They took it well enough.
“A Maestra?” Harper and Madrigal exclaimed, more or less simultaneously.
Viola nodded. “It explains everything. The whole city knows about Maestros--and they respect them, apparently. Plus, as soon as everyone knew we were Maestros, they wanted us to meet with her.”
“And,” Octavia added, squirming her way out from beneath the bell, “the actual bell is a Harmonial Instrument. That’s why she’s the only one who can play it, even though it’s so big.”
“That’s why she’s the only acolyte, too,” Viola continued, pinning her gaze to the girl in question. “I’m assuming that’s why it’s just a title. There can’t be more than one acolyte because there can’t be more than one Maestra.”
Sonata only smiled, clasping her hands behind her back comfortably. “Well done, all of you. I knew you’d figure it out.”
“That’s a Harmonial Instrument? That thing? Seriously? It’s huge!” Harper cried.
Viola shrugged. “An instrument is an instrument, I guess.”
“It doesn’t matter how big it is,” Madrigal said, beaming regardless. “It’s still really pretty!”
“Why not just…tell of all of this yourself?” Harper asked, his eyes flickering to the acolyte.
Sonata paused briefly before offering the same smile once more. “Truthfully, this was more fun.”
He rolled his eyes, subtle as the motion was.
If the acolyte noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Consider it a test of sorts, then.”
Madrigal tilted her head. “A test of what?”
Sonata dodged her question entirely. Instead, the acolyte gestured towards the glimmering bell with one hand. “Now that you know the truth, I’d like to introduce all of you to Valkyrie’s Call.”
Again did Octavia’s eyes settle upon the resplendent bronze, still just as captivating beneath the sun’s abundance as it had been at first sight. “That’s the name of your Harmonial Instrument?” Octavia asked.
She nodded. “Valkyrie’s Call is much more than just my partner. It is the guardian of this little city.”
“Guardian?” Viola repeated.
Sonata’s smile never faded, proud as it was. “A guardian who has watched over Velrose since its birth. We praise its blessing and protection with love in our hearts.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Harper interrupted. “You guys…worship the bell. Am I hearing that right?”
Octavia blinked. Drey’s quip regarding the city’s odd religious practices clicked at the strangest time. She did her best not to be judgmental. Still, given the apparent deity in question, it was incredibly difficult.
“How old…is Velrose, exactly?” Viola asked.
“Hundreds of years. The city was founded to shelter Valkyrie’s Call. In return, we are blessed with its protection.”
Beneath the weight of Viola’s blank stare, she continued. “Its song is not just for show. Rather, it keeps us safe from the darkness that would otherwise plague this city.”
Octavia hesitated. “Dissonance?” she tried.
Sonata nodded. “Yes. The Blessed City is free from its curse by the thrice-daily song that it sings. Never will Dissonance hurt our people. At least, that’s how it…should be.”
Viola raised an eyebrow. “Should be? What do you mean?”
The acolyte was quiet for a moment. The same soft smile snuck its way in between her words. “I have a task for you four that I can entrust only to Maestros. However, you’ve traveled a long way, and I’ve no doubt given you much to consider. Rest, for now. The clergy has seen to it that the innkeeper will harbor you for free.”
Harper returned her smile. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Think nothing of it,” she spoke softly. “I only ask that you return to me tomorrow morning. There is much to discuss.”
“Wait,” Viola interrupted, her sharp urgency more than enough to startle Octavia. “I…forgot to ask something.”
Sonata folded her hands in front of her robes. “What would that be?”
Viola side-eyed Octavia. Every word left her mouth slowly and cautiously. “The innkeeper mentioned something I’ve been wondering about. She said a…Maestra had passed through here years ago and spoke to you. Who was she?”
Octavia’s heart skipped several consecutive beats. She feared the answer and welcomed it in equal measure. In truth, she’d forgotten the comment entirely.
Sonata paused. “I myself have never met with a Maestra in detail. However, as a young girl, I saw one in passing just once as she visited the church. She would’ve met with the previous acolyte, not me.”
“Who was the previous acolyte?” Viola pressed.
Even with her smile still soft and graceful, the tint of sadness plaguing her lips was not lost on Octavia. “My mother. She died from illness several years ago.”
Viola winced. “I’m so sorry.”
“I took her place shortly after, when Valkyrie decided I was ready. Even so, I never saw that Maestra again. I don’t know what she was here for.”
“What did she look like?” Octavia murmured, her voice painfully soft.
