Contrary to what she’d been led to expect, Solenford was surprisingly temperate in the summer. The evening chill was the closest she got to the frosted image that had been painted for her. Every mountain rising to kiss the sky so far off provided the slightest haze upon each peak. It was as near as she could come to achieving a winter in the far north of Mezzoria. Were it to snow at the moment, it would do little to freeze her blood. Her skin ran far too hot, and her veins were already boiling. That wouldn’t change.
She pitied those that trickled solemnly into a city far less blessed, distraught and weary in the face of disaster. It was in the mourning throngs that she stole cover, as did the Maestros collectively. The twinkling stars just barely beginning to speckle the sky trailed her every step into the city, and she moved with quiet rage. The silence in the wake of those who departed so long before them was deafening. Not so much as the song of one insect met her ears, and moonlight was her only company. It was the last train for the night. Truly and genuinely, they were alone. Where she feared it’d be unsettling, she was somehow calm.
Again and again did she swallow the sharp, cold air of the night. It did nothing, even if she willingly tried. She would burn forever.
“The eastern side of the city,” Madrigal murmured. “That’s where SIAR is--at least, that’s what someone on the train said when I asked. It’s a big white building.”
“Can’t miss it, then,” Renato added with slightly too much enthusiasm. “Let’s get on in there!”
“Wait, do we have a plan?” Harper asked. “What are we…going to do, exactly?”
“Easy,” Octavia answered, remorseless venom tinting every word. “I’m going to kill Drey.”
“You’re going to get information from him first,” Viola reminded, side-eyeing her uncomfortably. “Before anything else.”
“And you’re serious about killing this guy, right?” Josiah spoke, his voice low. “Hasn’t he already tried to kill you once? Who’s to say he won’t try again?”
Octavia didn’t hesitate for a moment. “He’ll try. I know he’ll try, but he won’t manage. I’ll kill him before he kills me.”
Harper’s gaze scraped the grass with every step. “We don’t know almost anything about this place. Did Drey tell you about the kind of stuff that goes on in there? Like, what we’re up against, exactly?”
Octavia shook her head. “The only people I know who are involved with SIAR are Drey, Cadence, and two other people who work for him. I don’t remember if he said anything about anyone else being there.”
Their voices were quiet, and yet her own was lethal. She could feel the poison stinging her tongue as she spoke. It didn’t quite hurt, and she didn’t quite hate it. The cover of night was a blessing as she pressed onwards into the city, moving mostly on instinct. She’d expected her fury to be at least slightly more unmanageable, and she’d even been expecting the tiniest hint of fear. Instead, it was plain and blunt to the point of leaving her calm. Drey was there. She was going to kill him. It was as simple as that.
“Is this place even open right now?” Josiah asked.
“They’re always working,” Madrigal answered plainly. “Someone else said they have people doing restoration stuff all hours of the day. They’re open.”
Octavia nodded approvingly. She strongly appreciated the effort the Maestra had put in for her sake. It was impressive that she’d managed to salvage this much from people so broken on a voyage so draining. Eight languages helped, surely.
“How many people?” Harper asked this time.
Madrigal was instant. “A lot.”
Josiah raised an eyebrow. “And we’re doing this now? Like, right now?”
“There’s even more people working during the daytime. Plus, SIAR is off-limits to visitors at night, and Solenford is quieter, too. Nobody else will get caught up in everything,” she continued.
Octavia was simultaneously grateful for her thorough dissemination and unnerved by how coolly Madrigal spoke of violence. She was the last person Octavia expected to remain this steady in the face of what to come. It was still one more thing to thank her for.
“The other workers, then,” Josiah began. “How are we handling that?”
“Look, I can’t prove anything, but if everything Octavia said about Drey is true, I have a feeling we’re going to meet with a bit of…obstruction,” Harper offered, tipping one hand back and forth ambiguously.
“They’re gonna try to kill us,” Renato interpreted.
Harper groaned. “Yeah, they’re probably gonna try to kill us.”
“We’ll have to fight back,” Viola interrupted. “Carefully. For all intents and purposes, they’re innocent people who have no idea what their boss has done.”
“And if they do know?” Josiah challenged.
“Then they’re just as guilty,” Octavia spoke sharply. “They’ll get what’s coming to them.”
She could feel the eyes on her back in the wake of her vitriol. She deserved it, probably, for as unnatural as she knew every word to be on her lips. She couldn’t help it, nor did she want to. She didn’t care, she had no plans to care, and she strongly considered the concept that her vengeful flame wasn’t burning quite hot enough just yet. It would take more to incinerate him, maybe. As to what that looked like from afar, it was the least of her problems.
Josiah cleared his throat with notable discomfort. “We’ll…figure it out as we go, I guess.”
“We’ll be fiiiiine,” Renato added nonchalantly, waving one hand dismissively. “We’ve got one hell of a Maestro team, right, boss?”
While Octavia appreciated his efforts to lighten the atmosphere, she couldn’t bring herself to reciprocate his enthusiasm. Nonetheless, she appreciated the sentiment. Without turning around to face him, she nodded.
“Over there,” Harper spoke, raising one pointed finger aloft and beyond. “I can see it, I think. White building, right?”
