Octavia hadn’t left the comfort of her curtsey, her fingers still curled around either end of her dress skirt. It was jarring to hear Mixoly’s name leave her own mouth, particularly aloud. It was even more jarring to hear the harsh accusation she leveled solely at herself. Octavia blinked.
“A…sin?” she asked, confused.
Theo crossed his arms uncomfortably. Even now, he wouldn’t look at her. She could swear he was gradually growing more tense, bystander to the conversation or otherwise.
Mixoly only nodded. “It is true.”
Octavia almost didn’t want to know. “What…happened?”
And when Mixoly didn’t answer, she should’ve known better. “Ambassador, I…your excursion, that which you had spoken of previously. Were you successful in your mission?”
The chronic deflection was getting irritating. Still, getting to see Mixoly’s face was progress at last, for how many times she’d needed to invade Theo’s cottage to do it. “I…you mean with Valkyria and Seraphe? Yeah. We got both of them out. They were able to go back to Above. It…took a lot of effort.”
That was an understatement. Mixoly seemed satisfied enough with the answer. “I congratulate you, then. I have no doubt they were more than grateful for your aid.”
Octavia sighed. “Everyone’s ‘grateful’. It kind of drives me insane.”
“Gratitude is as simple as it is sweet. It is abundant, I am certain.”
Octavia raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Theo owned a sofa. As to why he completely declined to use it, Octavia had no idea. He went straight for the floor, cross-legged and still more than content to dodge her eyes with everything he had. Only Miracle Agony found any gentleness in his motions, carefully settled in his lap. Confused as she was, Octavia followed suit, meeting him on the relatively-uncomfortable rug. The sofa would’ve been preferable by a longshot.
“They have showered you with such praises, have they not?” Mixoly asked.
Octavia nodded half-heartedly. “I’m not mad at them. Is it mean for me to say that I wish they’d…stop? I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do. I don’t want them to feel like they owe me or anything, but sometimes, I feel like a ‘thank you’ doesn’t really make up for a toll. I know it’s not their fault. God, I don’t know. There’s no nice way for me to say that.”
“And perhaps that is precisely why they offer such.”
Octavia had to tilt her head back somewhat to eye the Muse above. “What do you mean?”
To her relief, Mixoly wasn’t ignorant to the motion. It wasn’t as though a Muse could meet the Maestros at their exact level. Still, she did what she could to lower herself anyway. “Praise is a weak compensation, but a compensation nonetheless. It is a false cure for the deepest wounds, as easily forged as it is freely given. I do not wish to imply that all gratitude you have received thus far has been artificial, but I could not believe every word.”
It was almost a more hurtful suggestion than what Octavia had been thinking. “You don’t…think they’re actually grateful?”
Mixoly shook her head. “On the contrary, Ambassador. They must not risk losing that which could pave the path to salvation. Tell me, then, what has Stratos told you of your performance?”
“Like…as the Ambassador?”
“Yes.”
Octavia bit her lip. It wouldn’t be especially polite to admit that was part of the reason she was here to begin with. “He keeps telling me I’m doing a good job. He was driving me insane in Velrose, but he meant well, I think. It’s partially my fault. I go to him when I feel…lost.”
“As he should hope.”
“What?”
“He would not have you turn to another.”
Octavia’s eyes, much like Theo’s, found the rug instead. “He’s my partner. Isn’t that normal?”
“He is anything but.”
She couldn’t help the way she gripped the hem of her dress just a bit too tightly. “Mixo--Miracle, is there…something wrong with Stratos? You keep talking about him like this, and it’s kind of upsetting. I know you said you don’t have a grudge against him or anything, but you bring him up a lot.”
It was only when Mixoly paused that Octavia looked up once more. The Muse captured her gaze quietly, her words much the same. “Any who would call you their own would be of equal concern. It is by cruel coincidence that Stratos became your guiding light.”
Her words weren't helping. Octavia didn’t enjoy the way her stomach was twisting into a knot again. “He’s good to me,” she argued softly. “I’ve…never had a problem with him.”
