There had been a time, long ago, when Octavia had been cautioned to hide the Maestro world away from prying eyes--and with good reason, if her later experiences were anything to go by. As such, pulling her Harmonial Instrument out in the middle of a semi-crowded courtroom in a densely-populated city seemed like a horrific idea. She had no choice. The alternative was death for all involved.
The first pull of the bow against the strings, followed immediately by the blasting beam of light that speared forth directly after, drew instant cries of fear and surprise all around. Some were angry, some were amazed, and some were terrified. She had little time to wince beneath the attention, let alone acknowledge the calls to stand down from whoever was shouting.
Her attention was on the bubbling mass of Dissonance alone, far too near to a law enforcement officer. Her strike was of utmost importance, and violet was left bursting into thin air with an agonizing shriek. This was going to be absurdly difficult to do without collateral damage. It didn’t help that she was surrounded by those who couldn’t comprehend the circumstances.
At the very least, some aspects of Dissonance were universal. The screeching was enough to bring hands to ears around the room, confused and panicked as they were. Some people stumbled. Others braced themselves flat against walls, generally disoriented. Still, others had the energy to protest, disgruntled even now by the interruption of proceedings. Octavia was tempted to put her honed aim to use and “accidentally” hit the prosecutor instead.
As to Vincent himself, his current locale brought a double-edged problem. He’d been escorted from a prison, and surely fell devoid of a weapon in turn. The thought of Round Two with Vincent and a knife in tandem was enough to make Octavia shudder--Round Four, technically. His fourth kill was the most concerning, in truth. Circumstances be damned, Vincent was more than violent with his hands alone. As to whether it was necessity at the time or the curse of sheer violet-blessed physical ability, Octavia couldn’t guess. She was grateful when he didn’t stop to search the officer for any additional modes of lethality. Instead, he vaulted over the table, clearing the mahogany desk he’d settled behind in one swift motion.
Where he was headed, barreling out of the semicircle and in the direction of the front doors, she had absolutely no idea.
“Don’t let him get away!” Josiah cried, breaking into a full sprint.
Rushing footsteps left him bearing down on the ring of proceedings. Octavia tensed. If he kept up his current path, he’d be on a direct collision course with Vincent. It didn’t help that he was utterly empty-handed, declining to embrace Etherion altogether.
“What are you doing? Get Etherion out!” she pleaded, balancing Stradivaria on her shoulder carefully. She had one idea as to how to oblige his demand. Executing it would be a trial by fire.
“Trust me!” he called back instead.
She usually did, but Maestro matters were different. With her eyes set on the doors that had already caused so much commotion, Octavia inhaled sharply. It took effort to strain her muscles enough to accommodate the quantity of light she was about to make. Starlight burned and seared her blood, inner brilliance breaching her fingertips with each motion of the bow. That much was familiar.
What initially erupted forth was a hard, coagulated mass of radiance--not dissimilar to a blinding pillar she’d ensnared a Dissonant girl in all too recently. This time, all it took was one, her true aim successful in blocking both doors simultaneously. Hypothetically, it was possible that this might’ve been enough, had the issue solely consisted of a Dissonant man alone. She vowed not to let a single wisp of agony escape.
Octavia squeezed her eyes shut, straining as she pushed her fingers down hard against each string. There was a non-zero chance she'd pay for this with calluses later. The slight pain that came with her endeavors paid off slowly, and she watched with successful surprise as her singular pillar of luminescence gradually flattened against the alabaster doors.
Mere inches from direct contact, it stretched endlessly, fanning out into a glowing ring that gradually crept around the expanse of the room. Pulsing light rose high enough to lick the ceiling, drifting along the plush carpeting and sealing over two dozen people within its grasp--a semicircle now clasped tightly inside of a circle. She didn’t dare move, her song ceaseless as she struggled to strike the right balance of effort for maintaining her brilliant barrier.
There was a certain aura of safety that came from envelopment within her protective wall of luminosity. There was another, more bitter tint of regret that came with the realization that she’d just locked everyone inside of a cage with the most malicious force in the world--and its current generator, unhindered. Octavia’s heart raced, and not solely from the effort of sustaining her light. She wondered if this was what Josiah had in mind.
The boy still, even now, had forsaken his partner. He drew dangerously close to Vincent, whose own sprint had slowed somewhat in the face of radiant entrapment. That left his eyes to fall to Josiah, the latter seemingly unbothered by his vicinity. Octavia’s stomach lurched.
“Look out!” she screamed.
Vincent lunged. Somehow, he missed. Rather, Josiah dodged, side-stepping his outstretched hands at the last second as they brushed the hem of his shirt. He didn’t so much as seem fazed by the attack, his bag jostling against his side with every unimpeded step. Even devoid of a weapon, the mental image of Harper’s father succumbing to Vincent’s brutal beating was unshakable. If Josiah were to fall prey to the same, Octavia would never be able to live with herself.
Vincent didn’t let up. Even with Josiah indifferent to his attempted assault, he resumed his pursuit, making a full turn solely to pursue the boy up the aisle once more. Dissonance still erupted from his every pore, crowning each movement of his extremities. Where he ran, it trailed behind, an afterimage not dissimilar to a wake in his swallowed sea. He was faster than Josiah, and the gap between them closed rapidly. With the size of the aisle relative to the placement of the benches, there was no way Josiah could dodge twice at this angle.
He didn’t need to. Vincent’s path earned a frozen deterrent--sharp, speared, and slicing violently into the carpet before him. He stumbled, splintering shards flaking against his pants and shoes as he drew too close. Even uninjured, the warning shots were enough.
A shrill song that had birthed vicious crystal already spoke for itself. Octavia’s eyes wandered. The conflicted look on Viola’s face broke her heart.
The Maestra pulled her lips away from Silver Brevada, offering pained eyes in return. “This sucks,” she said.
Josiah had sprinted to the area of proceedings, much to Octavia’s confusion. She assumed he was searching for her, initially. He could’ve planned on attacking from afar--if he found the drive to take hold of Etherion, for once. It was possible that he thought of evacuation, although that contrasted with the presumed point of her brilliant barrier still encircling the courtroom. Fixated on its maintenance as she was, there was nothing she could offer in the way of combat. It left Viola to stave off both agony and her father at once. Josiah was shirking his essence, and it was growing irritating.
He was still running. She had absolutely no idea why he was still running. He’d fight the Dissonance with his bare hands, maybe.
“Josiah, what are you doing?” Viola snapped, catching her breath.
He didn’t bother answering. Octavia watched in utter confusion, more than anything, as he made no effort to go anywhere near the abundant Dissonance. Instead, he vaulted over one of the mahogany desks that had been so quickly vacated moments before. With careful balance, his speed hardly slowed, his shoes pounding against the innocent wood as he darted even across the table itself. She was amazed he didn’t slip.
He didn’t jump so much as lunge, although the forward distance of his movement in one leap was still incredibly impressive. In the time it took her to blink, Octavia watched as Josiah closed in on tight robes and flaming hair, one open palm extended flat in her direction. With an effort far too calculated relative to the simplicity of his movements, Josiah brushed his fingertips along the exposed skin of her hand. He didn’t stop running. He didn’t so much as make an effort to slow down. One fleeting, hurried touch was all he offered, the path he now intended to follow becoming wildly unpredictable.
She screamed.
