For the next week, she really did keep a schedule. She refused to indulge in the planner idea, with or without stickers. The high of success was more than enough of a motivator.

It wasn’t the most even pacing, by which she sometimes was able to handle two Maestros a day rather than one. Octavia was torn between rushing and taking her time. Ultimately, she settled somewhere square in the middle, letting River and the Ensemble hand her candidates to free from their unwilling bonds. Even now, she still opted solely to work through those who resented their current status or otherwise couldn't continue to indulge in Maestro life.

It wasn’t often that she met adult Maestros, having been exposed largely to those adjacent to her own age--or roughly within two years of the same. Even Priscilla had only been on the absolute cusp of her twenties. As such, guiding the Muses of Maestros old enough to be her parents was an odd experience. It was still preferable to guiding the Muses of Maestros young enough to be her little siblings.

Most were simply disinterested, if the term could be used so lightly. For some, it was exposure to the horrors of Dissonance that led their decision--a bubble Octavia didn’t have the heart to burst right away, given the curse that would follow for the rest of their lives. Some really were frail and ailing. For the ways by which they were impaired, their stubborn Muses risked severely injuring them, should they force their Maestro’s hand and demand that they play.

Brava had known when to quit with grace, although he’d had another Maestra waiting not long down the line. Mente and Aste had given a second chance to a boy who was, for all intents and purposes, an exception driven by fire and determination alone. Neither of them had been sick, at least, too ill to so much as conjure the breath it would take to wield their instruments without suffering. In those instances, she supposed it couldn’t always have been the fault of the Muse who’d chosen their partner. Waiting around for their Maestro to grow so compromised that their bond truly wilted surely couldn't have been an enjoyable existence.

She’d finally gotten to try her hand at some of the residents of Tacell, even, no longer limited solely to guests brought along from beyond its grassy borders. Within the settlement, too, had been those who met the “unwilling and unfit” criteria--as had been clarified by the Ensemble. It saved everyone effort, and for that, Octavia was grateful.

She was even more grateful at the way people began giving her the breathing room she needed to work without stress. Eyes that had watched her every motion of guidance with unshakable interest were finally taking a hint, as of late. Regardless, they hadn't all been kind enough to ignore her at every opportunity. She caught wandering gazes from time to time.

“Does it…hurt?”

Octavia was so distracted with the budding aftermath of her guidance that she almost missed the inquiry entirely. The Strong Muse that slowly dissipated in a lovely display of sparkling, sun-graced silvers and whites was a bit more of interest. She didn’t particularly want to know how that legacy manifested with a recorder. It was almost a chore to retract her attention, the voice that implored her not at all the same as the one she’d focused on liberating.

“Does what hurt?” she asked.

Faith averted her eyes the moment Octavia offered her own. It was uncomfortable. “T-The…Witnessing. Is it painful?”

Octavia shook her head. “Not physically. It can be really draining to go through, though. I never quite know what I’m gonna find in there. I don’t even know if I’m going to find more than one, sometimes.”

“Are you scared at all?”

She waved over her shoulder to the departing Maestro--former Maestro, now, a bit too much spring in his step as he bounced back in the Ensemble’s general direction. She wished him safe travels with her eyes, at least. “I used to be. It’s not so bad anymore. It was a lot worse when the tolls were people I knew. Here, I don’t know anyone. I think I got the hard stuff out of the way.”

Faith fidgeted with her hands, still more than unable to meet Octavia's eyes. “Do you…like being the Ambassador?”

Octavia shrugged. “I don’t really like it or hate it. It’s just…there. It’s just what I know I have to do, and I know it’s what needs to be done to help.”

“I…see,” she murmured, twirling a stray strand of hair around one finger.

Octavia smiled. “I like your flowers.”

The red blossoms in the girl’s hair were actually quite cute, woven between the braided halo of golden blonde as they were. Her words were enough for Faith’s fingers to trail to soft petals, stroking self-consciously. “Really?”

Octavia nodded. “My dad likes flowers. He has a little garden. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him grow those, though. What are they?”

Faith’s faint smile was something to work with, if nothing else. “T-They’re petunias.”

“They’re pretty,” she praised.

“Thank you,” Faith murmured with the slightest tint of a blush. “They’re my favorite. I…grew them.”

“Yourself? Like, here? In Tacell?”

Faith nodded half-heartedly. Octavia beamed. “That’s amazing.”