“He would be an absolute fool to incur your ire, let alone jeopardize your trust.”
“I do trust him. He’s pushy sometimes, yeah, but he’s never done anything bad to me. When I’m scared, he’s there for me. When I’m in trouble, he gives me what I need to protect other people. He loves me.”
“Does he?”
Two words alone were enough to make Octavia feel sick. She wanted to argue, if not at least to shout. It took effort to keep them from sinking in too deeply.
“H-He does,” she insisted, her voice shaking. “He said so. He always says so.”
“He will speak of anything that must be said.”
Octavia’s heart hurt over the idea alone. “Why would you say that?”
“Ambassador, I am not cruel, nor am I heartless--for as much as you could be led to believe otherwise. There are those among my brethren who do truly cherish their own, and the bonds they share will surely follow across the boundary. I, too, adore this child with all that rests within what is left of my heart.”
Beneath her words, Octavia watched as Theo stroked the piccolo with one thumb gently. It would’ve been endearing, if his eyes weren't so burdened with quiet pain.
“Were it not one who claimed you as their own, I would perhaps not assert the same. Of Stratos, in particular, I am doubly sure of such deceit.”
Octavia fought to keep her voice from wobbling any worse. “So, none of my partners would love me, then? That’s awful! What did I do wrong?”
“It is not you, child. It is the Ambassador who they would deceive with such love.”
She froze. “What does…that mean?”
Mixoly’s faceless gaze almost burned her soul, for how deep it pierced. It was growing uncomfortable. “The role of Ambassador is not desirable. It is not glamorous, it is not kind, and it is not without inconceivable consequence. There are few, if not none, who would claim such a task willingly. Should it be surrendered, their salvation again hangs in the balance. They cannot afford to lose their Ambassador, my child. They cannot afford such surrender.”
Octavia’s eyes widened. “But he…said it was my choice.”
“They cannot force you to cling to the role, and this much is true,” Mixoly asserted. “Consider, though, did you truly choose to accept this responsibility? Perhaps, was it laid upon your shoulders instead?”
Octavia gritted her teeth. “He asked, and I chose to--”
“Think.”
Octavia bit her tongue.
“Think very, very carefully, Ambassador.”
Octavia disliked the way her heart was pounding. Every accusation was trailing to confrontations she didn’t enjoy thinking about. As to this one, she wasn’t even particularly certain what she should be considering. Stratos had offered the position. He had explained. She had accepted. It was as simple as that. She’d reached the point of having second thoughts regarding this discussion, and every jab at her partner was getting somewhat more distressing.
He had never led her astray, and the implications that his love was false still stung to even briefly entertain. Octavia’s thoughts weren’t hostile towards him in the slightest, for as much as Mixoly may have desired otherwise. Every memory with him was pleasant, and those that weren’t were born of companionship and trust in her darkest hours. His light had saved her so many times over, blessing her in abundance as she'd begged. Stradivaria's voice had reached her each and every time.
Temper your anger or you will lose your life.
It was one of the first ways he’d saved her, short of his pleas to stand down in the face of Drey’s deceitful charisma.
Don’t.
Stop!
That had been her fault. His voice was too new, too foreign still. She hadn’t yet found the bond she’d so craved, as blessed with it as she now was. She hadn’t so much as even found his name.
She will be the one.
Octavia’s blood ran cold. She hadn’t learned it from his lips alone.
She struggled to control her breathing. It wasn’t working, rattling as it was. The dread that pooled in her stomach shouldn’t have been there at all, for how otherwise inconsequential such a tiny sentence would’ve been. She replayed that voice in her mind thrice over. It wasn’t his. It hadn’t been.
She is not ready!
That one was.
Her eyes rose to Mixoly’s face painfully slowly, and she prayed her face didn’t betray the shock that stabbed her soul again and again. The Muse drank in her revelations with peace and grace, nonjudgmental.
Could you be the one?
