Her peace didn’t last. She figured it wouldn’t. The moment the train started moving, every fear became reality. She hated upon hated that she could partially blame the lightning that pierced her heart.

It had been a substantial amount of time since Octavia had spent the vast majority of a train ride bedbound. Granted, the circumstances at the time had been somewhat different, although the correlation of both instances with the same city was somewhat ironic. At the very least, she wasn’t neck-deep in unfathomable grief this time, nor was she filled head to toe with a frothing desire for revenge and bloodshed. It was the calm before the storm, mostly respected by the thirty-something Maestros that had opted to accompany her in her treacherous task.

There was, ultimately, a perk that came with the title of Ambassador in the form of justified isolation. “Getting some rest” had truly been a viable excuse, much to her surprise. There were four specific Maestros--with one bonus companion--that she was aware saw through her ruse instantly, for all of their prior comforts and insistence on support only days prior. Still, they didn’t push.

She’d mostly run out of tears three days into the voyage. The trembling, sweats, and nausea were extensive, stretching well into the present. The bells were endless, as were the sights that followed her into unconsciousness. Wood carving was enough of a distraction, when she could steady her hands enough to do so. At present, Octavia could hardly sit up straight without the room spinning.

She’d been counting the days to a degree that she’d never fixated on before during their travels. It was a death sentence. Even she wasn’t sure how she’d react the moment she stepped through the gate again. She wasn’t sure what would be worse, frankly--witnessing Seraphim’s Call in the depths of that violet-stained Hell, or witnessing Valkyrie’s Call atop the place that had haunted her soul for months. Octavia had one more night of peace. If her dreams had anything to say about it, it was sure to be anything but.

Stradivaria?

I am here.

Octavia sighed, rolling onto her side. Sorry. I just...wanted to know you were there.

I always am.

She had half a mind to pull him into the bed with her, to feel the cool mahogany against her heated skin as she sought the slightest smidge of tactile comfort. She didn’t want to move. Moving was hard, and her head felt heavy. The weight of her thoughts surely wasn’t helping.

I don’t know what to do.

Regarding?

I’m scared. I’m really scared, actually.

I know.

Octavia scoffed. I think everyone knows, at this point.

There is nothing shameful about fear. It is natural. It is universal.

But not about this.

Not everyone has seen through your eyes.

Not everyone had made such an unforgivable mistake, either. Even now, she still wondered what River would think if he knew exactly how the prior acolytes came to perish in the first place. She wondered what all of them would think, really. Conserving the honor of her title was the least of it. She pulled the covers up to her chin, gazing across the room at Stradivaria’s case as her heart pounded painfully.

I don’t want to do this.

It is admirable that you would strive to do so regardless.

Maybe you chose the wrong Ambassador.

We did not. Of this, I am certain.

Maybe you chose the wrong Maestra.

Of this, too, I am certain I have not erred.

They weren’t words Octavia could believe, no matter how hard she tried to trust him. It burned. How many more times would she have to fail in front of him before it sank in?

What if I can’t do this?

You must have faith in yourself, just as others have faith in you.

There’s nothing to have faith in. I got people killed. I’m the reason we’re even in this mess.

It is I, too, who has faith in you.

There’s other Heartful Maestros out there. There’s ones who wouldn’t hesitate.

Do you no longer wish to be the Ambassador?

It was a loaded question with no simple answer. It wasn’t a question she’d ever truly given much thought to, not after her initial acceptance of the task to begin with.

Octavia closed her eyes. She wasn’t particularly sure what to say. In a way, the idea of relinquishing a title under which she’d already given so much effort to help others hurt severely. In another way, a different Ambassador could perhaps shoulder the blossom and the flame instead. In a perfect world, maybe there could be two. Maybe they could take turns. It would’ve been so, so nice to not be alone.

Do you enjoy being the Ambassador?

This was absolutely not the time. She shook Mixoly’s words out of her head.

I don’t know, Octavia finally answered.

For what reason do you hesitate?

Maybe another Ambassador would be better at dealing with all of this.

You are a fine Ambassador as you are, fearful or otherwise. So, too, was your sister fearful at times.

She shifted uncomfortably, the mention of Priscilla’s name enough to make her heart race in a different way. Priscilla?

There is no one who is truly fearless. We, even, are not free from the grasp of such fear. It is what actions we take in the midst of such terror that speak to the truth of our hearts. Your sister was no different.

Octavia’s tears weren’t quite as dried and stemmed as she’d thought, apparently. She fought to keep them behind closed lids, the corners of her eyes doing an excellent job at betraying her best efforts. What would she think of me if she saw me like this?