Sonata shook her head. “I honestly can’t remember. I was young. I only remember the instrument she carried on her back.”
Viola hesitated for far too long. “What…was the instrument?”
“A violin,” she answered. “It was lovely.”
Octavia dropped to her knees with such speed that the limestone crashed painfully against her skin. She hardly cared, sending Stradivaria’s case nearly hurtling to the floor of the bell tower with equal fervor. Her hands trembled fiercely with every motion, and she struggled not to drop the violin entirely as she cradled the little instrument in her arms. Her heart threatened to explode. She couldn’t breathe. Even now, she was torn between hesitation to ask and urgency to know. For what the latter would mean, should she be correct, she had to. It would’ve killed her to be silent.
“Was it this one?” she asked, her voice shaking viciously. “Did it look anything like this?”
The silence that befell the air left only the sound of blood rushing through Octavia’s ears, accompanied in tandem by the painful volume of her heart threatening to explode. She wondered if Sonata could hear it, devoid of words as she was. She prayed. She prayed with every last ounce of faith her soul could muster.
She’d never seen another violin like Stradivaria. She’d never seen another flute like Silver Brevada, nor another harp like Lyra’s Repose. To her, in every way, it was unique. To Sonata, for the sake of everything she loved, it had to be, just the same. It was the only plea she had for the acolyte. It was the only prayer she would offer to Valkyrie’s Call.
“That looks like the one.”
They were words of perhaps little weight to Sonata, calm and unhurried as they were. The tears that erupted and spilled down Octavia’s cheeks in earnest spoke to something else entirely. Not once in her life had her heart felt so light, and the revelation nearly made her dizzy. The fingers so desperately clutching the violin trembled for a different reason altogether.
“That was her,” she breathed, her voice cracking almost instantly.
“Your sister,” Madrigal offered with a soft smile.
Viola’s hand settling peacefully onto her shoulder was the second warmth she found, her knowing smile leaving Octavia absolutely aglow. Whether Priscilla was alive, in that moment, was irrelevant. She had something. It was tangible. Her trail had led to the Blessed City, and her shadow was visible. It was a miracle that Octavia etched into each facet of her soul. She didn’t bother to stem her joyous tears, for how she’d earned them in every way.
“We’re looking for her sister. She’s a Maestra who went missing a few years ago,” Harper clarified for the acolyte. “We haven’t found anything up until now, but it sounds like she might’ve come through here. I know you said the last acolyte passed away, but is there anyone else who might’ve talked to her? Does anyone know where she was headed, or…anything about what she was doing?”
Sonata tilted her head. “I’m…honestly unsure. Much of the clergy since then has changed over the years. The previous acolyte was very secretive, as well. Her meeting with the Maestra was in private, behind closed doors. I knew nothing of it.”
“Priscilla,” Octavia sobbed with a smile. “Her name was Priscilla.”
“Priscilla, then,” Sonata corrected softly. “I’m sorry I can’t do more to answer your questions. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone in the city knows of her. Please feel free to explore and gather whatever information you need.”
Viola took Octavia’s trembling hands, guiding the violin back into its home alongside the Maestra. “We’ll meet with you tomorrow morning, you said?”
Sonata nodded. “Please. At that time, I’ll tell you more. It’s a favor I can only ask of another Maestro--Maestros and Maestras, in this case. I’m grateful for your assistance in advance.”
Octavia smeared her tears against her palms as best as she could. Still, each wave of relief that crashed against her soul was welcome every time. Priscilla was here. Priscilla had been here. Perhaps Priscilla had stood in the shadow of the bell tower specifically, the echoes of her love still drifting in the open air where Octavia could taste them now. The thought would warm her blood forever, for where the sunshine would falter spectacularly by comparison. It wasn’t that she was ignoring Sonata, nor the request the acolyte had given them overall. This was simply too pressing. This was simply all she’d ever asked for.
She couldn’t fight the smile that seeped through her tears. She had kindness to thank, a heroine to thank, snowflakes that had blessed her bedsheets to thank in excess. Her safety was one piece of the puzzle, and yet their simple companionship had carried her further than she could ever have walked alone. She offered what gratitude she could with her hazy eyes, her heart utterly overflowing with satisfaction.
Above all else, it was perhaps Stradivaria she thanked the most.