Had she even had the right to Lyra’s voice, at that time?
Above all else, do not trust Stratos.
What would Ethel have said, should he have stood here right this second?
“Mixoly,” she finally breathed, “what is…how?”
Octavia didn’t realize her error until it had already left her lips. If the Muse minded her true name being recklessly released into the open air, she didn’t say so. “I suspect your choice was irrelevant. An Ambassador who may be molded and trusted is not easy to come by. Your heart is pure, Ambassador, and I can attest to as much solely by virtue of your presence in this place. Know that there are those who would seize the chance to weaponize such kindness.”
Octavia couldn’t breathe at all. Even conscious of the way Theo was watching her quietly, she couldn’t help the way she dug her fingernails into her thighs. “A-Are you saying he’s using me?”
“If you do not mind my asking, Ambassador, would he perhaps have an advantage?”
“What?” she asked quickly.
Mixoly was calm where Octavia was not. “Is there something that would have made such coercion simpler? If not objectively, then through his eyes alone? If you were chosen, I suspect the decision came with certainty.”
She was afraid to rack her brain again.
When it clicked, she wanted to vomit. It couldn’t be right.
“T-There’s one thing,” Octavia whispered, her voice nearly cracking from fright. “I…don’t know if that’s what it is. I really, really, really hope that’s not…he isn’t like that. He’s not.”
“You do not have to share with me if you do not wish to do so. To simply be aware is to--”
“My sister was the last Ambassador,” she blurted out regardless. “And he knows I…would do anything for her. Oh, God, Mixoly, that’s not it. He wouldn’t do that!”
The coolness of Mixoly's words still burned horrifically. “I disagree. Were I to stand in his place, I would argue it could not be any easier.”
Tears pricked at the edges of Octavia's eyes. “That’s horrible! Why would he do that to me?”
“It is his purpose.”
Octavia couldn’t quite blink them away. If she fought hard enough, she could hold them back, for now. “What?”
“I have told you time and time again not to trust in Stratos,” Mixoly continued. “It is not that I would…aspire for you to carry disdain for your legacy, my child. The light that shines upon your heart is perfect and pure in every way. In the same manner, though, I would implore you to exercise great caution around those with whom your blood is shared.”
“You mean…the other Heartful?”
“It is to our Lord of All that they answer, and it is his will that they will serve above all else. In that way, perhaps it is not necessarily Stratos who is to blame. Know, though, that he is the bridge between you and our Lord.”
She was beginning to dread returning to her cottage at all, knowing he awaited her there. Thinking of Stratos as a threat was impossible. Her stomach hurt fiercely. “Your…Lord. He has a name, right?”
“Lord Ramulus.”
Octavia recognized it, forgotten as it had been. “Lord Ramulus, then. Is he the one who chose me to be the Ambassador?”
Mixoly nodded. “It would be his final choice alone. That is not to say Stratos had no part in suggesting you for the role.”
As much as Octavia would’ve liked to divorce Stratos from the concept of involvement in such a plan, Mixoly was dashing every hope she had. “Does everyone know about this? The other Muses?”
Mixoly hesitated for a moment. “They are…complicit, yes.”
If the world could’ve crashed down around her, Octavia wasn’t sure she would’ve been surprised. She struggled to focus, battling to keep herself from floating to a place far from her own body once more. It wasn’t too late to distrust Mixoly.
“It is more complicated than that,” the Muse added.
Octavia could hardly process herself talking. “How so?”
“They are aware of the situation, yes. They are aware of the role the Heartful play in securing their safe return, and they do not interfere. They will hold their tongues, and they will sing their praises. They benefit even from silence itself, should they be so privileged. They are not to speak of the farce.”
“But some of them are different,” Octavia insisted. “Some of them speak up! Ethel told me everything! He told me everything we asked him, even though he said it was dangerous! I don’t know what he was in danger of, but that has to mean something, right?”
Mixoly tilted her head. “Ethel, you say?”
“Yes!”
