the instrument, rubbing the resplendent metal against her cheek. “I love her lots,” she spoke happily.
“What was it like? When you first got your instrument, I mean?” Octavia asked.
Madrigal paused for a moment, eyeing Lyra’s Repose endearingly. “I was really excited when I found her, and we played together a lot. I didn’t hear her right away, but the first time I saw Dissonance, I was scared. I was really, really scared, actually. That’s when I heard her speak, and she showed me what to do. I haven’t stopped hearing her since. She’s kinda like a second voice in my head.”
“So it’s…something you can actually hear? Not just, like, feel?”
Madrigal nodded again, her gentle smile never leaving her lips. “Kinda. It’s…hard to explain. She’s in every part of me. I hear her in my head, and I feel her in my heart. It’s like she’s a part of me, too.”
It wasn’t a very simple mental image. Octavia's one syllable of reference left much to be desired.
“It doesn’t happen overnight,” she repeated. “When Stradivaria is ready, it’ll reach out to you. You’ll know when it does. Maybe it already has, and you just don’t know it yet.”
“Does it bother you that no one else can hear their Harmonial Instrument?” Octavia asked bluntly. It was unintentional.
Madrigal took it well enough, regardless. “Not really. If anything, I feel like it makes our bond even more special. It makes me even more excited for everyone to do the same with their partners.”
Octavia cast her eyes to Stradivaria alone, shimmering softly in its own right beneath much the same moon. Madrigal’s company was more than welcome. She would’ve appreciated yet more, ideally in her head and in her heart. The smallest pang of jealousy that bit her was unwelcome, and she struggled to stifle it as quickly as was possible. It wasn’t fair to Madrigal.
She got half her wish, unrelated to the instrument as it was. Where she’d sought the company of three, she found it in the form of a gently-crossed threshold and the most subtle shuffling of a sliding door. The Maestro that met her eyes over her shoulder was quiet, his smile equally so. She returned it. It was a solid distraction from the envy, both born of his visage and the knowledge he suffered the same plight. She waved.
“Yay, you’re awake!” Madrigal offered cheerfully, raising her arms aloft. Her volume was debatable, and Octavia winced.
“Did we wake you up? Sorry if we were being loud,” Octavia added.
Harper shook his head. “Nah, nothing like that. I just got lonely when I woke up and everyone was gone.”
“Isn’t Viola still in there?” she asked.
“She’s a different kind of gone at the moment. The train could crash and I think she’d sleep through it.”
Octavia chuckled. “She’s definitely earned her rest lately.”
Harper settled in beside her, stretching comfortably. “I think we’ve all earned some rest,” he offered. “Maybe not quite as much as her, granted, but we’ve kinda had a lot going on so far.”
“There’s a lot more where that came from,” Madrigal teased, her voice bubbling with obvious excitement. “We have lots to do in Velrose!”
“Well, God, I mean, hopefully we have something to do in Velrose,” Octavia corrected.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down.”
Sudden as it was, Harper’s acknowledgement was enough to leave her blushing. It was the one observation she’d been keen to avoid. Madrigal had spared her, at least. “I-I didn’t get a chance to put it back up yet,” she stammered.
Harper only smiled, absentmindedly tangling his fingers between her still-frazzled locks. “I like it. Want me to get it set up for you?”
Octavia scoffed. “You know how to braid hair?”
“The amount of things I’m an expert in would surprise you,” he answered, his voice pooling playfully with mock hurt. “You think Louise and the girls style their own hair?”
Octavia smirked. “Right. Forgot you’re basically a dad.”
“And,” he continued, “I actually used to have long hair, myself.”
Octavia choked on a laugh. “You? With long hair?”
He smirked right back, his fingers already settling into her hair comfortably with soft twisting and delicate pulling. “I would’ve put Holly and Ivy to shame back then.”
“What made you cut it?” Octavia asked.
“Some stuff,” he offered with a shrug, never halting his careful work. “Creative choices.”
“Creative choices,” Octavia repeated, rolling her eyes playfully.
“Creative choices,” Harper reiterated once more, his smile as teasing as his voice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about everyone,” she confessed, content to endure Harper’s gentle ministrations. “Did you know Madrigal speaks ten languages?”
“Eight,” Madrigal corrected, poking Octavia’s cheek happily. “Two more would be fun, though! I’ve been thinking about trying to learn more, anyway.”
“Damn, eight? I can only speak one, and I still can’t even do that right half the time. All good, by the way,” he offered, tugging at her braids firmly.
Several careful touches were a solid indicator of a job shockingly well done. The symmetry was satisfying beneath her fingertips, and she patted either freshly-tethered braid several times over for good measure. “Not bad,” she teased.
“Excellent, you mean. Perfect. Fantastic, even,” Harper joked.
“Can you do mine?” Madrigal pleaded, leaning in towards him. “Pretty please?”
He eyed her buns carefully for a moment. “I dunno, your hair might be a bit too pretty for my messy work.”
“I thought it was excellent. Fantastic, even,” Octavia mocked.
“I think your buns might be outside of the range of what I’m capable of. They look really specific. I don’t wanna mess them up,” he continued.
Where Octavia had expected Madrigal to deflate, she beamed instead. “My family taught me how to do them. My mom and my siblings all have buns just like mine.”
“Then that’s something that should stay special for you,” Harper concluded. “Plus, I only really know the basics.”
“I’m not basic,” Octavia muttered.
His laughter was pleasant, and she couldn’t help but offer the same. Madrigal was privy to their happiness, and her own was contagious in turn. What had started as envy and melancholy had left her warm and light, by which she lamented only the absence of a soul of ice by her side. Unconscious as the Maestra was, she didn’t dare wake her manually. Still, drinking in their moonlit satisfaction, she couldn’t help but miss it somewhat.
Her heart grew ever lighter the moment she heard the shuffle of a door caressing the threshold once more. She straddled preparing an apology for their possible volume and readying words of welcome in the depths of night. If Viola minded, she’d be sure to tease as to her insistence of two more days to sleep unrestricted. She tossed her eyes over her shoulder once more.
And yet, their door was firmly shut. The cabin was more than unperturbed, and Octavia had no additional Maestras to show for the sound. Her eyes fell left to the continued shuffling that followed suit, born of carpet by comparison. It was a cabin not her own, quietly made vacant. She winced. The apology for their volume she would have to offer now, by comparison, would need to be substantially more genuine.
She readied her sorries and braced for whatever chiding she’d probably earned. She never got it, for how the stranger emerging from the shadows ignored her entirely. He kept his distance well down the hallway, content to claim his own booth in utter silence. Madrigal and Harper had long since opted for the same quiet, their own gazes following Octavia’s in unison. Staring at a complete stranger felt awkward. Still, desolate as the atmosphere was, it was somewhat of a reflex. She almost debated resuming their conversation.
He didn’t speak. He hardly moved at all, save for the effort of resting his head against his arms upon the table. She couldn’t make out his face, and not due to distance alone. The unsteady rising and falling of his shoulders was ragged enough, initially, to lead her to suspect sobs. As to why a man would choose to come into the hallway solely to cry, she didn’t particularly want to know. She didn’t judge. Objectively, it was none of her business.
By virtue of who she was and the world she lived in, the violet born of his shoulders was.