It was more of a singular noise of shock, one quick and strangled sound that erupted from the judge’s throat with no control. Her eyes had launched far beyond Josiah, the personal confusion that had accompanied physical contact giving way to unbridled fear. Octavia followed her gaze to Viola, first, still more than immersed in laborious combat. It wasn’t the correct path, apparently. If she squinted, the same line of sight trailed to billowing, rolling violet, inching ever closer to Viola’s right flank.
Thankfully, Viola saw it. Somehow, she wasn’t the only one.
Octavia quickly threw her head to the left, ignoring the discomfort that came with rugged strings jutting sharply into her skin. Josiah wasn’t done. He repeated the same erratic ministrations, one by one, upon every innocent soul who’d been caged by her light. In an unbroken sprint, the path he wove was almost calculated, threading around and between every facet of the proceedings ring. With each step past another person, jurors and onlookers alike, the same fingers delicately brushed against their bodies. He went for arms, hands, shoulders, sides, and every applicable inch of extremities that he possessed the capacity to reach. Where he touched, the screaming followed--relentlessly.
Each and every time, each and every set of non-Maestro eyes darted frantically around the room, locked onto swirling purple with unrestrained horror. The vast majority had frozen in place, not daring to move in the face of the unknown. Some drew ever closer to one another, or to the far edges of Octavia’s light. Octavia would’ve felt a bit worse, had her own eyes not been so wide.
Josiah continued to enact the same inexplicable behavior outside of the semicircle, gracing those cowering behind hardwood seating or lingering in the far corners of the room. Viola, too, had picked up on the situation. Much the same as Octavia, she possessed eyes that spoke in excess to equal disbelief.
“What…did you do?” she finally asked, her voice shaking. Whether it was from the sustained efforts of wielding Silver Brevada or from abject awe, Octavia wasn’t certain.
Josiah was seemingly satisfied, allowing himself reprieve at last. He came to a standstill just before the semicircle, panting somewhat. He flexed the fingers of a hand previously outstretched, hunting for his breath before offering up an answer.
“I figured out my gift.”
“What?” Viola and Octavia exclaimed in tandem.
Oxygen had blessed him at last, and he inhaled deeply. “If I touch them,” he began, “they can see it.”
“The friggin’ Dissonance?” Viola nearly shouted, gripping Silver Brevada tightly enough to whiten her knuckles.
He nodded. Octavia froze.
“Louise,” she breathed.
Even above the screams and screeches, he heard her. Josiah smirked. “It goes a bit deeper than that.”
“Why would you do that to them?” Viola shouted, somewhere between anger and panic.
At last, Josiah finally occupied that same empty hand with something of merit. Thrusting his palm deep into his bag, the blackened rosewood he withdrew let Octavia breathe a sigh of relief. “I told you to trust me.”
“You’re seriously pushing it!”
“Talk about this later!” he called, already raising Etherion to his lips.
Sliding his left foot forward, he braced against the carpet. When Octavia heard the same humming, crackling buzz taint the air again, she knew what was coming. She lamented her inability to cover her ears in advance, her hands still more than occupied. Seeing lightning bolts in a courtroom was somewhat amusing. It more than likely was not fun for the already-horrified people suffering in excess behind him. If nothing else, he was contributing.
His aim was true, and Octavia counted at least three square feet of Dissonance that was quickly annihilated by his swift melody--loudly. It was progress.
“I’ll take care of the excess,” he shouted above the noise. “Octavia needs to keep up her barrier!”
At the mention of her name, Octavia nodded. It occurred to her that he hadn’t mentioned a third Maestra at all. By comparison, her task was unspoken, and it was cause for alarm. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Octavia very much hoped that Josiah wasn’t going to say what she thought he would.
“Viola,” he called, somewhat softer.
She, too, seemed to know what was coming. When Viola turned her head, the hurt in her eyes was contagious. “I--”
“You’re the only one. I’m too new to this. I don’t know how to fix him. Octavia has to keep up her light. That leaves you.”
“Josiah--”
“I’m sorry to do this to you, but you have to.”
Viola shook her head, that same pain suddenly sharp. “I was going to do it anyway.”
Her words were surprising, in truth. It showed on both Octavia’s face and Josiah’s alike. “I’ll back you up once I clean up over here,” Josiah offered. “When it’s more manageable.”
Once more, Viola shook her head, Silver Brevada already on its way back up to her lips. “This isn’t your fight. It’s mine.”
He couldn’t find the words to argue. In his place, Octavia wouldn’t have done any differently. Viola didn’t offer her eye contact, nor did she gift the same to Josiah. The only person in the room worthy of her attention was the one whose face mirrored her own, twisted as it was. The collateral of her assault against the scattered Dissonance had served as enough of a deterrent to keep him away from her--let alone any bystanders he may have opted to prey upon. Even so, with the sudden stilling of her attacks, his new freedom of movement didn’t go unnoticed. If there was a time for sentimentality, Viola wouldn’t find it now. Apparently, she had little want for it, regardless.
She stiffened her muscles, her body a shield between the proceedings circle and the aisle’s end. She stared him down, and his dead eyes fixed her with the meaningless same. If she was miserable, it didn’t show on her face. If she was fearful, it didn’t show in her eyes. If she was hesitant, it certainly didn’t show in her body language.
“No matter what happens,” Viola demanded, “stay out of it.”
He rushed. She stood her ground. Vincent was as quick as he’d been just moments before, his strength unimpeded. Agonizing fugue and haze be damned, his Dissonant eyes were still cognizant. They could remember, somewhat. They could carry the sights up with them, and they could attest to hints of suffering in the grasp of malice. It was how he’d made it this far, after all. As such, the sight of Vincent Vacanti raising his arm high to bear down on his daughter was equal parts sickening and heartbreaking. How far gone was this man?
If Viola had the same thoughts in any capacity, she made absolutely no indication--nor did they show in her actions. She dodged swiftly, side-stepping his predictable attack with mild effort. He was substantially larger than her, petite as she was. Combined with her physical frailty, close-range confrontation was incredibly dangerous. Viola had limits. Octavia crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t exceed them.
It left Vincent far too close for comfort. Viola breathed sharply into Silver Brevada, weaving a hasty song that sent her fingers--and her father--flying. From beneath their feet, spikes of crystal erupted, jutting sharply skywards in a precise row between the two Vacantis. The way by which they caught the residual light of Octavia’s barrier, shimmering in earnest, was simultaneously beautiful and disorienting. Viola, too, stumbled, her footing compromised by the sudden movement of the earth so close to her. She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t let him get that close again.
Vincent’s recovery time wasn’t the most impressive Octavia had ever seen in a Dissonant individual. Still, there was a standard, and Vincent didn’t deviate from it. He was back on his feet shortly, charging at Viola once more without hesitation. This time, his best attempts to reach for her--whether to grab, scratch, punch, or otherwise--were interrupted by unforgiving shards of ice unleashed upon him. In a full-frontal assault, Viola had spared no mercy. Spearing icicles hovered aloft, neatly aligned on either side of her head in abundant reserve. If Octavia was a solar system, then Viola was the eye of a blizzard, crowned by frozen wrath in wait. Octavia somewhat wondered if that idea had been entirely Viola’s own.