“T-Thank you,” she stammered once more. “It’s my…hobby.”

“One of my friends likes flowers a lot, too,” Octavia added. “It’s a nice hobby to have. Do you think you could show me your garden sometime? If you don’t mind, I mean. I’d love to see it.”

Again, Faith nodded. “If the Ambassador is asking, how can I say no?”

Octavia stifled a chuckle. “You don’t have to do anything just because I’m the Ambassador. Just…call me Octavia. Don’t worry about the Ambassador stuff.”

“Be proud that you’re the Ambassador,” she spoke with confidence that Octavia hadn’t expected. “You can…be both. Don’t shy away from that title. You've worked so hard for it.”

The girl wasn’t wrong. Still, Octavia had a feeling their sentiments weren’t overlapping correctly. She appreciated the reassurance, misplaced as it was. “I’m…glad you think so. I think I’m happier just to have another Heartful Maestra around.”

Faith didn’t disagree, distracted as she was by subtle adjustments to her own floral accessories. “There’s not many of us. We’re special. We should stick together.”

“Special?” Octavia asked.

“There’s so few Heartful Muses that there’s barely any Heartful Maestros or Maestras. With the gift we have, we’re valuable. We’re the only ones who can…give them form. No one else can see them if we’re not here. It’s crazy to think about, right?” Faith explained.

It was a gift Octavia had taken for granted, mostly, given her own legacy and the free Muse greetings that came with it whenever desired. Given her constant close proximity to several more Maestros she cherished, they likely never had to wait long for the same. It was off-putting to think of how many Maestros would never see their partners' faces right up until her own hands set them free. Again did Domino’s face flash briefly in her mind. She still regretted it, somewhat.

“How many Heartful Muses are there, then?” Octavia tried.

“Jasse says there’s only ten.”

Her eyes widened substantially. “Out of ninety-six?”

Faith nodded in silence, as she tended to do. It wasn’t as though Octavia had a meaningful response for her. Of those ten, she could identify three on sight--Faith, herself, and the boy she’d violently encountered several days ago. Statistically, there was very little possibility the Ensemble didn’t know the whereabouts of a single other Heartful Maestro, for all that they were aware of. She made a mental note to press them on it later, let alone to ask if there were already any in Tacell besides Faith.

“You know that…only Heartful Maestros can be the Ambassador, right?” Faith asked.

Octavia, in turn, nodded. Stradivaria had told her as much when she’d accepted the task.

Faith was again fidgeting with her hands, apparently very poor at keeping still for long. “That means the Muses don’t have a lot of options to choose from. If something happens to their Ambassador, they have to hope one of their current Heartful Maestros is willing to take on the task. Otherwise, they’ll…just have to wait again. It’s like I said. We’re special, in that way. We’re necessary, perhaps more so than any other legacy.”

Octavia blinked. “I…never thought about it like that. It’s not like the others aren’t important, too, though. They all have incredible gifts and powers. I mean, have you seen the gift of the Spirited? The things you could do with that are…insane.”

Faith winced. “I-I didn’t mean it that way! I'm sorry! I don’t think the others aren’t important. I just…think you should be proud of your legacy, and I think you should be proud that you’re the Ambassador. For them to see you that way must be an honor. It’s an honor just to follow your light from here, as a fellow Heartful.”

Octavia flushed. “It’s really not that worthy of praise. Still, I appreciate it.”

The smile Faith gave her, awkward and wobbly as it was, was pleasantly received nonetheless. “I’ll cheer you on every step of the way. And I’ll…show you my garden at some point, if you still want to see. It’s like I said. We Heartful Maestras have to stick together.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Octavia smiled in return. “Yeah. It’ll be nice to have another legacy buddy around.”

“Do you think I can…watch you perform the Witnessing some more? Next time you do it, I mean?” she requested timidly.

“No problem,” Octavia said. “Just…as long as I can have space sometimes. It gets overwhelming if there’s a lot of tolls at once.”

“I-I completely understand. Let me know if you want me to leave you alone, Ambassador.”

“Call me Octavia,” she reminded gently.

“I’m sorry!”

It wasn’t even the answer she was looking for. Even so, it made her laugh. She had little to offer her fellow Heartful Maestra, wrapping up her designated guidance quota for the day as she was. Regardless, tomorrow was a new day. She didn’t particularly mind one more set of eyes on her ceremony, for once. Mina had mentioned a special place in her heart for her legacy siblings, at some point. In some strange way, Octavia could understand what she meant. She figured trading tolls for a trip to a lovingly-raised garden was a fair exchange, anyway.