She would understand. She, too, would speak to the splendid Ambassador you’ve become. I am certain she would be proud not only as your sister, but as she who carried such a title not long before yourself. She would take comfort in the strength of her successor.

I don’t feel strong.

You are.

She dabbed at her eyes with the edges of the covers. Part of her still desperately wished to return to Tacell, to forsake two Muses alone who didn't choose their fates. The simple thought, brief as it was in passing, made her feel guilty enough for her stomach to twist into knots. It was the opposite of what she was supposed to believe, let alone actually do.

I wish only that she were by your side once more, he offered with soft initiative. I…truly believe she would guide your way through such pain. Her heart was kind, in this way. Of this, I am certain you need no explanation--you, who loved her more than I. She, too, would wage battle on your behalf. To stand alongside her in the dark, would that not bring you peace?

The idea wasn’t upsetting. The thought of dragging Priscilla to Velpyre, specifically, was. I wouldn’t want her to be involved in this.

She would be, for you and you alone.

How do you know?

I know of her love.

Octavia bit back a sob she didn’t realize she was guarding. Do you think she would’ve done all of this? If she were in my shoes, would she still have…faced that? Would she have dragged everyone down, made the same decisions, cried the same tears?

She would have. She would have persevered, much the same as you.

I miss her.

I know.

The stinging in her heart had changed flavors. It was solid, predictable, sorrowful. Octavia knew it well. It was somewhat preferable to her prior agony, intangible as it was. Perhaps the deepest scarlets of autumn were a more welcome burn than bells. To fight alongside Priscilla would’ve been a dream, although the necessity of fighting in the first place was not to be cherished. It would still be an excuse to see her face once more.

Octavia didn’t get the chance to bathe in her bittersweet memories for long. Whatever three sharp knocks hit the door without remorse were enough to nearly launch her pained heart out of her chest. There wasn't a single face she wanted to see right now, soft and delicate as such eyes and words may have come. Even Viola's presence would’ve been uncomfortable, the thought of her unstable distress on full display before the girl enough to make Octavia's stomach churn. She stiffened beneath the covers, clinging tightly to their warmth.

“What?” she called, significantly harsher than intended. She regretted it almost immediately.

Octavia didn’t get an answer. She got a visitor--impatient, uncaring, or both as they shirked a formal invitation. The sliding door gave way to the absolute last person she wanted to see right now, the only one capable of making her blood pump harder and her heart race in the worst way.

She wanted to hide. She’d never wanted to hide before, and the thought was embarrassing. She’d thought her fear of lightning to be momentary and fleeting, the thunder it fostered crashing only upon a former acolyte who’d earned his wrath. It took conscious effort not to pull the covers over her head.

He didn’t even stop at an observation of her bedbound state. He outright invited himself, her own permission apparently unnecessary. It was mildly infuriating, equally as insensitive and cold as he was.

He’d done enough. She couldn’t take anymore. She really, really couldn't take another dangerous word out of his mouth, not for all he was putting her through. Fear became frustration.

“What do you want?” Octavia asked, again far too sharp despite her intent. This time, she wasn’t quite as regretful.

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He took the venom in her words with enough grace that her frustration evolved, settling onto the bed across from hers without a care in the world. “Visiting.”

“Why?”

Josiah shrugged. “Just wanted to be in here for a bit.”

Octavia narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t even ask.”

His eyes, in turn, weren’t even on her. He was rifling through his bag instead, her words apparently of no particular concern. It was incredibly aggravating. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

“It would’ve been nice,” Octavia hissed. Whatever poison she harbored was no longer subtle. She didn’t care.

He smirked, now carefully leafing through his journal instead. “You’re mad at me, then. That’s fair.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I can hear it.”

She scowled. “No, you can’t.”

The sound of pencil scratching away at delicate paper was irritating. Everything was irritating. “Yes, I can.”

“What would I even have to be mad about?”

“A lot of things,” Josiah said plainly. “Pressuring you into all of this, for one. Maybe you’re mad about me threatening Selena’s mother. Maybe you’re mad I made a bunch of other Maestros come along to deal with this. Maybe a few of those at once. You have options.”

“I would’ve had to do this eventually, anyway.”

His tone was calm and collected. That, too, was irritating. “Yes, but I made you do it early, and now you’re mad at me. Again, that’s fair.”

“I’m not mad at you!” Octavia practically shouted.

“Case in point,” he said, gesturing to her lazily with the end of his pencil.

“Do you want me to be mad at you or something? Can’t we just get this over with and forget it happened? Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“I promise you, I’m not trying to make anything more difficult. I’m not trying to be difficult, either. I’m just not a good person. You should know that by now.”

“It’ll work out fine. You’ve got everything under control. You planned everything out. Your plans usually work,” she conceded half-heartedly. Even then, her words still tasted bitter.