The same jagged fragments were, thankfully, blunted in just the slightest upon each tip. If nothing else, it was enough to spare Vincent from a hailstorm of gory blows. Regardless, they were no less vicious. Every last one spiraled violently into his chest, his shoulders, his thighs, and his stomach. They didn’t break skin, although they pierced through fabric with ease. Most importantly, they were debilitating, sending him crashing to the floor without grace. Each time he pushed himself to his feet, Viola had more of the same in wait. She rained icy Hell on him with each forward movement, her reddened cheeks speaking to her efforts.
There was relative safety that came with ice, even if Octavia had never stopped to consider it. Were she to unleash a similar assault upon a person with her own light, she would surely incinerate them--a tried and true theory, at that. Harper, Josiah, and even Renato possessed raw powers that carried a certain degree of lethality by default. Madrigal, she knew, was unhindered by the limitations of wind. Unfortunately, Octavia had discovered that much in the worst way imaginable.
Under no circumstances was the legacy of the Soulful to be underestimated. Still, there was almost a sense of relief that came with Viola taking charge. Restraint was unnecessary. Unlike what had been the case with Harper, herself, and Ivy, Viola could go all-out against her father. Octavia could only hope that Viola knew those limits, too.
The backdrop of Josiah’s deafening bolts exploding around the proceedings ring was both atmospheric and jarring in its own right. He, too, was captivated by the conflict in a way that was almost detrimental to his efforts. He nearly missed his mark outright on several occasions, the size of his strikes be damned. Octavia wondered if he was tempted to turn his power towards the aisle, despite Viola’s pleas to the contrary. Seeing the Maestra slowly growing breathless, even now, was leaving her longing to do the same.
Viola was doing what she could, to her credit, particularly relative to her physical limitations. She wasn’t content to stay in one place, her feet moving in tandem with her fingers as she circled Vincent’s position. At any given time, she was moving, desperate to maintain the gradually-shrinking distance between the two of them. With each lunge forward, Vincent was greeted with much the same assault of crystal rain and glistening hail from on high. Still, his tolerance was increasing.
What blows had brought him to his knees moments before were now absorbed with growing ease, brutal and bruising as they were. Beneath the rippling flaps and scratched threads of torn clothing, Octavia could spot red welts beginning to raise upon his skin. Viola’s onslaught was absolutely doing damage. That was a given. Regardless, it wasn’t enough to pin him down.
That was an option.
Viola’s shoulders heaved, her pale face blasted instead with bright, splotchy reds. She was gasping for air, and her lungs were at last beginning to fail. Her frozen onslaught was weakening. Her circling was growing slower, and her limbs were growing sluggish. The gap between herself and Vincent, once maintained, was rapidly degenerating. Each push forward by her father, his unforgiving grasp extended towards her neck, was just barely repelled with ice that grew more feeble by the moment.
Viola’s prior attempts at repelling the Dissonance alone had their consequences, and they were catching up to her body at the worst possible time. She briefly lost her balance, stumbling several steps backwards. One of her flats collided with a stray, discarded icicle fragment with a sharp crack.
Viola’s eyes widened. With certainty, she’d gotten the same idea.
Octavia’s overpowering urge to intervene, if Viola had the energy left to make this work, would be unnecessary. Viola was, much to Octavia’s chagrin, straining her lungs to the absolute limit, her body shaking each time she raised the flute to chafing lips. Still, even now, she didn’t back down. The next time the gap between herself and Vincent sufficed, she claimed the opportunity. She aimed down, eyes cast towards the carpet instead of at her father’s face, and breathed a prayer into the mouth of Silver Brevada.
More precisely, it was his knees she was after. While her aim wasn’t quite as true as Octavia’s upon Ivy, the ice she had left worked splendidly. Even from afar, the glistening tips of each icicle spoke to more lethal points, sharpened anew to a worrying degree. If that was what it took, so be it--although Octavia wasn’t certain she wanted to see exactly where this was going.
Given Vincent’s growing ability to withstand the blunt force of Viola’s assault, increased violence was all she had left. Watching each icy spear, small as they were, sail relentlessly into his thighs and kneecaps alike was still vividly unpleasant. He didn’t scream, at least. The grunts and groans of pain were distressing in their own way, pairing well with the trickling blood that trailed the newfound homes of each jagged tip.
In a display somewhat too grotesque for a Maestra attacking her own parent, Viola at least found some hint of success. Vincent was robbed of his forward momentum, crashing to the ground face-first. The way by which he curled in on himself spoke to the harsh pain he undoubtedly endured. If his agony fazed Viola, she didn’t show it. Whether that was secondary to her present emotional barrier or her dangerous exhaustion remained to be seen. Her focus, either way, was sharp and uninterrupted. His legs were next.
Bound to the earth as he was, she started from his feet. The squeaking notes that followed, crafted hastily from tired lungs and burning lips, breathed to life a trail of creeping frost upon the carpet nearest his ankles. It moved rapidly, enveloping his shoes in full from the tips upwards. It was unbending and undeterred, climbing ever higher up his body as the sneaking frost swallowed his ankles on either side. So, too, came his calves, and the frozen trail halted abruptly just below his bruised and battered kneecaps. It hardened.
Abruptly, what had been feeble, speckled splinters of ascending snow and frost solidified into something tangible. Swift notes were all it took for thick clumps of uneven crystal to weigh heavily upon his skin. So frigid was Viola’s ice that it had even frozen solid against the innocent, bloody carpet below. Each and every fiber it grasped as collateral only served to tighten the frozen bindings. Even in pain as he was, Vincent fought in vain to writhe. His lower extremities didn’t budge by so much as an inch.
Viola wasn’t done. She moved to his wrists, just barely skirting the floor. On either side, the same frost was unforgiving and indiscriminate, besieging the cuffs of his shirt with identical crystalline bindings. Her ice was well-placed, precise and chilling as it was. Octavia made the assumption that she was at least attempting to spare Vincent the woes of excruciating frostbite. Here, too, desperate jerks of his arms were fruitless. There was an irony to be found in his restraints, unnatural as they were by comparison to mortal metal. This time, it was his own daughter who held the man in captivity.
He couldn’t move. The Dissonant man was utterly bound to the floor, his struggling useless. Viola had halted her song enough times to gasp desperately for air between equally-desperate notes. Her ice had withstood all the while, and Octavia assumed it would continue to do so. Light needed attention. In that way, they differed. Still, how long it could survive on its own was debatable, even for how it withstood Vincent’s resistance. Viola doubled over, hands on her knees as sweat dripped onto her socks.
“Brava,” she panted harshly.
I am here, girl.
“I’ve never done this before, so you better make sure I get it right.”
Even from afar, and even not aloud, the hum that the Muse gave inside her head reminded Octavia of Stratos’ own--if not sassier. Oh? Where is the confidence I have come to expect from my own?
At last, blessed with air to a mild degree, Viola managed to straighten up. With her shoulders still heaving somewhat, she coughed. “I have bad lungs. I can’t afford to mess this up. I need your help.”
Heed my words. I have long borne witness to the strength of your drive, despite the limitations of your frail body. I will reward your efforts, befitting of my legacy. Come, then.
“Alright,” she breathed, the same breath rattling with the effort of carrying words at all. With her eyes fixated upon Vincent alone, Viola was both at the complete edge of her limits and the apex of her focus.