----------------------------------------
Every step she took through the city was disorienting, given that she was more or less walking on air. Her heart was somewhere high above, tangled in clouds she could hardly see beyond the glare of the bell beaming down below. She’d more or less floated down the foreboding staircase, by which the strenuous descent was--thankfully--lost on her. It was a beautiful sensation that was equal parts dangerous, and she was lucky to have companionship solely for safety. She’d already run into three separate strangers and at least one wall. She couldn’t help it, and every conscious thought drifted well out of reach into the skies overhead.
“Do we actually feel like exploring at this point?” Harper asked. “I know going down the stairs was easier than going up, but I’m still not sure how much more walking I’m up to today.”
Viola shuddered. Stairs were stairs. Octavia didn’t particularly blame her. “We’ve made more progress today alone than anything we’ve tried to follow so far. I feel like there’s a lot to this city that we still don’t understand, but we’re on the right track. That’s what counts. I think this is as good a place as ever to call it a day.”
“I…kinda wanna keep looking around more. Just a little bit,” Octavia murmured.
“Do you want us to come with you?” Harper offered.
She shook her head with a smile. “You guys go relax. I want a bit of time for myself, if you know what I mean. I was hoping to clear my head a bit.”
He nodded. “Gotcha. Octavia time. I get it.”
“See you for dinner!” Madrigal exclaimed with a wave, opting to take every step in reverse. Octavia feared she’d trip. To be fair, she’d done it before without issue.
She lost the other two soon after, Viola gently tapping her shoulder twice over. Octavia did what she could to graze the Maestra’s passing eyes with gratitude, wordless as the gesture was. The smile she earned spoke to her silent thanks, and she smiled back twice as brightly.
She drank in the city for a moment, still and silent as the summer sunlight spilled down upon her in excess. There was a warmth that came with acceptance, for how the tension she’d felt on arrival had evaporated at last. It took effort not to dwell excessively on the obscene amount of information she’d been forced to swallow throughout the day. Truthfully, she feared her head would be too abuzz to let her sleep tonight. Sonata’s request would perhaps be compromised by her inability to acquire solid rest the night before. She owed the acolyte her full efforts, at least.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Octavia’s eyes drifted high above to the bell tower several times over as she walked, her ears straining in half-hearted anticipation of the tolling she’d been told would come. To be fair, Sonata’s last blessing had been recent enough--not that she could forget it, given the memorable sensation of her blood rippling and her soul resonating. She looked forward to it, regardless. Her steps brought her towards the church largely on instinct, the gentle slope tugging at her muscles somewhat.
It still baffled her that a city so splendidly gorgeous was vehemently isolated, tucked away from prying eyes on the far edges of Mezzoria. Granted, she’d heeded Viola’s warnings long ago. With a Harmonial Instrument as its crown jewel and a Maestra at its core, the Blessed City was perhaps not safe for an ignorant society at all. There were passports out there, regardless--they themselves were proof of that, after all. People had surely come, more than likely just as ignorant. It wasn’t exactly a tourist destination. For the love they offered to Maestros, those who called Velrose home seemed more than united in shunning strangers by comparison.
Her roaming eyes now caught only soft smiles and happiness on every face. It was a beautiful relief, if not somewhat flattering. Some part of her felt bad to have ever left them feeling threatened in the first place, verbal hostilities at the gate be damned.
Even so, Octavia found discomfort painted upon at least a few. The sight grew in number, somewhat, as she drew nearer to the church overall. Every step unveiled something slightly more strict than simple apprehension, if the hint of venom in their eyes was anything to go by. They were obligated to host anyone, if memory served. Knowing what she now knew, she didn’t necessarily fault them for their disdain. Whether or not she would’ve offered the same, in their shoes, was irrelevant. She tried to follow their eyes, as difficult as the task was. Whoever had earned their ire hopefully expected such, ideally well-traveled and short to stay as they were. Her cold welcome was still unpleasant to recall.
Octavia strained far too hard to follow their gazes. Her eyes left the path forward, and her safety followed suit. It was now the fourth stranger she’d physically run into in the past hour. This collision was a bit more firm by comparison, and she yelped in surprise. Her fault. She winced fiercely.
She didn’t get the chance to apologize. It had taken a grand total of five sudden impacts, born of distractions, to send her stumbling in reverse. At last, she lost her balance, crashing to the ground with a force that left her back aching. She groaned, Stradivaria’s case jutting sharply into her shoulder blades and threatening her with bruises. She raised her head towards the blinding sun, shaded somewhat by the newfound shade blessing her in excess. It accompanied a hand, steady and peacefully offered before her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, miss,” a soft voice came with it. “Are you okay?”