Octavia followed his gesture. If she trailed her eyes along the starry sky, she could just barely catch the cresting white shingles not-so-distantly rising. It wasn’t as far from the residential area as she’d expected it to be, and her instinctual path led her past more than enough ordinary houses before it. She kept her gaze high and tracked the towering ivory closely, not quite looming and yet more than enough to guide her way. It was almost out of place, the roof alone grand where the city was not.
“Hidden in plain sight,” Viola murmured.
When she met it in full, she understood Drey’s pride. For as much as she loathed upon loathed him, she couldn’t exactly blame him. In a way, it was beautiful.
His description had never quite erased the initial impression of a museum for her, despite his retelling of all that regularly came to pass within its walls. Its stature and grandiose architecture did no favors to that mental image, ornate and elegant in a way strikingly modern. It was almost painfully white, and yet vividly refreshing against the backdrop of the blackened sky. If nothing else, it was massive. She understood why it was alone in the clearing, every deceitful house complicit in its obstruction having long since retreated. Were she to stand immediately before it, the difference in size would leave her smaller than ever.
Where SIAR itself offered only blinding white, every flower blooming splendidly in the courtyard brought much-needed splashes of color to the gem of Solenford. She recognized most, and the rainbow of roses in particular was soft upon her eyes. Every bush was well adorned, every bed blessed with a blossoming palette. They sprouted gorgeously at any angle, petals spectacularly raised and loved on full display as they delighted beneath starlight. The softest spray of the center fountain in the depths of night left each blossom coated in mist, sparkling splendidly beneath the kind moonbeams above. In that way, SIAR was a painting that she’d stepped into in full. It was a landscape that left her floating, disoriented in the evening breeze as she drank it in. Every color be damned, she’d paint it red soon enough.
“This is it, I suppose,” Viola stated firmly. “White building, unmissable for sure. Matches the description Madrigal gave us.”
If Madrigal had heard her name, she made no indication of such. Like Octavia, her eyes were cast to the grand institute alone. The Maestra was silent, as she’d mostly been since their disembarkment. Octavia pressed forth into the floral thicket that rose to kiss her dress, nearly snagging the fabrics as she drifted too close to straying branches and thorns. Madrigal was almost not immune to the same, although much more secondary to apparent distraction. Octavia hoped she wouldn't trip.
“What are we supposed to do, just walk right in and call for this guy? ‘Hey, we’re looking for Mr. Drey, hoping to straight up kill the man if he’s not busy’?” Renato half-joked crudely.
“We’ll…figure it out. We’ll just be casual until we find him. Let’s not give ourselves away immediately,” Octavia answered.
“Easier said than done. Drey knows what you look like. He knows what Madrigal and I look like, too,” Viola replied. “From the auction. Who’s to say he hasn’t passed along that information?”
“He thinks I’m dead. I doubt he would’ve had the foresight.”
Renato chuckled. “Can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you, then.”
Octavia could either agree with him or tell him to shut his mouth. She opted for the former. “We have the element of surprise. We’ll maximize that as much as we can.”
Harper’s fingertips brushed softly along peeking carnation petals as he passed a stray flower. “There’s six of us. Five Maestros. Do you…still not think that’s enough for us to take him on? It sounds like a pretty one-sided fight. We should be good, right?”
Octavia paused. “He killed Priscilla. I’m willing to bet she was as strong a Maestra as any. I have a bad feeling about him and what he’s capable of.”
“And he might not be fighting alone,” Viola added. “He’s got others, like you said.”
“He called them his left-hand and right-hand people. I don’t know if they can fight,” Octavia clarified.
Viola nodded. “And he’s also got--”
She never had the chance to finish. The blossoms that crawled along the grass nearest the foreboding walls were unfamiliar, although she could’ve sworn she’d seen those precious whites in a book once before. They matched the building, somewhat, and yet the spray of greenery from tender leaves helped destroy the monotony. Those, too, were beautiful in a place she hated to call the same. They were abundant. They were loved. They were handled with care, even now, attended to so lovingly under the gleaming moon above by gentle hands. For what touch befell every fragile petal, it was a miracle hands so stained with blood didn’t leave them dyed a permanent scarlet.
The same touch was sickeningly skilled at weaving lightning from nothing. It was still startling that she’d only ever worn the same dull grays and bland tones in all the time Octavia had unfortunately known her. Every emotion in the world crashed into her heart at once. Curiosity as to stylistic preferences was one, at the worst possible time.
It didn’t matter how fast Octavia could reach for Stradivaria’s case. Madrigal was faster.
The Maestra didn’t so much sprint as she did lunge, laying siege to Cadence with a speed that briefly challenged even Harper’s own. Unhesitant arms outstretched, it took only seconds for an iron grip to clasp upon either shoulder. Madrigal slammed the girl against the limestone behind with startling force. Cadence's head snapped backwards quickly enough to nearly collide with the building, and her strangled cry of shock did nothing to deter a streaming spirit of wind. No amount of kicking nor flailing did her any favors, nor did panicked writhing and squirming.
“Get off of me!” she cried, eyes wide with horror. “Let go! Stop! Let me go!”
Madrigal did no such thing. If anything, she doubled down, clenching the girl’s shoulders ever tighter to a degree that left her wincing. Cadence only begged harder.
“Madrigal, stop it!” Viola finally cried. Even so, not once did her hands come anywhere near Madrigal.
“You wretched child, what have you done to him?”