Octavia wanted to cheer, to offer up every ounce of faith and strength she could offer from afar. Instead, she was silent, and she opted to steal with her eyes alone. She’d long forgotten her own song, ceaseless as her callused fingers moved of their own accord. The barrier hardly mattered. Josiah, the Dissonance, even the context to the situation in the first place, all were all wildly irrelevant. She swore not to take her eyes off Viola, long before the first note of her healing melody ever left Silver Brevada.
Finding her opening was the hardest part. Even with Vincent pinned to the ground, his constant flailing and movement made lining up the shot difficult. His messy bangs dripped down over his eyes, still stained by smoky tears in turn. Viola readied herself regardless, clinging to what little oxygen she’d been able to salvage in her brief reprieve. Again did the flute touch her lips.
“Brava,” she spoke firmly--as firmly as she could, given her soft hunting for stronger breath.
I am here.
“Guide my song.”
It shall be so. Show me the depths of your resolve, girl.
“Vi…ola.”
Octavia had heard, on one extremely specific occasion, words from the tainted throat of a Dissonant person. Twisted and distorted as they were, she'd understood them all the same. In that situation, as much as she loathed to recall it in any capacity, those words had been loaded with hatred and agony. Here, the three syllables that left Vincent’s mouth were sorrowful, full of hurt that outmatched his physical condition.
Were it not for the dead, blackened shades of fog that blotted out his light, Octavia was certain she would’ve found the same hurt in his eyes when he raised his head. For the most fleeting moment, she could’ve sworn she caught it in Viola’s. It didn’t stop her from seizing the one opportunity she had, pouncing on the very end of her own name from beloved lips.
Her sharp exhale and subsequent screeching brought with it snowflakes, crackling in the air aloft as they glistened the most crystalline blue. While significantly softer and more muted of a shade compared to Harper’s healing flames, the delicate aquamarine was anything but. The blizzard’s onslaught was rapid, barreling forward with a swirling rage that startled Octavia with its sheer speed. It wasn’t quite as fast as her own light. Regardless, given its composition, it was as swift as it could be.
It didn’t take long for the storm to reach Vincent. The singular plea of Viola’s own name was granted only an icy answer that choked him from within, pushing past his lips with great and chilling force. He hardly choked, his head instead violently jerking backwards with the impact of the frigid sensation inside.
Viola’s eyes narrowed, her grip on the flute strengthening as she pushed her fingers down harder onto each key. Her fingertips flew across the sparkling silver, her knees bent as her flats dug firmly into the carpet below. Already, if not a byproduct of her earlier efforts alone, her face was a vivid red. So, too, was her entire body shaking. Sweat, having beaded on her forehead, occasionally trailed down her cheeks and dripped onto her sleeves. She’d only just begun. Her bitter-cold squall was just now squirming down into the depths of Vincent’s very being, and she was already running on fumes. Nearly an empty shell, fueled only by sheer determination, Octavia prayed from the bottom of her heart that Viola wouldn’t faint.
The gusting snow and swirling frost, a neat line drawn between Silver Brevada and Vincent himself, reminded Octavia of a similar radiant ray she’d once constructed. The legacy was different, and Octavia wondered what the resistance felt like. While Vincent shook his head somewhat in protest at the predictably-uncomfortable sensation, he wasn’t fighting back nearly as much as Octavia had expected. His submission wasn't solely secondary to his frozen restraints, still unbending and unbroken as they tethered him to the carpet. He seemed almost resigned to his fate.
There are consequences to the legacy crowned by ice itself, came Brava’s voice, loud and clear above Viola’s song. You are a clever child. Surely you have come to realize by now. You feel it, do you not?
Ever so slowly, her song endless and her concentration unbroken, Viola nodded once.
You will have exactly one chance. Do you understand?
She hesitated. Then, she nodded twice.
Then you have my blessing. At your ready.
For a moment, there was nothing but more of the same. Viola’s frozen ballad still assailed Vincent from the inside out as the Dissonant man’s eyes fell shut. Perhaps for her own reasons, Viola, too, closed her own eyes, sliding one foot backwards as she lowered her body to the ground. She squared her shoulders, tensed her muscles, stole as much air as her weakened lungs could handle, and screamed everything she could into Silver Brevada.
A blizzard once so beautiful froze in full.
It wasn’t quite unlike the creeping line of frost that had crawled along Vincent’s extremities previously. That which had once been semi-fluid and versatile grew completely solid, suddenly freezing into uneven chunks. Beginning from her end, the spiraling tail of the frigid storm nearest to her lips coagulated into jagged glaciers in their own right. Not dissimilar to the spark of a flame upon brush, the chain reaction was instant.
Snowflakes that had swirled so viciously seconds before were encased in an icy prison, their brethren beside them caged in much the same manner all the way down into Vincent’s soul. Unlike what had been the case with both Octavia and Harper, there was no notable glow that came with Viola’s purification--to be expected, given that her legacy offered up no luminescence in the first place. Still, as the only Maestra with a legacy of tangible phenomena, the sight of the icy arch suspended above the floor was enough of a spectacle for Octavia.
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Only now did Vincent resist, not quite struggling so much as recoiling. Unable to move his head in the slightest, the reflexive tears that streaked his cheeks in vivid violet spoke to incredible discomfort. Restrained as he was, there was no clutching at his throat--although his curled fingernails scraping the carpet beneath desperately illustrated much the same concept. His whole body trembled, his shoulders heaving with what was likely a futile attempt to catch a breath so suddenly snatched away. The problem with a tangible legacy finally hit. The one thing worse than Dissonance ruining the man from the inside out was him asphyxiating in the midst of salvation.
Viola hadn’t stopped playing, her song accentuated by stray notes that touched upon her melody. Every shrill addition augmented her frozen bridge, by which portions hardened, glistened, and even grew. It was only after approximately eight more seconds that she seemed satisfied, her song trailing off abruptly as she yanked the flute from her lips. Vincent’s chest heaved with the futile effort of coughing. He was surely running out of air. Viola was surely running out of time. As was all she could do, Octavia prayed ever more.
With three shallow, gasping breaths the only reprieve she could gather, Viola raised Silver Brevada once more. She offered one singular note, dreadfully loud and unmistakably sharp. So, too, did she sustain it for far too long. The only sound that came anywhere near to its volume was the shattering that followed.
With the explosive vivacity of breaking glass, blasted by an unseen force, the carefully-crafted trail of crystal that had burrowed so deep inside of Vincent was no more. The frosted bridge between them shattered into thousands of splintered pieces, raining down onto the floor in excess. It was a miracle that their radius had been contained enough so as to not send them flying.
The innocent bystanders in the room--with two Maestros included--were, somehow, spared from the stray threat of icy shrapnel. At close range, not every fragment missed Viola. Even she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut as stray flakes, pointed or otherwise, splashed against her hands and clothes. If contact with her skin was an issue, then the greater concern came with exactly what happened inside of Vincent himself.
Octavia’s heart initially raced over the idea of such a violent burst, razor-lined as it was, occurring literally within Vincent’s body. As such, when the ice that had claimed his innards blasted outwards instead, she was immensely relieved. It practically rebounded, the cracked and spearing aquamarine erupting from his throat just as it had come. In excess, he was finally able to move his head, recoiling as his shoulders shook. The residual ice that burst forth from his lips went far past the carpet. It went high, exploding skywards as his head snapped backwards from the force alone.