It took effort to capture his face, given the interloping glare of the sun from below. He was unfamiliar, his gaze worried and his clothes as plain as they were well-ironed. She indulged in his assistance, taking his hand.
“I-I’m alright,” she stammered.
With another mild cry of surprise, she was swiftly pulled to her feet. Again, she staggered beneath the sudden motion. He never loosened his grip, and she was grateful for the way by which he steadied her in turn. She half-heartedly dusted the stray flecks of stone from her dress, mildly embarrassed.
“My apologies,” the man offered, his voice still just as gentle. “I stopped in the middle of a busy crowd. I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings.”
Octavia waved her hands frantically. “No, no, it’s okay, really! I wasn’t paying attention.”
Her words were ignored in favor of a smile. “My name is Samuel. You have my apologies,” he repeated.
He wasted no time on introductions. Given exactly how she’d managed to introduce herself, she figured she owed him the same--properly. “I’m Octavia,” she answered back.
His eyes widened slightly, to her surprise. “Octavia? Have you by chance visited the Coda Auction House recently?”
Octavia blinked. She’d never seen his face in her life. “Have we…met somewhere, sir?”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I promise we haven’t met before. However, I believe I may have heard about you from my business partner. You’re definitely Octavia, correct?”
She raised an eyebrow warily. “I’m…definitely Octavia, yes. Business partner?”
She never got her answer. Instead, the man turned, raising one hand well above her head with a wave to no one. “Alessandro!” he called.
His shout was enough to draw the vehement glares of those around her, if his presence alone hadn’t been enough to do so already. Still, Octavia was more so unnerved by the familiarity of the name alone than the palpable hostility in the air. She couldn’t place it. It didn’t take long to learn with her eyes and ears, instead.
“Octavia!” she heard from afar, deep and rich by comparison.
His suit was still every bit as crisp, and he was still every bit as charismatic. He looked elated, frankly, and his quickened pace towards her spoke to the same. His smile was radiant as he threw his arms wide in satisfaction. “What a pleasure to see you once more!” he called.
Her eyes lit up, and her own subsequent smile exploded. “Drey!”
“I see you’ve met my dear friend,” he spoke to the man with a grin of his own. “She was a splendid help at the auction, have I mentioned?”
He nodded. “You’ve mentioned. I vaguely recognized the name, but I still wasn’t certain I had the correct person. I thought I’d let you be the judge.”
“And a fine judge you chose,” he chuckled. “Her face is a hard one to forget.”
Octavia blushed. It was still far too much praise for one well-worn piano.
“It’s great to see you again, too, Drey,” she replied, offering her hand to him casually.
Stop!
She’d heard that voice exactly once.
It was sharp, masculine, and dreadfully unfamiliar as it sliced through her thoughts. She could’ve sworn it was louder than had been the case at the auction, and it was more than enough to leave her physically recoiling. Her fingers curled inwards on instinct, her nails digging fiercely into her palm. The pounding of her heart was impossible to ignore, as was the echo of the word that plagued her long after silence had reclaimed her head. Again and again, she chided herself. There was nothing, just as before. There was nothing. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
It took a deep breath to force her fingers to uncurl, thrusting her hand in Drey’s direction with a bit too much effort. She prayed her distress wasn’t visible, given the way she could feel the physical strain splattered on her face. If Drey’s puzzled expression was anything to go by, her discomfort was definitely noticeable. She kicked herself.
If Drey had cause for concern, he forewent it in favor of a firm grip as he shook her offered hand vigorously. “A pleasure, as always. If you would not mind my asking, for what purpose have I found you within the walls of the Blessed City?”
She gulped. There was no simple answer, and she scrambled for a passable excuse. “Sight…seeing?” she tried.
Drey was quiet. Even Samuel eyed her strangely. She flushed.
“I-I mean, I didn’t want to waste those passports you got for my friends and I. Thank you for those, by the way!” she stammered. She much preferred Viola lying on her behalf.
Drey was content enough with her flimsy answer, at least. “You need not thank me! The splendor you would find within the city is surely priceless, and well worth the effort. I presume your friends are somewhere in the city as well?”
If he already knew, he already knew. She nodded. “Resting.”
“Resting,” he repeated. “It was no doubt a long and tiresome journey you’ve all made to be here. Tell me, how have you enjoyed the city thus far?”
“Big,” she answered quickly. “Still not as busy as Coda.”