The chill that seized Octavia’s spine put the sting of the night air to shame. Her eyes snapped to Viola’s momentarily, and she found much the same dread. The tone on Madrigal’s lips was unnatural. The pitch of her words just barely matched. Her words were sharper than anything that had ever left the Maestra’s mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Cadence shouted desperately.
No amount of frantically sinking her fingernails into Madrigal’s forearms was successful, and Madrigal’s grip was made only of steel. The Maestra didn’t so much as flinch. Her hands were exceedingly near to Cadence’s neck, and Octavia had half a mind to wonder if Madrigal had missed her mark when she’d lunged. It was a horrifying thought.
“To use him in this way, how many have you hurt? What have you done?” Madrigal growled.
“I don’t know! I don’t understand! Let me go!” Cadence pleaded, eyes still soaked in terror as she kicked futilely at Madrigal’s shins.
“Maddie, what are you doing?” Renato asked quietly, his own voice tinged with disbelief.
Octavia had no words to chastise Madrigal. She had no words to plead for Madrigal’s mercy on behalf of another. This was hardly the Madrigal she knew at all, and she clung to every venomous word that dripped from the Maestra’s hateful tone. She tensed.
“Madrigal,” she finally began, her voice shaking, “what’s going on?”
Cadence was, by now, slamming her fists into Madrigal’s arms repeatedly with no success. Again, Madrigal didn’t flinch. She didn’t bother to turn her head as she answered, never once peeling her eyes from the desperate girl in her grasp.
“Octavia, just like Drey hurt someone important to you, Cadence hurt someone very important to me,” Madrigal spoke, her own voice trembling in response.
Octavia claimed a momentary sigh of relief. The words offered in return were, at least, painted in a tone she was far more familiar with. It didn’t make Madrigal’s words any less alarming. “What did she do? Who did she hurt?”
“Nobody! I didn’t do anything wrong! I don’t understand!” Cadence yelled, her body still more than pinned to the cold walls of SIAR.
“You were there,” Madrigal snarled. It was much, much worse in her own voice. “I saw you. I know what you did.”
“What are you talking about?” Harper asked slowly, every word touched with mild fear.
“In Velpyre,” Madrigal spat. “She was there. She was complicit.”
“I told you, I didn’t do anything!” Cadence insisted.
“That’s…not possible,” Josiah interrupted. “I was the only one who made it out, I’m sure of it. There was no one behind me. She looks like the girl I saw at the church. Still, there’s no way she was down there when…everything happened.”
Viola nodded hurriedly. “Josiah’s right. We left after…Selena got caught. We would’ve seen her come out.”
“I even sat on the steps, and no one ever came up besides Josiah when the Dissonance broke through,” Octavia added. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no way you could’ve seen Cadence down there. She wouldn’t have survived!”
“She could have,” Madrigal spoke coolly. “With his power, she could have.”
Octavia had long since written off her prior behavior to be the byproduct of prying eyes alone. As to what stilled Madrigal so suddenly in the streets of the Cursed City, it was retrospectively unnerving. Octavia kicked herself. She’d seen it before, fixated as it was on one person alone. After all, it was here again.
I guess Lyra really wanted to know.
She held her breath.
“Madrigal, who is…‘he’?” Octavia asked.
She never got her answer. Cadence’s pleas drowned out her thoughts. “What are you all even doing here? Get away from me! Leave!”
“No thanks,” Renato replied bluntly, crossing his arms. “We’ve got some business to attend to.”
“Your boss has done some horrible things. He needs to pay for his crimes,” Harper continued.
“He’s not my boss,” she spat. “You’re talking about Mr. Drey, right?”
“He killed my sister,” Octavia said.
“No he didn’t,” Cadence argued.
“Yes, he did. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but he’s not the man you think he is.”
Madrigal narrowed her eyes. “It’s not worth it. She would defend him no matter what.”
“You know nothing about me,” Cadence growled. “None of you do. Don’t talk like you know me.”
“What were you…doing in Velpyre?” Josiah asked slowly, his voice shaking somewhat.
Cadence fell silent for a moment. Only when the endless grip on her shoulders tightened did she finally speak.
“He had a trade to make for the institute. We ended up down there, and he wanted me on patrol because the city’s a hellhole. That’s all I know. I didn’t go with him to the exchange. I really don’t know anything.”
“You’re lying,” Madrigal hissed.
“It’s the truth! I just told him what I saw!”
Octavia’s stomach lurched. If it truly was a lie, then she’d almost certainly borne witness to a fleeing acolyte. It still would’ve made little sense to the Maestra, surely. To Drey, she could say the same, if he knew in turn.
“You’re lying,” Madrigal repeated, this time with a voice touched by venom. “I’m going to give you one more chance to tell the truth.”
“Or what?” Cadence challenged. Her shaking voice betrayed her false confidence instantly.
Madrigal’s eyes drifted, ever so slowly, to the colorful bag hugging her side. The slight bulge around the edges was enough of a threat, for what it housed, and she glared daggers into the Maestra to match. The terror reflected in Cadence’s eyes spoke to a thorough understanding of the wordless warning.