Again, Josiah didn’t grace her with his direct attention. The background sounds of his writing were starting to drive her insane, as was his exceedingly rude pattern of ignoring her. “It has holes. I’m not perfect.”

“That’s a surprise,” Octavia spat.

“So you are mad at me,” he murmured calmly.

“I mean, you don’t seem worried one bit about the possibility of this going wrong. People could get hurt, you know. Seriously hurt.”

“Worrying about it isn’t going to help anything.”

She couldn’t prove Josiah’s words were targeted. Still, it was enough to make her blood boil. “Right, because you don’t need to worry about anything. Everything always works out for you in the end. Must be nice.”

For the briefest moment, he side-eyed her silently. Immediately afterwards, paper took priority once more. Octavia was fuming.

“You don’t even care, do you? Out of all people, I thought you’d be the one person who cared. I thought you’d be the one person who understood. You don’t have to act cold about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Do you want me to be upset?”

She bit her lip. “A little bit! It’d be nice to see that you gave a damn!”

“I do give a damn.”

“Then act like it!”

“There’s a time and a place for that.”

Again did his words prick her like personal thorns. She wouldn’t bother trying to hide her anger anymore.

“Everything’s so nice and neat and calculated with you,” Octavia growled, sitting up straight as she clenched the covers with ire. “Everything’s so perfect as long as you get to be the one making all the decisions. It must be so nice to just be able to turn your emotions off like that, to decide that you don’t need anything but the satisfaction of being smarter than everyone else. Does it make you feel good to look down on people that feel things? To look down on those irrational people who think with their hearts instead of their heads?”

Once more, he glanced at her in passing alone. Once more, too, her words meant less than the agonizingly-grating scratching of lead on paper.

“You just…say things! They just leave your mouth without you so much as considering how they might hurt someone else! But it’s okay, because it’s the ‘truth’, right? And the truth is supposed to hurt? All you care about is getting your own answers to your own questions, and whoever you step on for that comes second. I mean, hell, you even picked a fight with the Muses! The Muses, for God’s sake! Is there anyone you don’t think you’re better than?”

The third time Josiah repeated the same pattern, it was downright condescending. Octavia wanted to slap him.

“Maybe you should be the Ambassador if you’re so good at rationalizing! Maybe you don’t even need to be a doctor! It’d be a good career for you! You’d be great at tolls if you’re such an expert at being cold and heartless! Who needs nightmares every freakin’ night, right? Who needs the constant dread of knowing you’re about to die in whatever number of ways? Have you ever died before? Would you like to? It’s fun! Is it easier just to keep score? To make your cute little lists and your cute little notes about everything and anything that I have to just about kill myself to do? You came in here just to do this? What, are you gonna torment me about what I haven’t done yet? Is what I have done not enough? Nothing’s enough for you, is it? It’s great knowing that whatever I have to say isn’t more important than playing around with that freakin’ journal!”

Josiah offered it to her from afar, spreading the pages wide with his fingers silently. Only now was she freed from the ceaseless scratching, his pencil lowered where the tortured pages had instead been raised aloft. Every line was still dark and sharp enough to see, even from her side. Octavia’s eyes widened.

“I couldn’t get your braids right,” he admitted. “Needed a reference.”

It had been a substantial amount of time since he’d last shared his artwork with her. She’d never actually bothered to ask him how long his drawings took, particularly relative to the level of love and detail he seemed to put into each and every stroke of lead. It was a scene she’d been privy to firsthand, given her crowning role at its very center.

Octavia wondered how Ethel was doing. It was incredibly impressive that Josiah had managed to capture the spectacle of the Muse’s departure with such careful, miniscule markings and scratches. Even devoid of Ethel’s radiant golden splendor, the illustration was more than enough to evoke the memory in her head once more. Josiah, too, had recalled her own visage with equal attention, if not more. Seeing herself recreated so perfectly, particularly given the incredible skill offered to every last crease of her dress, was breathtaking.

For as much as he’d portrayed his distaste for Etherion, with equal disdain for the Muse who called the vessel home, it was an homage of love. There was irony in the way the Muse’s own Maestro was nowhere to be found in the scene. It was the Ambassador, instead, who clasped the clarinet, along with every bit of painstakingly-shaded rosewood that came with it. The Harmonial Instrument was just as stunning by itself.

Octavia had no words. She could only stare at Josiah, his eyes soft as he let her drink in the fruits of his artistic labor. The gentle rumbling beneath them as they traveled onwards was their only interruption, quiet and distant.

“I’m still not sure if I got them right. I always have trouble with them,” Josiah continued.