“Very true,” he mused. “What of the citizens? Have they treated you well?”
Octavia beamed. “They’ve been kind to us.”
“That shouldn’t be,” Samuel interrupted. She’d almost forgotten he was there at all.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He raised one hand to his mouth thoughtfully. “With all due respect, I’ve never seen them show hospitality beyond the required minimum by international law. I hope this doesn’t come off as rude, but they’ve little reason to show kindness. How did you do it?”
She froze, her blood following suit in her veins. She’d completely and totally forgotten. It was the worst possible mistake she could’ve made aloud.
“Perhaps you have come ever closer to solving the mystery of the city,” Drey interrupted, his gaze shining as it fell to her. “A charismatic face never fails to satisfy even the coldest heart.”
She breathed an inward sigh of relief. For once, his oddly-poetic nature was scathingly convenient.
Samuel wasn’t satisfied. “But Alessandro--”
“Ah, but where are my manners?” Drey interrupted once more. “Octavia, I would like to formally introduce you to Samuel. He is my trusted business partner and right-hand man, a skilled and highly-educated historian. He is a true asset to our work at SIAR.”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t Portia your right-hand man? Or, uh…woman? Where is she?”
He chuckled again. “She has returned to Solenford already. She is a fickle one, for sure. If Samuel is my right-hand man, then Portia is more of my…left-hand woman, I suppose one would say.”
“Alessandro and I have been partners for ages, even back when I first graduated from the Solenford College of Archaeological Studies some twenty-odd years ago. SIAR has been a joint effort between us. Of course, I defer to him for business work.”
“A businessman you are not,” Drey teased with a grin. “But a scholar? One of the best.”
Samuel more or less read Octavia’s mind, given the question he’d plucked straight from her thoughts. “We’re no strangers to the Blessed City. Myself, I’ve come no less than twelve separate times. Alessandro and I are here to make an exchange. A contact here has agreed to sell to us several cultural artifacts, priceless in nature from the city of Velrose.”
“Priceless is a strong word,” Drey mused, “and not entirely accurate. However, one could say there is no price too high for preserving the works of yesterday.”
“He’s a bit of an...eccentric man,” Samuel whispered to her alone. “You’ll grow accustomed to him, if you haven’t already. It can be a struggle for me to keep him in reality.”
Octavia giggled. Samuel seemed kind enough.
“The tools of battle are a fine addition to our collection!” Drey exclaimed, somewhat louder than was necessary. “They shall shine splendidly amongst their brethren in SIAR’s vast armory.”
“You’re buying weapons?” Octavia asked. She couldn’t quite associate Velrose with violence in any capacity.
“Polearms, at least today,” Samuel clarified. “Spears and the like. Relics from centuries ago, although we’ve yet to completely understand the history of this city. We can only hope their condition is suitable.”
“You should see it, Octavia!” Drey continued, his eyes sparkling and his gestures grand. “The armory of SIAR is second to none. Armaments of war and defense hailing from the world over lay restored and enshrined upon our shelves. Perhaps they will find refuge in a museum, or perhaps they will call our humble institute home for all time. Our doors are always open to you, should you ever consider the voyage.”
“He’s startlingly proficient with them,” Samuel muttered. “If you would believe it, he’s managed to pick up the trade of combat somewhere along the way.”
Octavia blinked. She couldn’t imagine him as a fighter of any kind. Still, Drey was an excessive man, for lack of better words. It wouldn’t surprise her if he dabbled in the unnecessary more than was warranted. She couldn’t say she wasn’t curious.
“Octavia, my friend, would you perhaps like to accompany us to our exchange? The three of us would be pleased to have you come along.”
She shook her head with a smile. “I appreciate it, really, but I’m honestly pretty tired from the trip. I was gonna go get some rest myself, honestly.”
Samuel and Drey nodded with understanding, the latter deflating somewhat. He still clung to most of his enthusiasm, granted.
“Wait, did you say three of you?” she added suddenly.
Drey glanced over his shoulder, his eyes trailing along passersby. “I believe she was just here a moment ago. Have we lost her?”
“There, Alessandro,” Samuel offered, pointing sharply beyond Octavia’s view. “She may have gotten separated.”
“Cadence, my friend!” Drey called, raising one arm high with a fervent wave. “Come, come!”
She’d forgotten the name. She’d nearly forgotten the girl’s existence entirely, frankly. Her heart skipped enough consecutive beats to warrant mild concern.