Her words were quiet and timid, her breaths labored in between. “Mr. Drey took Samuel and I to his contact in Velrose--someone’s house, I don’t know. Next thing I knew, he told me his actual contact was somewhere else. He told me to walk around with my Harmonial Instrument out, even though I didn’t want to. Spent the whole day like that. We ended up underground and he did the real trade. He got some weapons or something. I seriously didn’t go with him to the exchange, he just told me to explore the city. I ended up in the church, and I overheard some things about the acolyte. I told them to Mr. Drey later, and he said he’d ‘handle it’. I still don’t know what he meant, but he told me to stay down there while he and Samuel went back to Velrose.”
She paused for a moment, finding five more glares where once had been one alone. There was hardly anywhere for her to place her eyes that didn’t graze a hostile Maestro. Every breath was faster.
“I saw the acolyte leaving. I saw you guys running. I wanted to stay out of it, I wanted to stay out of all of this, but I just keep getting dragged into things I don’t want to be involved in! Then all hell broke loose a little while later, and this wall of Dissonance came, and Mr. Drey never came back for me.”
Tears that had begun to threaten her eyes spilled at last, dripping onto Madrigal’s unsympathetic hands as her heaving shoulders remained pinned. Restraining her sobs was only half-successful. Cadence didn’t bother to stem the wobble in her words.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I just played, and played, and played, and I thought I was going to die, but here I am! I waited, and then I clawed my way out of there, and the whole city up above was in shambles, and it took me forever to find Mr. Drey and Samuel, and then we left to go home, I don’t know, I don’t know! I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to be involved, but it just keeps happening!”
Josiah’s voice trembled, his calm and soft words be damned. “Do you understand that your actions got people killed?”
Cadence shook her head frantically, once more writhing in Madrigal’s grip. “I don’t! I don’t even know what happened!”
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Josiah was justified, in every conceivable way. Even Octavia wasn’t immune to her own rage. Still, for what little she herself had understood of the blossom and the flame, it was perhaps cruel to assume Cadence would’ve grasped the full picture. She didn’t know Selena. She didn’t so much as know the acolyte’s name. It spoke to nothing of the consequences.
He said he’d “handle it”.
Cadence’s hands were still, in some ways, stained with blood. If she spoke the truth, she was perhaps not the only one. It was one more thing to press him on, as flimsy as the thread was. In the most sickening way, with five words alone, Octavia was no longer here solely for Priscilla.
“I believe her,” Octavia said softly.
Every pair of eyes that snapped to her stung her with disbelief. It was Cadence’s own gaze, above all else, that flooded her with the same.
“Octavia, are you serious?” Viola asked incredulously.
“I believe her,” Octavia repeated. “I don’t think she could’ve taken down Velpyre alone, and I don’t even think it was intentional.”
“How do you know that?” Harper pressed.
Octavia hesitated. “I just…know. I can feel it. I think...Drey had something to do with it.”
She still couldn’t prove it. As with so many other things, it was an instinct, and she spilled her puzzle pieces amongst the flowers of SIAR. The silence that draped them did little to assemble her rationale. She could pick through each accusatory fragment like rose petals if she had the time. She didn’t. The soft rustling of leaves enveloped in a breeze against her hot skin was her only auditory reprieve.
“Madrigal, let her go,” Octavia requested.
Wordlessly, Madrigal obliged. It left Cadence slumped against the wall, just barely on her feet as she braced against the cold masonry.
“What will you do?” Cadence asked, her voice still shaking.
Octavia inhaled deeply. “I’m going to kill Drey.”
Once more did Cadence’s eyes pool with shining tears. “He’s kind to me.”
“He was kind to me, too.”
“He’s stronger than you.”
“I’m stronger than him in ways he doesn’t know.”
“No, he’s really stronger than you. He’s swift, and he’s cunning, and he’s skilled. He’s proficient with nearly every weapon I can think of. It’s a hobby, and he’s good at it. He’ll kill you.”
She vaguely remembered Samuel speaking to a similar sentiment in Velrose. Drey’s dexterity with a polearm so useless against agonizing violet was another compliment to the assertion. Regardless, they were five Maestros, and he was one man. It changed nothing, and she didn’t waver.
“I’ll kill him first,” she answered with confidence.
“If he dies, I’ll have to go back to the academy. I can’t go back there,” Cadence argued further.
“Why not?”
Cadence hesitated for a moment. “I just…can’t.”
“Then you’ll stand against us?”
Again, she hesitated. It was a relief when Cadence finally shook her head, slow as the motion was. “If you mean what you say, if he really is such an evil person, I don’t want any part of this. I just want to be left alone. Is that so much to ask?”
“You’re involved now,” Viola interrupted. “Even if you don’t want to be, you’re right in the middle of it. You need to see this through to the end.”
What patience Cadence had given to Octavia was not widespread. Viola was splashed with venom in its place. “Am I not making myself clear? I don’t want anything else to do with any of this. I don’t even want to be a Maestra. What will Mr. Drey do to me if he finds out I betrayed him?”
“Cadence,” Octavia began, “we’ll protect you. We won’t let him hurt you. Like it or not, you’re a Maestra, just like the rest of us. We can do this together.”
Octavia offered one gentle hand to the girl, steady and still. Cadence’s eyes flickered down to the awaiting gesture in utter silence, much the same as that which besieged the air. So, too, did they rise once more to Octavia’s own, anxious and afraid.
“You’re sure you can do this?” she asked, slowly and quietly.