----------------------------------------

Ever since arriving in Tacell, there was a strange and nostalgic feeling that hit Octavia each and every time she returned to the cottage. She placed the blame on Silver Ridge, the comforts of home and old habits she’d once thought stemmed suddenly blasting her in full over the last several days. Viola’s manor had been a home, granted, but its structure had been a far cry from the rustic and cozy atmosphere she’d longed for. Now, living with five other people in an area much, much smaller by comparison, the intimacy level had marginally increased. Her heart was warmer for it.

Octavia loved coming “home” to them. She loved calling it “home” in the first place. She was seriously considering moving to Tacell, at this point, and she could now fully understand the Maestros who’d done so. She could understand, even more, those who’d still chosen to stay even in the wake of their newfound freedom.

There was an overpowering urge to announce her return each and every time she opened the door, a cue taken fresh from her hometown experiences as well. She stifled it to the best of her ability when it arose, and she held a distaste and embarrassment for the way it occasionally slipped out. It had gotten her teased at least once this week. Octavia knew that she deserved it. Today, she suppressed it, her entry at least quiet.

“I don’t see what his friggin’ rush is.”

“He just wants to plan ahead.”

“He’s moving too fast.”

“You know how he is. Just…let him do what he’s doing.”

“He can plan whatever he wants in his head, but he doesn’t need to be doing all this crap now.”

She lamented her interruption, tracing voices out of sight. Her entry had been silent enough, apparently, not to warrant disruption. That left her eavesdropping, the muffle of the not-so-distant hallway the only thing between her and a conversation that wasn't hers to enjoy.

“I get where he’s coming from. Try to look at it from his perspective.”

“Yeah, I’m looking, and it’s still not what’s most important right now.”

“It is important. God, you realize how hard this is gonna be to pull off, right? We can’t just waltz in there and get it over with. It’s going to take actual planning. Actual effort. I don’t even know how much. Renato, this could take weeks to figure out.”

Logically, she knew this was the point at which she should go upstairs, settle into her room, decompress, and enjoy her beloved high of mental math. Instead, she was pressed up against the wall, her braids flat along the creamy masonry.

“Well, he needs to leave her out of it.”

“Has he said anything to her yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because from what I’m aware, it’s mostly just been between him and River.”

“So they’re just going behind her back, then.”

“Do you want him to get her involved or not? Which is it?”

“I don’t…know!” Octavia could hear Renato growl. “I don’t know!”

“Because you realize she’s gonna get dragged into it either way eventually, right? That’s the entire point!”

“He’s going to hurt her!”

“It’s going to hurt her regardless!”

“Well, damn it, I don’t want it to!”

“Do you think I want it to, either? Nobody does!”

Just the sound of Viola raising her voice was making Octavia’s stomach hurt. Still, she refused to budge, tense against the wall.

“Does anyone even know? Does he know?”

“I don’t know if he knows.”

“Would he care?”

“Of course he’d care,” Viola snapped. “Don’t say that.”

“I really don’t know. I really, truly, genuinely don’t believe that.”

“He’s blunt, but he’s not a horrible person.”

“He’s insensitive. He’s an idiot. She needs kindness, Vi. She needs patience. He’s the most impatient person I’ve ever met, and he’s gonna walk all over her friggin’ heart.”

The longer the conversation went on, the more anxious Octavia was getting. She wasn’t vain enough to immediately assume she was the subject of discussion in question. Still, the thought hadn’t yet had an opportunity to disperse. She awaited its passage with hopeful, bated breath.

“Look,” Renato began softly, “I know you and I don’t have a lot in common, but there’s one thing we do. We both care about her, and we both want her to be happy. We both…want her to be safe. We both want her to smile, and to not have to go crying herself to sleep over this crap. This is…too much.”

“I agree, I promise you, a thousand times over. Renato, you have no idea how badly I don’t want to do this. None of us want to do this. I don’t want to put her through that,” she heard Viola murmur.

“It’s gonna crush her. She was finally starting to be happy again. Ever since we came out here, she’s been this little ball of sunshine. I love it. I want it to stay that way, please. Just a little longer,” he begged.

“All we can do is support her, just like we’ve been doing. This’ll be the worst of it. Maybe…when it’s over, it’ll get better. Maybe knowing they aren’t there anymore will help. Maybe she’ll get some closure. I don’t know. I like to imagine there’s a silver lining somewhere. We do it once, and then we…never have to do it again.”