What followed it outwards, mingling inseparably from the inverse hailstorm, was the vicious and rumbling violet smoke that had besieged Vincent from within. It traveled forever upwards, gushing aloft until it finally scraped against the ceiling. Where fleeing shards of jagged crystal surrendered, fizzling into thin air at last, so, too, did the smoke, screeching feebly in a dying cry. Just as before, the display was almost dazzling.
Pained as he was, it took a full thirty seconds before Vincent’s body was fully vacated of the hazy agony. The toxic veil of much the same laid upon his skin followed shortly after, gradually dissipating as his hands reclaimed their pale coloring. He coughed harshly again and again, his eyes falling shut.
Viola stumbled several steps backwards, Silver Brevada falling to her side in tandem with tired arms. The flute slipped from her fingers, crashing to the carpet below. She, too, followed suit. Her eyes closed, and she went down, hitting her head with a thud far too audible. She hyperventilated, every wheezing breath as desperate as it was rapid. Her face was aglow with scarlet alone, and she coughed with such fervor that Octavia feared she’d vomit. The sight was nearly enough for Octavia to do the same.
“Viola!” she cried, her fingers stilling instantly. She ripped Stradivaria from her shoulder, breaking into a full sprint towards the downed Maestra.
“Octavia, wait!” Josiah called.
The moment she turned her head, her frantic steps stifled in the slightest, her mistake hit. A luminous wall once so carefully maintained now surrendered to nothing, releasing a room ensnared in radiance. The dulling glow gave way to lights far more mortal overhead, and its absent warmth preceded the annihilation of violet. Every dissipating twinkle left her ill, for how her cage faltered amongst agony. Josiah had gotten most of it. He wasn’t done.
By the time she’d realized, there was nothing she could do. The Dissonance that remained was more swift than she’d expected, boiling mists squirming between the cracks of the main doors. It was more than enough to leave her panicking, her eyes darting back and forth between Stradivaria and the exit. If she ran, she wasn’t certain she could catch it. The distance from the courtroom to the front steps wasn’t massive. That was a bad thing.
“Oh, no, no, no, no!” she lamented aloud.
Josiah sighed. “It’s okay. It won’t get far.”
Her eyes snapped to him, and his neutral expression eased her worries somewhat. Still, she tilted her head as Etherion settled into his bag, the bell of the clarinet still oozing smoke. “What do you mean?”
“My backup plan has a backup plan,” he said plainly.
She was incredibly tempted to press him on whatever had been going through his head for the past several hours. It was getting progressively more difficult to bite her tongue. Regardless, Viola took priority. Violent coughing from afar stole every ounce of her attention, and Josiah became the least of her concerns. Once more, she was sprinting, nearly stumbling over the carpet as she raced to the Maestra’s side. Her footsteps echoed close behind, and she assumed worry was not hers alone.
Octavia dropped to her knees, hastily discarding the violin on the carpet below. She was almost afraid to touch Viola at all, deep in the throes of respiratory distress as she was. Even so, her hands still hovered uselessly above the girl.
“Viola, are you okay?” she asked frantically, well aware of the answer.
Josiah, too, was on his knees. With a different haste altogether, he unslung his bag from his shoulder, setting it close beside him. “Did I hear you say you have problems with your lungs?”
Viola couldn’t answer. She could only nod weakly, still gasping for air.
“Do you take any medicine for that?”
She shook her head, just as weak.
Josiah hooked one arm beneath her shoulders, pulling her upright slowly. “Sit up. It’ll help. Take deeper breaths.”
Viola didn’t resist his touch, leaning into his support. She did what she could to oblige his second recommendation, although with little notable success. Even so, her breaths were definitely steadying. Octavia, against her better judgment, copied Josiah’s lead, half-embracing Viola from the opposite side.
“That was incredible,” she praised. “You were amazing.”
Given the girl’s laborious breaths, Octavia hadn’t meant to prompt a response. She earned words regardless. “Did…I do it?” Viola panted.
It was Josiah who smiled. “You nailed it.”
Viola’s head flopped backwards, the tiniest of smiles gracing her exhausted lips. Octavia’s eyes drifted to a man newly liberated of Dissonance, involuntary as the act was. Prone against the carpeted aisle, Vincent lay nearly motionless. The rise and fall of his shoulders, soft and even as it was, served as his one true sign of life. On occasion, his fingers twitched. At some point, ice that had once kept him tethered had fled, evaporating in its own right. Flecks of residual frost clinging to his clothes were his only souvenir.
“Is he…okay?” Viola breathed, her half-lidded eyes slowly flooding with fatigue.
Octavia nodded. “He’s fine. I promise he’s fine.”
Josiah pushed himself to his feet, taking his bag along with him. “Everyone else is fine, too. All things considered, this could’ve gone a lot worse.”
“Viola?”
A voice that had called for her before, in the depths of agony, did so twice over. Spared from the pains of Dissonance, untwisted syllables were clear and true. From Vincent’s lips again came Viola’s name, spoken with such tenderness that Octavia wondered how fragile it was.
With notable effort and trembling muscles, he’d regained his footing, staggering in the process. His hair was unkempt, messy bangs still bothering sorrowful eyes that were clear to see once more. His body was blighted by a frozen assault, either oozing red or caked with the same in any number of places. Beneath tattered fabrics and threads, welts thrived and bruises blossomed in the wake of pelting aquamarine. Even so, wounded or not, his face was aglow. His gaze shimmered. His shoulders were shaking once more.
Viola hardly needed to motion for assistance. Her nonverbal request made enough sense, and Octavia guided her to her feet. Her name upon his lips was enough to leave her eyes wide. Vincent offered her eye contact, and she reciprocated with trembling fingers. Octavia wasn’t ignorant to the way by which Viola’s eyes flickered to Silver Brevada, still languishing helplessly on the carpet.
He broke into a sprint. She wasn’t fast enough. Weak and disoriented, the instrument would’ve eluded her anyway. It was all Viola could do to brace as her father rushed for her once more, tears plaguing him yet again. Viola's face flooded with fear, and her opened mouth never managed a scream.
Octavia was equally as slow. She was equally as distant from Stradivaria, equally as surprised, and equally as horrified. Even if she lunged for the violin, the amount of time it would’ve taken to raise the instrument at all would’ve left her much too late. She couldn’t so much as dash between the two Vacantis.
Her only contribution was a cry. “No!”
Josiah, to his credit, tried his best, turning sharply on one heel as he readied a dash of his own. He gritted his teeth. “I thought she got him!”
Viola’s hands curled into fists, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her father collided with her in full. It was the most gentle assault Vincent Vacanti could offer.
He threw his arms around her, embracing the girl tightly. One tender, shaky hand came to rest against her hair. Vincent pulled her head close to his chest, pressing his lips against her scalp. His own hair brushed against her bow on the way down, and his shoulders continued to shake. He wept.
“Viola,” he murmured, again and again. “Viola, Viola, Viola.”
For a moment, Viola didn’t emote. She was utterly still in his embrace, hands useless at her sides. Her fists unfurled, and she did what she could to raise her head in his endless embrace.
“Father?” Viola croaked.
Her words left him sobbing ever harder, bitter tears painting her forehead and cascading down her cheeks in turn. “How I’ve missed your beautiful, beautiful voice so.”