Octavia gave her only confidence. “We can do this. If it’s all of us together, we can take him down.”
With slow, tentative motions that left Octavia’s heart racing, Cadence’s trembling fingers wrapped around Octavia’s palm. Her grip was shockingly firm, and she almost squeezed tightly enough to hurt. Octavia was far more relieved than distressed.
“What’s your plan, then?” Cadence asked.
Octavia winced. “We…don’t really have one. At least, not a specific one."
“You’re joking,” Cadence deadpanned.
“This guy tried to kill Octavia once already. For all he knows, he actually got away with it,” Renato began. “We’ve got the element of surprise here. We can catch him off-guard and go in for the kill.”
“And now we have you,” Viola added. “He’ll never see it coming.”
Cadence recoiled slightly. “What…do you expect me to do, exactly?”
“I don’t know yet, but it’ll be something important,” Octavia finished. “Both me and you, he won’t be expecting either one of us. We can use that to our advantage.”
“You do understand everyone else inside won’t take any of this sitting down, right?”
Octavia nodded. “We were sort of expecting that already. There’s enough of us that we should be able to put up a fight without issue.”
“No, not without issue. I don’t think I’m making myself clear. Mr. Drey’s definitely the best at swordplay and whatnot, but part of working at SIAR means knowing your way around self-defense.”
“At a damn museum?” Renato asked, baffled.
“Protection against thieves, bad contacts, you name it. It can be tricky work. Mr. Drey wants to be sure everyone in SIAR can protect themselves first and the wares second.”
Renato whistled. “Guess we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
“We can do it,” Harper reassured. “We’ll stick together. We’ve got this.”
“I need to get my instrument,” Cadence added. “I’ll be back afterwards. I don’t carry it around with me.”
Octavia blinked. “I thought you said Drey made you bring your Harmonial Instrument to Velrose? Why?”
Cadence hesitated. “I don’t know. He…usually tells me not to bring it anywhere.”
Octavia didn’t get to press. Viola nodded. “We’ll regroup inside. Find where we are, and then get behind us as soon as possible. We’ve got to be cohesive.”
“There’s a side entrance I usually take to stay quiet,” Cadence offered. “I’ll go in that way and meet you guys out in the main lobby. It won’t take long.”
“Should we follow you through there? You know, if it’s quiet?” Josiah asked.
She shook her head. “If you’re really going to go through with this, no amount of sneaking around is going to make things easier. Mr. Drey will come, and so will everyone else.”
“So we go all in,” Renato added with a dark grin. “We’ll take on every bastard in that building at once.”
“Let’s go, then. We've got this,” Harper repeated.
Out of every possible Harmonial Instrument that could’ve spoken to violence at the ready, it was the one boy immune to the same world that threw Octavia severely off guard. It took her a moment to figure out exactly why Josiah was swiftly rolling up one leg of his pants. The knife was a shock, and he withdrew it from the strap around his calf with a striking amount of calm and finesse. Most of them raised an eyebrow, some with notably more surprise than others. At least one Maestro got more out of the display than was necessary.
“Okay, genuinely did not see that coming!” Renato exclaimed with far too much glee.
Josiah smiled weakly, squeezing his fingers around the hilt. “I know I’m not a Maestro, but I’ll still do what I can to help.”
Renato only continued to beam, excitedly withdrawing two little halves of cherry oak from the confines of his vest. “Alright, then we’re all good to go! Let’s kill this guy!”
“Oh my God, stop it!” Viola snapped.
Cases clattered to the cold ground and Harmonial Instruments shimmered beneath the moonlight. Brass, silver, mahogany, and everything in between captured the speckled starlight above in time with the chilling air Octavia shoved deep into her lungs. Stradivaria in her arms was a comfort, if not a spark to ignite vengeful stars of her own. Already, her blood was surging with something slightly more than the burn she was used to. It felt justified. She wasn’t afraid.
Lyra’s Repose was an outlier. The harp, too, glistened beneath abundant moonbeams, sparkling as beautifully gold as ever. Its Maestra was far less driven, far less aflame, and far more monotone. Once more, her sharp gaze was for the girl whose fear brought only lightning.
“Cadence.”
Madrigal’s voice alone was enough to make Cadence jump. “W-What?”
Madrigal fell silent for a moment, her solemn eyes falling only to the harp cradled in loving arms. “Don’t you ever use him like that again.”
Whatever words of confusion visibly settled on Cadence’s lips fled the moment she met Octavia’s eyes. It was enough to leave her turning, her body angled towards the shadows beside the imposing visage of SIAR. She left exactly one glance in her wake, flung hastily over her shoulder.
“Octavia, there’s something you should know,” she started.
Octavia met much the same gaze. Cadence hesitated.
“He…spoke very highly of you. He always did.”
If Cadence expected to find sympathy in her eyes, Octavia refused to give it. She could never generate it, for the life of her, if she tried. All that bubbled up was hate. All that tainted her words was venom. All that racked her muscles was violence, and she gripped Stradivaria’s neck so tightly that the strings dug into her skin. Her knuckles whitened in the process, and every word burned on the way out.
“I’m going to make sure he never speaks again.”
In some sick way, it felt good.