She paused. Her voice softened somewhat. “He always…struck me as bold. If he would be honest with you, Ambassador, then perhaps I could respect him now more than ever. Of what has he told you?”
Octavia narrowed her eyes. “I know about the spider web.”
“The…spider web?”
When even Theo raised an eyebrow at her, Octavia kicked herself over her free usage of the term. For the sake of covering it up, she spoke as quickly as she could. “I know about…what used to exist, and what was destroyed. I know that the world we live in now isn’t the same as what it used to be. I know about all the rules we don’t know about yet, and I know about She Who Brought the World to Ruin. I know how the Dissonance got here. I already knew how to get rid of it, but he clarified a bit. He taught me other stuff, like the Apexes and the problem with the Spirited’s gift. He was wonderful, and I don’t think he was lying to me. He…told me not to trust Stratos, too.”
Mixoly was silent for a moment. “He told you of She Who Brought the World to Ruin?”
Octavia nodded. “I knew a little bit about it. Stratos also told me, but he said it was a sensitive topic. Ethel was the first one I could really talk to about it.”
Again, she was quiet. “And of Stratos, what little has he said?”
Octavia shrugged. “Just that it…makes him upset to talk about. He said she made a mistake. That’s really all he would tell me.”
“A mistake,” Mixoly repeated.
“Yeah.”
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The silence that settled between them was painfully long. Even Theo made no movement to break it. He, too, was content to stare blankly at the little piccolo as he awaited her words unto his heart. Mixoly’s voice in the wake of the stillness almost made Octavia jump.
“Of Ethel, then,” she continued, “you had…asked of the danger he faced.”
Once more, Octavia nodded. “He wouldn’t say what it was, just that talking was risky. He was worried about Stratos being there while he talked, too.”
“Stratos’ loyalties lie with our Lord alone,” she clarified. “Should one disclose what the Ambassador is not meant to hear, it is our Lord to whom he will report.”
Octavia flinched. “He would…out them like that? Why?”
“The path home that our Lord has so carefully crafted is highly fragile, and its provisions are unfathomable in number. There are those which are harmless, those which our own may discover without consequence. Of our legacies, our names, our gifts upon the blood, all of such are true.”
Octavia waited for her to proceed, mostly. She liked the spider web analogy better. “I…get that.”
Mixoly paused for just long enough that the suspense made Octavia itch. “There are some provisions, by comparison, which risk shattering all that was built, should they be disclosed to the Ambassador. There is that which the Ambassador was not meant to know, and that of our own, in turn.”
Octavia blinked. “Why?” she asked again.
“It is as I have stated, my child,” she said plainly. “They cannot risk the Ambassador surrendering the position, should they learn of undesirable truths. Whether in correlation to the role or simply that which may impact the drive to guide, they are not to speak of what must not be spoken.”
Octavia hesitated to ask the obvious. It took effort to get it out. “Or…what?”
Mixoly stared at her for far too long. How an eyeless gaze could leave her feeling so vulnerable was impossible to understand. “At best, they will not return, and of this, I am certain. At worst, they will not exist. Of that, I cannot prove, and yet I strongly suspect it to be so.”
Octavia had to resist the urge to leap to her feet, her heart pounding so heavily against her chest that she feared it might burst. “They can’t go back to Above? Wait, what do you mean they won’t exist? Will they…die?”
The way Mixoly would neither nod nor shake her head was overwhelmingly ominous, and Octavia hated it. “All that our Lord does, he does for our brethren. If…it would serve a greater interest, I cannot say with certainty that he would not sacrifice one on behalf of all.”
Octavia could’ve choked. Her hands trembled viciously. She was vaguely aware of the lasting marks her fingernails were leaving in her skin, and she was surprised to find she wasn’t bleeding just yet. “T-Then…Ethel?”
Only now did Mixoly shake her head. “If you did not tell Stratos of his truthful tongue, then surely his ascent was secure. Fret not. Ethel is cunning, from what I recall of him. He would not have undertaken that which he could not tolerate.”