She blinked. “Al…ways?”

Josiah nodded, his expression neutral. “Yeah. Chronic problem when I draw you.”

Octavia pulled the warm covers up to her chest slowly, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline of her outburst. “Do you…draw me a lot?”

He tilted his head. “You give me a lot to work with.”

She flushed, averting her eyes. Josiah cradled the open journal between his hands once more, resuming his artistry with somewhat more gentle motions. “Can you turn your head a little bit?”

Octavia didn’t object. Obliging was a lot easier than coming to terms with whatever had just left her mouth. Her stomach hurt. “I’m…sorry.”

“You’re not wrong,” Josiah said softly, his attention still offered to his art alone. “I keep saying I’m not a good person. I’ve come to terms with that already, for better or worse. It’s more of a statement than an excuse.”

Octavia winced. “You’re not a bad person. I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. I didn’t mean any of that. I’m just…frustrated.”

“With me.”

“With myself.”

“You’re allowed to be frustrated, although I’d much prefer you to be frustrated with me instead of yourself.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“I do get upset, by the way. It’s just…not in the same way you do. Maybe that looks heartless on the outside. I could see why.”

Octavia clenched the covers just the slightest bit tighter. “Are you…afraid to go back?”

“It’s not something I plan to think about right now,” Josiah said. “I can deal with that later. There’s a lot that’s going to happen all at once. I want to be ready for that as much as I can. I don’t want you to have to carry all of that alone.”

“You didn’t say no.”

He smiled faintly. “We’ll see.”

The more he spoke, the worse Octavia felt--for a different reason than her previous rationale. It was highly unfortunate that she couldn’t claw back every vicious word that had left her mouth, hypocritical as she’d been with her accusations of heartlessness. She bit her lip.

“It’s surreal to think that I’m not supposed to be here.”

Octavia stared. “What?”

Josiah kept his smile as he drew. “Just…drawing this reminded me of that, a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

Josiah’s smile brightened somewhat, the weight of his words irrelevant. “Cadence saved my life. Had the cards not fallen where they did, in the weirdest series of events imaginable, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be talking to you, and I wouldn’t be drawing this.”

Octavia tilted her head with confusion. “I don’t…understand.”

“Her gift,” Josiah explained quietly. “She touched me, remember? I mean, touching is a bit of an understatement. Ran right the hell into me. She could’ve very easily gone down a different hallway, I could’ve very easily have been coming out of a different room, she could’ve not been there at all. I would’ve…never seen the Dissonance coming. I would’ve died that day.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “That’s…how you got out?”

“It took me a while to figure it out. I had to think about it for a bit. It’s even more surreal that I ended up with her partner. I owe her my life. I hope letting him go did her justice, somehow.”

Octavia brought her knees up to her chest, forgoing the warmth of the covers. “She was down there, too. When it happened.”

Josiah sighed. “I remember.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m…glad she made it out. I imagine her toll wasn’t very pleasant.”

“That’s one more thing you guys had in common, I guess. Even if it…wasn’t a good thing.”

He smirked. “Guess I wasn’t really the sole survivor that day.”

“I’m…glad you’re here. And I think you were supposed to be here,” Octavia said gently. “I think everything happens for a reason. I don’t know how we would’ve figured any of this out without you. I like having you here.”

Josiah's smirk softened into something she enjoyed. “I like being here. I like being with you guys.”

When he gave that smile to her instead of to her own two-dimensional depiction, it was warm. Octavia returned it with just as much satisfaction.

“You…said you have other drawings of me?” she asked timidly.

He nodded. “Yeah. Not just you, though. You’re not my only inspiration ever.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “I’m not that vain. I was just curious, jerk.”

Josiah chuckled. “Do you want to see?”

She grinned. “If you’ll let me.”

“Just a heads up, the braids might not always be the best, like I said.”

“I mean…now’s a good time to practice, if you want.”

To find the warmth of his smile in his eyes for once instead of ice was wonderful. “I’ll take you up on that, I think. We’ve got time.”

It wasn’t a lot of time. It was time she’d dreaded, time she’d filled with desperate pleas of silence in her head and peace in her heart. It was time she’d feared in earnest, one last night before the colors of her nightmares blighted her eyes in daylight. It was fitting, then, that Octavia’s reprieve came in only black and white, comfortable monotone born of skilled hands and gentle strokes. Pencil scratches where once had been bells were far more welcome sounds, transfigured from something annoying into something that eased her heart.

Where she’d feared his cold and indifferent lightning, Josiah brought her sparks that tenderly buzzed against her soul. She’d seen this side of him before, although not for some time. For now, at least, Octavia's worries were soaked up by the one person who perhaps understood them the most--for better or worse.