The girl’s approach was far from hurried, the stiff grays of her attire enough for Octavia’s eyes to track her every step. Physically, she’d hardly changed since the auction. She was devoid of the crackling lightning that had once tickled her lips and speckled the ground, and Octavia was eternally blessed for that much. In other ways, she was different at Drey’s side. Her brow was unfurrowed, her eyes untainted by the anxiety once living behind her pupils. No longer did her gaze scrape her shoes, nor did she flinch in the wake of his energy. She was content and calm. It was new. It didn’t last.
Where she found no lightning born of the girl’s skillful breaths, she found enough of it in a harsh gaze instead. Cadence’s glare sought to strike her down, shocking her with such fervor that chills jolted painfully down Octavia’s spine. Even with her attention returning to Drey alone, Octavia could still feel the weight of loathing eyes spearing into her back again and again.
Drey was more than immune to the moment, beaming regardless. “Cadence has been a fine intern thus far, and a welcome addition to our ranks. Today marks her first true excursion to a trade--and in the Blessed City, no less!”
“A trade we’ll be missing out on shortly if we don’t go soon,” Samuel scolded lightly. “Bring your head down from the clouds, Alessandro.”
Drey chuckled. “Alright, alright. I suppose this is where we take our leave. Octavia, will we perhaps cross paths again during your stay?”
She shrugged with a smile. “Who knows?”
He returned the same smile, his eyes soft and endearing in a way that warmed her heart. “May we meet again! It was a pleasure, my friend.”
Samuel had already begun leaving him behind, gesturing to the businessman in exasperation. “Today, Alessandro!”
“Right, right!” he answered, his pursuit hurried. By comparison, Cadence’s was not, lagging as she trailed in his footsteps.
“Cadence.”
When she continued walking, Octavia didn’t back down. “Cadence,” she called again, somewhere between firm and just quiet enough for privacy.
The Maestra slowed to a halt, never once turning around. “Don’t talk to me.”
“Does he know?” Octavia asked bluntly.
“He doesn’t,” she spat. “And he never will. Don’t ever speak to me again.”
The Maestra’s stride resumed in full, somewhat faster in the wake of Octavia’s simple pressing. Still, it was enough to satisfy Octavia overall. As she slipped into the obscurity of the crowds, Cadence took with her the only secret that mattered. It was the one truth Octavia couldn’t afford to unravel in the Blessed City.
Only now was the fatigue actually settling in. The uphill climb towards the church wasn’t exactly strenuous. Regardless, she’d scaled the stairs to the bell tower and back again already today. Her muscles were starting to burn slightly, and the idea of rest was at last welcome. Retreating didn’t sound awful, although exploring Velrose further would’ve been preferable. She had an abundance of time, she supposed. She adjusted Stradivaria’s case on her shoulders, the violin within jostling with the tiniest thud against the lining.
The voice still bothered her immensely.
Octavia at least tried to pay attention to her steps this time, lest she beat her record and run into five strangers in total today. She still leaned on her theory of Stradivaria reaching out, mostly. Something about the idea of it intruding on her thoughts at all was simultaneously comforting and not. In truth, this wasn’t how she thought she’d make the connection in the first place. If she were to ask aloud, let alone directly, she wondered if she’d get an answer in return. She strongly doubted it, and that left her all the more frustrated. She sighed heavily.
Don’t. Stop. She’d only been chastised, curt as the words were. She wasn’t particularly sure what she’d done wrong in the first place.
It could’ve been shaking hands. It could’ve been touching. It could’ve been Drey’s touch, specifically, for how his hand had reached for hers twice over.
She paused briefly. The latter option made her raise an eyebrow, even in passing.
The walk to the inn was shorter than the walk to the church, although she had half a mind to wonder if her semi-racing thoughts were of any meaningful contribution. She didn’t find the innkeeper outside, although it hardly mattered. If Sonata’s words were anything to go by, she had her safe harbor without issue. She wouldn’t need to ask. She wouldn’t have had the capacity to ask anything, given the way a different visage entirely violently derailed every line of thought she’d attempted to pursue.
She knew the hat. She knew the curls. She knew the boy comfortably perched beside the door of the inn. She wished she could forget the grin, frankly--permanent, devilish, and dripping with something far more mischievous than she was ever willing to deal with. His eyes spoke to the same, and the moment they met hers, she could practically feel the irritation bubbling in her blood.
He tipped that insufferable hat dramatically. “Fancy seeing you again, braids.”
Viola was going to scream.