Viola didn’t speak. Even so, Octavia saw the way her blinks quickened, the way her lip wobbled and her face contorted with pain. Her eyes began to water, slowly filling with tears to match his own.
“My daughter,” Vincent breathed. “My sweet daughter.”
“Father,” Viola answered, her voice cracking instantly.
At last, she returned his love, burying her face in his chest. She tossed her arms around his neck, rising to the tips of her toes to hold him ever closer. He bent down to her level, kissing her forehead tenderly as she cried.
“To have you in my arms again is all I’ve ever dreamed of,” Vincent said, cradling her head. “There is nothing more.”
“I missed you,” Viola wailed, clinging to the collar of his shirt. “I missed you so much.”
“You never came to visit. Were you furious with me? I wouldn’t have blamed you, if so. I thought you hated me.”
Viola shook her head, her face still buried against him. “I couldn’t see you like that. I didn’t want to see you in that place. I could never hate you! I’m so, so sorry! I was trying to think of a way to get you out, all this time! A-And after that, I would…I’d…”
He pulled her away for a moment, untangling from their eternal embrace delicately. With his hands on her shoulders, he matched her tearful gaze. “I’m not accusing you of anything, my love. I must atone for what I’ve done. Even so, know that no matter what walls separate us, my love for you will never be far.”
Bitterness ran down her reddened skin, dripping onto her shoes. “I wanted to save you.”
Vincent rubbed her head, his fingers rustling the hair that matched his own. He smiled through his tears. “As you have done, my love. I couldn't be more proud to call you mine. Your grandmother has told me you’ve followed in her footsteps.”
“You talked to her?” Viola asked, sniffling.
“Of course,” he said softly. “She’s told me of the incredible Maestra you’ve become. Someone has to keep me company.”
Even through her sorrow, Viola couldn’t stifle a giggle. Vincent smiled.
“There’s that gorgeous laugh. You’ve grown so splendidly. When did my daughter become such an extraordinary and beautiful young lady?”
“I really, really miss you,” Viola murmured.
“I’m never far,” he murmured back, his voice laced with love. “I want to hear all of your stories, all of your passions, the things that make you laugh and cry. I want to hear of all the people who’ve made your life what it is.”
She gave her eyes, once entrusted to her father, to Octavia instead, coupled with a smile. Octavia hadn’t even noticed she was in tears until it was too late, and the revelation was almost embarrassing. She did what she could to smear them with haste against her palms, waving from afar.
“This is Octavia,” Viola began quietly. “My best friend.”
The title alone made her heart sing. Not crying harder was a challenge. “I-It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Vacanti.”
“Thank you for standing up for me, Octavia,” Vincent said. “More importantly, thank you for taking care of my daughter.”
“She does not take care of me,” Viola grumbled, never doffing her smile.
“Yes I do. She makes me cook all of her meals and tuck her in every night. Sometimes I have to feed her.”
“I lied. She’s not my best friend anymore. I don’t know her.”
Vincent laughed--a beautiful sound that, too, reminded Octavia of Viola. “You’ve surrounded yourself with such wonderful people. I hope the bonds you’ve made take you far. I look forward to hearing about them, as well. I…want to be a part of your life, too.”
Viola rested her forehead against his. “I’m sorry I left you out of it. I’ll do better. I’ll come visit, I promise.”
The second embrace, at least, wasn’t enough to bring Octavia to tears again. To her right, Josiah seemed immune to the same sorrowful plight. Still, he wasn’t quite immune to a smile, soft and delicate as it was. For a moment, he shared it with her, too. Eventually, it slipped from his face, and she lost what comfort she’d found in his expression. It sharpened. It shifted. His eyes drifted in turn, and they were no longer meant for her.
He turned his attention to those she’d forgotten existed, still helplessly coagulated in a forsaken area of proceedings. Dozens of eyes, confused and bound to silent lips, fell to one boy alone. The pressure in every anxious gaze was palpable as they crashed down onto him. Still, he didn’t waver, his confidence aglow.
“It’s a disease,” he spoke loudly, projecting his voice with surprising skill. “It’s uncontrollable. It’s mysterious, it’s lethal, and we’re still learning how it works--how it comes to be. It can’t be treated, it can’t be stopped, and it can’t even be seen under normal circumstances. We are the only cure.”
Josiah paused to drink in their reactions, wide-eyed and horrified in equal measure. The sight was satisfying enough, apparently, and he continued. “Now, you’ve seen it with your own eyes. It’s the same as it was those eight years ago. It can’t be reasoned with, and it can’t be explained. When you’re sick, you’re not rational. When you’re afflicted, you can’t help but do horrible things. The agony breaks you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. “You’re not immune to it, either. You’re not safe. Someday, this could be you. Look at this man and ask yourself if he’s the same sick person you saw just moments ago.”
If it was a request, it came off as a demand. Every set of eyes flickered between Josiah and Vincent, and Octavia followed along. Josiah stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“When it’s over,” he said, “you don’t remember. If you do, it’s not by much. It’s like a trance you can’t come up from. Stay under long enough, and you’ll die. No matter for how long, when you’re sick with this disease, you have no control over yourself. If you can’t see it, though, people will just think you’re insane. In that moment, you are insane.”
He shifted his weight to his other foot, cocking his head. “I’m no doctor, but take this as a testimony. You know what you saw. You can’t deny what you just witnessed with your own eyes. Keep that in mind when you make your decision. We’ll wait.”
Octavia winced, particularly given his fixation upon flame-kissed hair and trailing robes. Even relative to the broken order of the courtroom, he was being bold. You’re gonna sass the judge? Seriously?
She was glad Etherion was paying attention, even if the tones of his voice were still jarring. I think we have the leverage for it, at this point. We did just save her life. I’ve earned the right to sass.
You fight Dissonance three times and suddenly you think you’re on top of the world.
Octavia watched the way Josiah struggled to stifle a laugh, just barely finding success. I am.
To her credit, disoriented or otherwise, the judge eventually found her words. “D-Does…does either side have any additional witnesses?”
The prosecutor and defense shook their heads in tandem, more than unsettled as they practically clung to the wall. “N-No, your honor.”
“U-Uh,” the judge stammered, dreadfully opposite of her prior composure, “in that case, the jury may begin their deliberation.”
Josiah smirked. Are they even going in order anymore?
Octavia rolled her eyes at him playfully. Would you, after that? I’d just want to go home.
I’ve wanted to go home for the past hour and a half.
The discussion was hushed, if not overwhelmingly informal. Ten people once so distant throughout her testimony now deliberated of their own accord, words of judgment cast beneath hurried breaths. Not once did Viola or Vincent depart one another’s arms, nor did Octavia stop biting her nails. In truth, two minutes to determine the value of a man’s life was horrifying.
The entire process was equally as rushed as the rest of the proceedings, and it was one more strange aspect of a trial that already made so little sense. In the same way, she was relieved that the agony of suspense was so quickly dashed. Josiah glaring at each juror in turn the entire time was somewhat comical. Intimidating as he was, Octavia was surprised that the judge didn’t call him on it.
One of the ten, just as unremarkably clad as all others, raised her voice at last. The first syllables alone were enough for Octavia’s stomach to twist into a knot. A brief glance at Viola found apprehension that matched her own. Josiah, confident as he was, still continued to glare. By this point, leveled with the woman reading the verdict, it was a challenge.