Octavia breathed a deep sigh of relief. The idea of Ethel suffering for her choices was too much to bear, even in passing. “But…aren’t you afraid of being punished? You’re Heartful. Do you answer to Lord Ramulus, too?”
Mixoly was quiet. For a moment, Octavia wondered if she’d even remembered to ask her question at all. When the Muse finally responded, her voice was far softer than was necessary. Octavia had to strain somewhat to catch her answer.
“I am exempt, in all things. That is the simplest answer.”
Octavia wasn’t satisfied. “You’re…what? What does that mean?”
Mixoly averted eyes she didn’t have. “I do not follow the same ‘rules’, as you have phrased it. I have no fear, for I have nothing more to lose. He cannot curb my tongue, and it is for this reason that you are not to know me, Ambassador.”
Octavia paused. “What do you gain by telling me all of this, if you’re being honest? Even if there really is no risk for you, what do you get out of it?”
“I still seek your assistance,” she said. “This is only a fair trade.”
“I would’ve…sent you home anyway,” Octavia clarified.
“It is not so simple.”
Octavia blinked. “Why not?”
It was Theo, rather than Mixoly, who eyed her with something she couldn’t place. It was unsettling. Even now, he clung to Miracle Agony in his palms, not quite choking the little instrument with his grip. Mixoly continued where Theo’s hands were silent.
“It is…as I have stated, Ambassador. I am not bound by the same constraints. It is not by choice, and for what is to come, I apologize. Know, regardless, that I wish to return to Above, much the same as my brethren before me. If my truth is what would compensate for your struggles, I will unravel their deception to pay the price. As I have said, I pray it is a fair trade.”
Octavia winced. “You don’t have to repay me anything. I would still--”
“I insist,” she pushed softly. “I will not settle for weak sentiments when your life is in danger. Save me, Ambassador, and I will endeavor to save you.”
Octavia’s stomach lurched. “I…I keep trying to ask, but how exactly is my life in danger?”
Mixoly hesitated. “I will tell you time and time again not to trust Stratos.”
“You think he’s going to hurt me?”
“For how close Stratos clings to our Lord of All as he watches over the Ambassador, I have strong suspicions he knows that which even I do not. Be on your utmost guard. He is clever.”
Octavia gulped. She was not even slightly a fan of the fear that accompanied the idea of going back. How she was going to so much as speak to him after this was beyond her. It was a struggle to ignore how clammy her palms were, whether or not she’d only just now noticed.
“Mixoly,” she began, well aware she’d long since shunned her pledge to guard the Muse’s true name. “I can…witness your toll, if you want. I-If it’s different, I can at least try my best. That’s what you want, right?”
Mixoly shook her head. “Not this night, my child. Already, I have kept you for far too long. If you wish to return once more, I will await you, as will my own. You must not allow him to suspect you under any circumstances. You must…tell him nothing of what I have told you.”
Octavia, too, shook her head in turn. “I-I wouldn’t. I don’t plan to.”
“Tell no one.”
“My friends, too?”
“Doubly so.”
Octavia fidgeted awkwardly. “I…don’t know how I’m going to face him.”
“You must shelter your truths,” Mixoly insisted, “lest you incur his suspicions further. Carry on as always. Indulge his honeyed words, yet know them to be false in your heart. Do as he would hope.”
“So…fake it?” Octavia interpreted loosely.
“Precisely.”
That, too, made her feel sick. One night alone had flipped her heart inside out. Lying to Stratos sounded miserable--her prior fibbing about her emotional state wouldn’t hold a candle to whatever Mixoly was implying she should attempt.
“I’m…gonna come back tomorrow,” Octavia stated. “Expect me, okay?”
It would hopefully make up for the continued sudden entries into a cottage not her own. She looked at Theo when she spoke, partially, and she appreciated the way he nodded. That took care of at least one concern. His hands moved softly. Mixoly helped. “‘Don’t let anyone see you,’” she interpreted.