----------------------------------------
It took only a mild amount of courage to throw open the doors of SIAR. Where it was white outside, it was tenfold more so within. She blamed everything from the lighting to the paint, cold marble refusing to clash with monotonous ivory assailing every wall. It was enough to make her wince, for how the dark of night she’d left in her wake still cursed her with dilated pupils. The lobby was blinding. She didn’t dare look away.
SIAR was somewhat less striking on the inside versus what the regal exterior had led her to believe. It reminded her of a literal museum, in some measures. There were paintings, granted. There were sculptures, sometimes. There was glass, glistening as necessary, and that which was precious laying behind its barriers. It was a predictable first impression, even if she’d been reminded multiple times of the way by which SIAR was anything but standard. The lobby was shockingly massive, and she feared her breaths would echo.
Most of her focus left her indifferent to glistening artifacts or pristine art, accessible as it was to her eyes in passing. For as colossal as the room was, it came with navigational choices. All four corridors were sizable in their own right, even from afar. They were uniform, spanning from west to east gradually. With the moon high aloft as it was beyond the shockingly-white walls, for every hallway to be lit so thoroughly was jarring in the depths of night. For the institute to be awake at all, showered in light that left it shining in the most uncomfortable ivories, was unsettling. Her eyes couldn’t travel down every corridor. She didn’t trust her imagination to fill in the gaps.
Not one Maestro spoke. It took her a moment to verify if a single Maestro was breathing, really. She wondered if her sentiment about echoing breaths was contagious. It more than likely did not help that they very, very much were not alone.
She didn’t bother counting how many. Octavia was vaguely aware of the nature of SIAR’s mission, for how pridefully Drey had spoken of it. For what her mind had come to associate with the idea of restoration and conservation, the crisp coats and uniforms were reasonable. That, too, was a predictable first impression. Where their hands had surely handled delicate and decaying artifacts time and again, their eyes now handled her with just as much delicate confusion. She and those like her drew every gaze at once, born of every angle and splattered with befuddlement. If they were to ask as to the rationale of her presence, she’d have nothing for them. She owed them nothing, much the same.
Her eyes chased every corridor, flickering to the gaping entrances once, twice, three times over in turn. She stung every baffled face, one by one. He wasn’t here. He needed to be. He needed to be here now. It would compromise their precious element of surprise, granted. She could argue, in the interest of logical thought, that it would be in the sole interest of preserving their edge before those who knew not of her vendetta could intervene. It was honestly born of an emotion much simpler than that.
“Drey!” she boomed.
Her cry echoed fiercely, just as she’d suspected it would. It was thoroughly satisfying to witness hatred carried upon one word alone curse every inch of SIAR. She knew she’d startled every Maestro at her back. It was the least of her concerns, and her shout of his vile name had stolen every word from every mouth--dozens of them, left to watch her with yet more disorientation. Not one worker moved, nor spoke in the face of a wrathful Maestra burning remorselessly in place.
It was the northwestern corridor. The clacking footsteps that echoed in return were the only response to her furious cry, and she couldn’t be bothered to tense as they neared. She didn’t need visual confirmation. For what they’d followed, she already knew.
It was that easy. With one call, he’d come running.
And as he emerged into the flooding light, his shoulders just barely rose and fell with the effort of catching stolen breaths. The hand clinging to violence bore not a polearm, for once. Octavia knew little of swords, let alone weapons at large. The rounded blade glimmered mercilessly beneath the blinding lights above, and every minor movement of his skillfully-clinging fingers left it sparkling in a sickening manner. At the very least, it was a weak grip. His fingertips were not immune to their own shimmer, absolutely minimal as it was. He’d been interrupted in his work, maybe, the hour of the night be damned. His fixation on weapons was mildly concerning.
It took a moment for their eyes to meet. She expected anything but the way his own softened. In that case, she pierced him with everything in her soul that spoke to the opposite.
“Octavia,” he breathed. “You’re…alive?”
She didn’t even realize she’d lunged until she was in restraints, one arm bound on either side by desperately-clinging Maestros. They were unfortunately successful, and she battled Harper and Renato with more writhing than they deserved. She couldn’t help it. Whatever tiny part of her had expected to keep her composure had been naive. It was a reflex. She embraced it, her veins scorching to such a degree that her heart would never beat properly again.
“Murderer!” she screamed. “Murderer, murderer, murderer!”
Drey flinched. Every tentative step he took into the lobby left his echoing footsteps challenging her screams and growls. His words were deceptively soft. “I…do not understand.”
“I’ll make you understand,” Octavia snarled, still fighting either grip with all she had.
“How did you survive?” he asked quietly.
Given that he’d been the one to send her falling to her death, she’d expected more rage--or disappointment, at least. His gentle tone was an entirely different type of infuriating. She didn’t bother answering.
“You killed her!” Octavia shouted.
His face flickered with confusion. “Who have I killed?”
“Priscilla,” she spat, stilling her flailing momentarily. “My sister.”
It was enough to wipe every emotion from Drey’s face. He was silent, and his empty eyes never once left Octavia’s own.
“Is…that what this is about?”
Either portion of Stradivaria was gripped so tightly that she’d surely send the violin crumbling into dust soon. Restrained as she was, it was all she could do to kill him with her glare alone. With every drop of poison she could conjure in her soul, she prayed her eyes could pierce his heart and tear him to shreds.
His eyes fell to Stradivaria. “You have done as she has,” he finally spoke.