Remember, he offered, everyone already knows he’s guilty. This is about how guilty.
Octavia nodded. Right.
“We, the jury,” the woman began, her voice wobbling, “having ruminated upon both circumstance and all available evidence, cannot in good conscience recommend that the defendant be put to death.”
Octavia could’ve screamed. She nearly did. The grin that erupted on her face threatened to split her in half, and she cast it at Josiah. His bright smile was a wonderful compensation prize.
I told you to trust me, didn’t I?
Viola and Vincent weren’t immune to the same joy. Viola’s smile far outmatched Vincent’s own. It was beautiful. She clung to him ever tighter, and he did the same back. If she could cry out with happiness on their behalf, then, Octavia would’ve.
“Furthermore.”
Octavia blinked. That should’ve been it.
“After consideration of multiple factors, we of the jury also recommend that the defendant’s sentence be adjusted accordingly to fifteen years, by reason of mental disease. This jury also recommends inclusion of the defendant’s time previously served in consideration of an amended sentence.”
Octavia almost fainted.
Josiah seemed to expect it, albeit not by much. He darted to her side, quickly throwing his arm around her shoulder. Only now did he mirror the explosive grin she’d worn moments before. “There we go,” he said.
“You knew?” she asked incredulously.
He nodded, his beaming smile never faltering for a moment. “I figured it might happen. To my understanding, insanity is a hell of an argument. It was a secondary goal. Worked great.”
Embracing him was a reflex, and she ignored the way Josiah recoiled under her touch. She was ecstatic by proxy, breathless as her eyes fell to the Vacantis once more. They were outright on their knees, openly sobbing in tandem. They clung to one another so tightly that Octavia wondered if their souls would merge. Tears once bitter upon eyes so similar grew sweet and pure, their unrestrained happiness spilling to the world below. From afar, she could hear their love, so wonderfully affirmed in words of adoration breathed time and time again. They deserved this. Viola deserved this.
The girl’s smile, eternal and unhindered, pierced Octavia’s heart. It was the happiest she’d ever seen Viola. With everything she had, she fought to capture the sight with her eyes forever.
----------------------------------------
Prying Vincent and Viola off of one another was an agony that broke the spell of a reunion eight years in the making. Insane or not, he had seven more years with which to atone. Where Viola had exited through the front, safety concerns led Vincent through the back. Strangled by Dissonance as he’d been, the return of shackles wasn’t entirely unwarranted. He took it with grace, and he left a smile in his wake. Viola swore to visit. That was enough to keep him warm on the way out.
Josiah’s parting comments, calculated as they were, still nearly sent Octavia into hysterics.
By the way, he’d addressed the uncomfortable courtroom, that disease. We’re still learning about it, like I said, and we’re still learning how it shows up. We do know talking about it in any way is enough to manifest it, though, so I’d be careful about that if I were you. Really mysterious stuff. Of course, that includes bringing up the people who can fix it. Let’s all play it safe, okay? We don’t want anyone getting sick, now, do we?
They’d all shaken their heads with extreme fervor. She couldn’t believe that actually worked, especially given exactly how much fun he’d seemed to have while saying it. Josiah had a point. The sight left little to disbelieve. At the very least, she hoped his logic held up over time.
She finally figured out the backup plan to his backup plan, violet-free as the outside steps were. The stray Maestros standing guard beyond the courthouse had completely slipped her mind. Their faces alone left her smiling.
“Oh my God, finally!” Renato groaned as the doors swung open, arms thrown skywards dramatically. “So? Are they gonna kill him?”
That smile didn’t last long. Octavia scowled. “I’m gonna kick you down the stairs.”
He cringed. “Sorry! I keep forgetting!”
Sharp wording or not, Viola was still elated. The soft grin dusted across her lips was permanent. “He’s safe. They’re…gonna let him out.”
“Really?” Renato and Madrigal exclaimed in tandem.
Viola nodded. Madrigal beamed. “Right now?” she asked excitedly.
Viola giggled. “Not right now. He still has to serve another seven years, but they…the insanity idea worked. They changed his sentence for the better.”
“Josiah’s plan went awesome,” Octavia praised, her bright smile pointed at the boy in question.
“Yeah, what the hell happened in there, by the way?” Renato asked. “We were hangin’ out on the steps, and all of a sudden there’s just…whoosh. Purple stuff.”
Given the delicate nature of the situation, Octavia hesitated to answer. It wasn’t her place. She left it to Viola.
“It…happened again,” the Maestra clarified. “He became Dissonant a second time. I don’t know why.”
Again, the exclamation of surprise was twofold and simultaneous. It was somewhat comical.
“Your father was swallowed by darkness again?” Madrigal cried.
“Were you guys okay?” Renato echoed her cries. “Was everyone okay?”
“It was fine,” she offered with a dismissive wave. “Josiah had this…deranged plan that somehow worked. I think he made it up as he went along. It was kinda scary. It worked a bit too well, actually.”
“Yeah, I’ve still got questions about that,” Octavia asked, turning to face the boy in question. He only smirked.
“Wait, so…who got him back to normal?” Renato asked.
When Octavia and Josiah’s eyes floated to Viola in unison, the other two Maestros repeated the exact same exclamation routine once more. This time, Octavia really did laugh.
“Viola, that’s incredible!” Madrigal praised, outright applauding the girl.
“Whoa, but like, with ice? Doesn’t that hurt? I feel like that would hurt.”
Viola, too, laughed. “I’m just glad everything worked out.”
It took a moment for her laughter to settle. She turned to Josiah, averting her eyes for a moment before summoning the strength to meet his own. “I’m…sorry I doubted you. You and your backup plan, I mean. Whatever you had in mind, it worked out really well. You’re…really good at thinking on your feet. And you’re a great Maestro.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I…don’t think I earned that much praise.”
Octavia clasped her hands together comfortably behind her back. “What was your plan anyway? I know you said it wouldn’t work if you told anyone. Your main plan, the backup plan, all your plans. I’m really curious. It sounds like you really thought this through.”
He sighed. When his expression fell blank, it was almost unsettling. “I don’t think you’re gonna like at least one of these answers.”
Viola tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
The eyes of every Maestro in unison fell upon him, and he shuffled his feet against the steps awkwardly. “I want to preface this with the fact that I…knew it would work.”
Viola raised an eyebrow. “What, did you kill someone for this or something?” she joked.
He ignored her. “I really did intend to have Octavia testify. That part was true. If that worked, that would’ve been the end of it. If it didn’t work, that was the…backup plan. And that’s what ended up having to happen.”
“You wanted me to testify to his character, right?” Viola asked.
He hesitated for several seconds. It was just barely long enough for his eyes to grow cold and hard. “I never intended for it to get that far. I just needed everyone to see something.”
Viola blinked. Josiah continued. “I said that talking about Dissonance wouldn’t help at all. Seeing is believing, though.”
Viola’s face fell. “What do you…”
“Actually seeing Dissonance up close is much different than hearing about it. From there, it was just passing the sight along,” he clarified, flexing the fingers of one hand for emphasis. “Then I just had to rub it in a bit, and there’s our insanity argument. That’s the gist of it, at least. None of this would’ve worked if I hadn’t figured out the--”
“How did you know?”