“This sucks so bad.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna be the one to tell her.”

“Me neither.”

The silence that followed left Octavia’s heart pounding uncomfortably fast. She inched closer to the corner of the wall, strongly contemplating peering down the length of the hallway. The risk of compromising her cover before she found her full context was too much to handle. She held her breath once more.

“Are you…crying?”

“Something’s in my eye. Don’t sweat it.”

“No, you’re…definitely crying.”

“I…don’t…worry about it, alright?”

“You really care about her that much?”

“I can’t stand when she cries, Vi. I know she’s gonna break down again. Just thinking about it is killing me.”

“You’re a lot softer of a person than I gave you credit for.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an insult.”

“Possibly.”

“What are you doing?”

“It’s called a hug, idiot. Ever gotten one before?”

Octavia could hear the smirk in Renato’s voice. “God, am I really so bad right now that this is where my life ended up?”

“I’m about to make you cry for a whole different reason. Either take my graciously-given comfort or die, your choice.”

“I…appreciate it. I really do.”

She finally made the conscious decision to peek. The two Maestros who bickered on a near-daily basis embracing was enough to turn the world upside-down, surely. It would’ve been heartwarming, given the way the brim of his hat delicately scraped the satin of her bow. She was curious to ask Viola’s opinion on his cologne later. She was far, far more curious as to what ominous words had even necessitated such comfort in the first place, her heart still pounding viciously.

“Maybe we should…let Josiah tell her,” Viola suggested.

“He’s gonna be a jerk about it.”

“We can ask him to be gentle.”

“You really think he’s gonna listen to that?” Renato scoffed. “It’s Josiah we’re talkin’ about.”

“I…don’t know how much he’s already planned out. He’s clever like that. And he would know the best way to go about pulling this off, of all people.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not the Ambassador. He needs to at least leave enough leeway that Octavia can give her input.”

There was her confirmation. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“Again, this might take awhile. I don’t know what he’s got in mind yet. We’ll have to talk about it eventually. In the meantime, she can keep doing what she’s doing, picking through the ones who don’t want to be here and whatnot.”

Octavia could practically hear Renato rolling his eyes. “And if he’s done before she is?”

“Then we’ll get him to let her finish.”

“Good luck with that. He probably wants to get it over with first. Like I said, impatient.”

“If that happens, then we can press him to calm down a bit.”

“Again, good luck. He cares more about that freakin’ city than he does about her feelings. God, you think he’d be more anxious about going back there, too. I mean, hell, that was his home. Don’t you think that would--”

She threw up on the floor. She outright vomited on the hardwood, suddenly enough that she hadn’t even had the time to register her nausea. It was spontaneous enough that her panic managed to splatter against the wall in the process--much to her incredible dismay. Octavia was lucky she didn’t pass where she stood. She was lucky she didn’t stumble or slip, given the rush of lightheadedness that slammed into her like bricks. Her breath was gone.

She didn’t want to hear anything more. She didn’t need to hear anything else. It clicked. That was her punishment for eavesdropping.

In any other circumstance, Octavia would’ve been disgusted with herself for leaving the sickening aftermath of her terror splashed across the floor. She should’ve been humiliated, logically, over the idea of whoever was going to have to discover it. Octavia was far more occupied with doing everything she could to see straight long enough to make it up the stairs, staggering and battling her blurring vision all the way there. Already, again, she was nauseous. Whether she could make it to her room before it happened a second time was debatable. She already wasn’t making it there without the bells, nor with her breath in tow.

Octavia was conscious of how heavy her footsteps were along the way, a stark contrast to her silent presence just moments ago. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t enough to escape those who she’d so rudely eavesdropped on in a moment of private debate. She heard her name shouted out in two different voices, equally panicked and shocked. She heard Renato swear loudly, perhaps twice over. She heard what she was fairly certain was something hitting a solid surface in anger and distress. Above all else, Octavia heard bells. She heard many, many bells.

No amount of clinging to Stradivaria on her back was going to ease her pain. No amount of privacy was going to tone down the cursed tolling in her head. No amount of slamming her head against the pillow, no amount of sobbing and screaming, no amount of mental math or any semblance of distraction was going to change the one thing she never, ever wanted to think about.

She had to go back eventually.

She had to think about it eventually.