She didn’t grace him with words. Not one person, of the dozens who bore witness to her ire, dared to offer up words of their own. Every frantic heartbeat she harbored echoed, more than likely.
“I did not kill her, Octavia. I saved her.”
There was the briefest, most fleeting moment by which she was confused. It didn’t last.
“In the same manner, I, too, tried to save you.”
She’d expected sorrow at his formal admission. She’d already known Priscilla was dead, to be fair. Still, this was her explicit, spoken confirmation of Drey’s guilt. All of her tears had been set free long ago. What was left was only righteous wrath she’d stored up for one man alone. It festered, and did so one thousand times more as he spoke.
Whatever showed on her face, she couldn’t begin to imagine. She hoped it hurt. It did, apparently, for the way his face contorted with pain as he kept her hateful gaze. “Octavia, I never hoped for this. Believe that, if nothing else.”
“Liar,” she growled.
His eyes narrowed, touching upon each innocent Maestro in turn. “What are you doing here? Why have you come?”
When Octavia remained silent, it was Renato who took the lead. “We’re here to take you down.”
Drey blinked slowly, his gaze somewhere between soft and firm all at once. Every step towards them came with vulnerability, the sword settling casually at his side. “I do not understand.”
“We’re gonna make sure you never hurt anyone again,” Renato continued confidently. “Understand that?”
“You’re going to pay for whatever you did in Velpyre,” Josiah spoke slowly, his voice trembling somewhat. It was with trembling hands, too, that a blade much smaller than Drey’s own came level with the man from afar.
“Velpyre?” Drey repeated, his tone once more touched by confusion.
“And you’ll pay for what you did to Octavia,” Madrigal added. “Our friend.”
Octavia was content to cease her struggling, limp in her frustrating restraints. The freedom she found from their grips came with warnings in the form of gentle gazes. For them, at least for now, she’d struggle to be composed instead.
“Revenge, then,” Drey spoke calmly. “Perhaps that is deserved. I do not deny my sins.”
His words were disorienting. It wasn’t enough for Octavia to let her guard down. “Then you’ll take the punishment you deserve? You’ll pay with your life?”
At her question, he glared. “Do you have the resolve to take a life, Octavia?”
She wouldn’t give it thought. He was an exception, surely. “You don’t deserve to be alive.”
Where every Harmonial Instrument rose threateningly into position, Octavia was reminded of company in the worst way. Josiah wasn’t the only one with a knife. It was unfortunate that he’d only brought one, given that several workers managed to clasp more than that. Every coat, every vest, every man and woman in every last uniform offered up sharpened violence between skilled fingers. Their grips spoke to experience, and that in turn spoke to the truth of Cadence’s words.
She wondered how fast they could move. She wondered how hard they could hit, let alone if they were content to go for blood. Her circle had already collectively agreed on pinning down Drey alone, with collateral assailants only to be deterred. Should their lives be at risk, it was perhaps easier said than done. She’d already asserted their guilt by association, to be fair.
The only blade that mattered, then, was the one that rose powerfully and with concerning control into hands far more trained. Drey’s stance was just as strong, his weak grip banished in favor of something fierce. She’d seen his prowess once, even if he’d never so much as lunged--his posture and aura alone with a simple polearm in the face of Dissonance was overpowering. Only now was he a threat.
“It is…disheartening that you believe I make such decisions with ease. I do only what must be done,” he spoke.
“Tell me why,” Octavia demanded, leveling Stradivaria against her shoulder.
“I owe nothing to one who is dead.”
“You owe me for what you did. You owe me that much!” she cried. “Why did you do it?”
The tip of the sword was level with her eyes. His approach had lessened their gap to a worrying degree, and yet it would still take time to close the distance in full. If he lunged, it would still take a minimum of five seconds, she guessed. That, she could calculate. The pain on his face, she couldn’t understand.
“You carry a burden too heavy for a child, just as was such for your sister before you. I have given you the choice of peace, and twice now that violin has thwarted that blessing!”
His gaze crossed each Maestro in turn, his gesturing sword doing much the same. “To each of you, I offer one last chance. Stand down, lay down your arms, and walk away. Lead a peaceful life as children, grow to old age, and do not walk this path. You are toying with forces that you do not understand. I do not wish to hurt any of you, nor do I enjoy it!”
“Save your breath,” Octavia spat, settling the bow against the strings. “You can’t take back the things that you’ve done.”
Drey fell silent for a moment. “I do not deny my sins,” he repeated at last. “Given no reprieve, though, I will sin again.”
The tension searing the very air was suffocating. If there was oxygen left to steal, it would scald her lungs the moment she tried. For how every muscle tensed and every face was strained, she was left waiting for what was to come--sudden as it would surely be. On edge as she was, the hand that settled onto her shoulder startled her horrifically.
“I’ll distract him,” Renato whispered. “You wait for your chance, and then go for the kill.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “By yourself? Are you sure?”
She could hear the grin in his voice, of all places he could’ve offered it. “You're serious about this, right? Then trust me.”
“Capture them alive, if possible,” Drey spoke loudly. “Do not harm them.”
She wasn’t the only one at the ready. Dozens of foreign blades shimmered beneath the blinding lights above, white striking steel raised aloft in dangerous hands. Where every set of narrowed eyes met her, firm stances and radiant threats followed in their wake. Where the workers were scattered, she refused to submit to the same. It took only her echoing footsteps to offer a lead, and those of her own world met her wordless defenses with understanding. Their backs were parallel, their instruments in position. If one faltered, another would cover. It was as ready for Hell as she was going to get.