Viola’s interruption hardly fazed him. Josiah tilted his head slightly, hands sliding back into his pockets. “How did I know what?” he asked, his voice low.
“How did you know he’d become Dissonant?” Viola murmured. Her voice shook slightly with every word.
Distance be damned, the icy gaze he fixed Viola with was radiant. Even from afar, it left a chill seizing Octavia’s spine in turn.
“Not seeing your beloved daughter for eight years will do that to you,” he said coolly.
Viola’s hand moved before her mouth did. She struck him sharply across the face, one open palm smashing against his cheek in an instant. His neck alone jerked to the side, the remainder of his body motionless. He never so much as took his hands out of his pockets. Madrigal gasped.
“Hey, chill!” Renato shouted.
Octavia wasn’t immune to the same. “Viola!” she warned.
“You’re horrible,” Viola growled, every syllable dripping with ire.
To Octavia’s extreme surprise, Josiah only gave her a soft smile. “I know. I’m not a good person. I deserved that.”
Viola hadn’t lowered her violent hand, five fingers still splayed wide aloft. Her breath rattled with each exhale, her eyes narrow as she glared venom into his soul. “But you’re smart,” she muttered at last. “You’re clever.”
He pressed one palm against his cheek, slowly reddening from the force of the blow. “Again, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know it would work. I did this for you. I’m sorry to have put you through that.”
Viola closed her eyes, reclaiming her arm at last. “Thank you. For…doing all this for me. I’m…really happy to have you as a Maestro by my side.”
He stiffened somewhat. “Really?”
Aggravated or not, she somehow still found a smile. “You’re already a natural. You’re gonna be great. You already know all of your strengths, and you complete our little legacy set. Your gift is…kind of terrifying, but it has its uses, apparently. It’s a huge help having you around. I’m looking forward to seeing you grow.”
He paused. Then, he returned a smile far weaker. “I…appreciate it.”
“Thank you guys for sticking around, too,” Octavia offered sideways, her attention given to two different Maestros altogether. “Sorry to put you on clean-up duty again.”
Madrigal saluted dramatically. “The forces of darkness will never roam free in this city, so long as we’re here! Or anywhere, really!”
Octavia laughed. When her amusement passed, curiosity was a reflex. She couldn’t help the way her eyes drifted to Madrigal’s left in slow silence. Prying eyes descended into cherry oak hands in search of more of the same. She did, in fact, find one slice on either side. She didn’t bring it up aloud, and yet she enjoyed the warm smile that bubbled to her lips.
“Stariiiing.”
Renato’s voice was more or less in her ear. She hadn’t even noticed he’d leaned in so close. Octavia jumped in both surprise and embarrassment alike, crossing her arms defensively.
“S-Sorry,” she stammered. “I just…was wondering. Did you…you know…this time?”
His brilliant grin gave the answer her heart was hunting for. “Hell, yeah, I did. And it felt good. Real good.”
She wished she could match him with a grin just as bright. Even if she couldn’t, she still did her best. “I’m so happy for you. I mean it.”
“Felt awesome to be back in action again,” Renato went on. “Sucks that Maddie and I didn’t get it all to ourselves, though.”
She blinked. “What?”
“He won’t come up the damn stairs. He’s bein’ shy.”
One drumstick, lazily pointed towards the bottom of the steps, trailed all the way down to a visage forsaken for far too long. She earned his back instead of his face, recognizable all the same. Octavia resisted the urge to rush to him, by which she’d steal the steps two at a time to offer him nothing at all. Whatever she had would be awkward, if not devoid of merit.
He was a magnet for her by his presence alone, and she’d already begun the descent. She’d figure it out when she got there. Viola echoed her every step with equal haste the moment her gaze fell to the same place. Her steps might’ve been faster. Neither Maestra had the courage to call out his name.
It wasn’t until their feet touched the street once more in unison that either one made an attempt. Octavia beat Viola to it.
“Harper.”
He didn’t budge, momentarily. “Is he with you?”
Octavia flinched. “What?”
“If I turn around, am I gonna see his face?”
“No,” Viola answered. “They…took him out through a back exit. He’s headed back to the prison.”
“Okay,” the boy breathed. Only now did he offer them his face, turning in full. It hardly helped. His eyes were empty, his expression blank.
“How did it go?” Harper asked quietly.
Octavia winced. “It…uh…it was a lot. We didn't--”
He raised one palm in a plea for peace, stifling her words. “It’s okay. I already know something happened in there. You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much.”
Instead, he turned to Viola. “What did they decide?”
She stiffened. “They’re not gonna give him the death penalty. And they’re…going to let him out in a few years.”
The tiny hum of disconnected surprise that left Harper’s throat didn’t match with his stagnant eyes. “Really,” he said, hardly a question.
Viola nodded, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Yeah.”
Octavia watched him struggle to turn the corners of his mouth upwards. He was just barely successful, the absolute faintest excuse for a smile ghosting his lips. Once more, it didn’t pair well with his hollow gaze. “I’m happy for you.”
Viola fought to give him a genuine smile back, strained as it was. “Thank…you.”
“They said you helped,” Octavia interjected quickly. “Renato and Madrigal, they said you helped with the Dissonance that came out of the courtroom.”
Harper nodded, every trace of a false smile gone. “Yeah. I…came to check in. Wanted to wait for you. It showed up. I helped. Nothing special.”
Viola drew closer to him. “It…means a lot to me. That you helped, I mean. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I’m here for you,” he said suddenly, stronger. “Not for him. I told you, I’ll do whatever I can for you. I’m…glad you’re safe.”
Those words, if nothing else, sounded like him. When Viola reached for him, he didn’t resist. He pulled her close, pressing his face to her hair much like her father had done with love just minutes before. Harper really did smile--a true smile, muted as it was.
“I don’t deserve you,” Viola murmured. “Thank you.”
Harper stroked her hair softly with his fingertips, running them through the thick, black waves she’d stolen from Vincent. “Let’s go back. Let’s put this behind us. It’s done and over with.”
Viola nodded against his shoulder, pulling back at last. When she freed him from her embrace, she answered with a nod. “Yeah. I…wanna go home. Together.”
He nodded in turn. Viola went first, and a glance beyond her shoulder confirmed a Maestra in her wake. Octavia, too, cast her eyes up the stairs. A Soulful departure had left yet more Maestros descending to the street below, unhurried as they were. She took her time. So did Harper. Harper took more than her, really, and every attempt to walk at his side left him lagging behind with hushed footsteps.
“You okay?” she finally asked.
He smiled softly, nodding. “I’m fine. I’ll…be fine.”
She was quiet for a moment. He was still slow. Viola was ahead of them by a notable margin, the slight exuberance in her step more than visible. “Can I ask you something?”
Harper tilted his head. “What's up?”
“And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah.”
Octavia fidgeted with the hem of her dress anxiously. “Did you…really want her father’s sentence to be changed back?”
He didn’t answer her at all. She didn’t need to be concerned about his walking speed anymore, at least, for how he overtook her altogether. In moments, she was at his back. Octavia feared she’d offended him, at first. She was halfway towards fumbling the apology bubbling to her lips when he beat her there, his face stolen from her.
“Octavia?”
She tensed. “Yes?”
Harper paused. Even beyond her, Octavia caught the softest of sighs.
“Sometimes I’m really glad our gifts weren’t switched.”