Her eyes flickered to Drey. Her eyes flickered to Renato. Her eyes flickered to every gaze both on her side and not. Her heart pounded and her rushing blood blotted out every thought. If not for Priscilla, then it would be for herself. She gripped the bow, gritted her teeth, and awaited the inevitable.
“Mr. Drey!”
It was a clarinet that interrupted where a violin was silent. The corridor left echoing with a different set of sprinting steps altogether was unfamiliar. If she squinted, she was still helpless to pierce its full length with her eyes. She hardly needed to. Drey’s eyes, for at least a moment, were given to a different Maestra entirely. It was one of a handful of times Octavia had ever seen Cadence resemble a Maestra at all, for how her Harmonial Instrument settled so naturally into hands made to birth lightning.
“Cadence?” he asked incredulously. “Please, return to your room. It is…unsafe here.”
She resisted. Instead, she sprinted once more, bound for a man with a sword at the ready. Her hair brushed fervently against her cheeks as she ran, and still she was undeterred with fingers full of bottled thunderstorms. “Let me help!” she pleaded.
“Cadence, please,” Drey begged. “It is dangerous. I will handle this.”
There came the brief and fleeting thought that Cadence may have double-crossed them. Objectively, Octavia knew little of her morals or where the girl’s heart truly lay. She could count the times they’d met on one hand. Offering up her faith in full was dangerous, and yet it was all she could do. Never once did she relax her grip upon Stradivaria as she prayed, her breath permanently hitched in her throat.
Cadence was before him, her eyes upon him. So, too, were her slender fingers at home upon every key, shining splendidly beneath the same burning lights that illuminated steel violence all around. They were in stark contrast to one another, mere inches away as they were. Where she’d once shied away from his gaze, she now claimed it by force and clung to it for dear life.
“This is something I can do to help. Please, I want to be of use to you,” she tried.
Drey shook his head. His eyes were sickeningly soft. “You don’t need to be of use to me, child. I simply ask for your safety. Please, put that instrument away and find somewhere safe. I will let no harm befall you.”
“Give me a chance to prove myself!” she begged.
“I do not understand. What do you mean?”
She hesitated, every word slow and shaky. “I’ve…made so many mistakes in my life, and I know I can’t go back and fix them. Just once, I want to have someone to protect besides myself. I want that opportunity. I want to do something good. Please, just…let me have that.”
Octavia clung to her every word. Drey, too, seemed to do the same.
“What will you do, then?” Drey asked softly.
“This.”
There was no pause between his inquiry and her song. Cadence’s lips fell to the reed in an instant, her fingers moving rapidly across every glistening key. Sounds Octavia had heard only once prior were no less electric, and her melody of lightning was every bit as powerful as it had been that night. The dry crackle and steady hum that quickly besieged the air was palpable even from afar, and Cadence’s hair rose strand by strand with every note. It was of little concern versus the white-hot sparks that skittered from the bell of the clarinet, contrasting sharply with the cold whites of the marble below. Every bursting jolt was not born to kiss the floor alone, and Drey was equally as vulnerable to her brilliant current.
The golden voltage that stung his fingers began to surge and flicker in radiant arcs, scattering sparks rising like crackling stars where they had once rained. Never, more than in the context of pure theatrics, had Octavia borne witness to the true essence of lightning in action. Cadence was splendid. Drey flinched. Even if she couldn’t make out the Maestra’s face from behind, Octavia was satisfied imagining the lightning striking deep into Drey’s heart from Cadence’s gaze alone.
It was Cadence who flinched, so soon after.
It was her song that came with it, stifled with a shrill squeak that left every hovering spark crashing to the floor. They stung her flats as they fizzled, and not once did she fight to steal them back. Her fingers were still. Her sudden silence was jarring and sharp, and not a word left her mouth. Whatever strained gurgling just barely slipped from her throat was nearly inaudible from afar, and Octavia was fairly certain she’d misheard the sound entirely.
Where once had been grays, useless and dull, Octavia now found scarlet. It blossomed, a spreading flower unfurling so delicately across Cadence’s back in the most perfect halo. Deep as it was, it spilled, somewhat. The material wasn’t quite enough to serve as a true sponge, and it left flecks of much the same red sprinkling in tiny droplets against the pristine marble below. Silence was broken by grinding steel, and once more by a heavy thud as the Maestra fell. Not once had the instrument left her hands.
Red met crystal, restrained and yet shining behind ruthless eyes. His blade, once unblemished, bore excessive and shimmering crimson that dripped freely to the stark white underfoot. Where he didn’t offer enough with what violence he carried, Cadence filled in the gaps. She was a river, cascading and flowing in every direction as she blessed SIAR with all the scarlet it could desire. Her eyes were still open. Her grip was still tight. The blood trickling from her lips had splattered upon the reed generously, and yet she’d never fumbled the clarinet. It was her face alone that kept no color.
Drey flourished his weapon, the hurt in his eyes neatly aligned with the stolen blood he sent splattering to the floor. When his pained gaze met Octavia’s own, it was her blood in turn that finally exploded. So, too, did the world come with it.