Octavia nodded. “I won’t.”
“Do not rush yourself, Ambassador,” Mixoly warned. “Balance is key. If you must placate those who would follow in your steps instead, do so. Long have I waited, and longer still can I do so with patience. Do not endanger yourself further.”
Theo side-eyeing the Muse with discomfort was an unusual sight. Octavia couldn’t ignore it as she rose to her feet. He didn’t need to speak to disagree, whether with words or gestures alike. His face did the talking, and it was strange to see him at odds with his partner. She was almost afraid to leave them behind as she turned to the door, hesitating briefly before the threshold.
Octavia peered over her shoulder in time with the flash that stained her peripheral vision. “Mixo--”
Recall my plea, Ambassador. Call me what you will, but guard my name.
The Muse in question was nowhere to be seen, her luminous stature giving way to stray moonlight and a darkened abode. Only Theo could be found in her wake, the piccolo in his grasp serving as the sole momento of Mixoly’s wonderous presence just moments before. Even with his narrow eyes trained upon the Ambassador, they, too, offered a gentleness she didn’t quite understand. He was silent. The Muse was not.
Make haste and be safe, Mixoly instructed. Be well, Ambassador.
Octavia nodded weakly. “I-I’ll…help you. I promise.”
Mixoly didn’t press her, nor did she offer any further words of parting. Theo, just the same, was content to watch her leave in quick silence, unmoving and nearly unblinking. She’d already known she wasn’t supposed to be here, and stealing her way into the night was one thousand times more daunting on the way out than in. The moment one boot crossed the threshold, her heart was pounding far harder than was excusable for an evening walk.
Octavia wasn’t aware that she was sweating until the breeze tickled her hot skin. She wasn’t aware that she was lightheaded until she tried to step briskly. She was aware that her stomach had filled with the most dangerous of butterflies, poisoning her with dread in excess. Her eyes clung desperately to the full moon above. It was a light beneath which she couldn't hide, and she was paranoid in a way she couldn’t shake. There were no shadows to veil her, should she need one. What she would actually hide from remained to be seen. What she would fear in the first place remained to be found, just the same.
It was Mixoly’s word against Stratos’ actions, her accusations against his love. Octavia had known Mixoly for weeks, and she could count their total meetings on one hand. She’d known Stratos for months, if not for a lifetime by proxy. He was practically a fixture on her back, an extension of her arms. What love she could feel in the moments his light surged through her blood was impossible to fake. In reality, Mixoly hadn’t even been content to simply point a finger at Stratos alone. To imagine that Lyra would be just as deceptive, to imagine that Orleanna and Brava would seek to hide the truth, to entertain that Mente and Aste would lie to her by omission, every last concept burned her alive.
The more Octavia thought about it, the worse the idea ate away at her heart. Breileneth, too, was complicit. So were Seliza, Rondelio, Raisare--even Valkyria and Seraphe, for all she’d just gone through on their behalf. It was only in Ethel that she could place her trust, and she hadn’t even been aware of the risk she’d thrust upon him. She wondered what Josiah would say, if he knew. Octavia wondered what would come of her telling Josiah alone, for what the boy already knew of the spider web.
She couldn’t, apparently. It was going to drive her insane.
She was a fool for losing track of time. Octavia could pin down the beaming moon with her eyes all she wanted. Even so, she knew she’d be no closer to getting a feel for the length of her excursion. It had to have been at least an hour at the utmost minimum, if not more. It was the longest she’d ever spent at Theo’s cottage, and Stratos was already aware that she was out in the darkness of Tacell. As to how many times she could manage the excuse of “not paying attention” to the growing evening, she was unsure. Just this once, it would probably suffice. She was grateful for the isolation of night now more than ever, and for the time it afforded her to chase her rapid thoughts.
“Octavia?”
Her isolation shattered as quickly as her peace did. She jumped, and her heart almost left her chest.
“Is that you?”
Octavia hadn’t heard his voice since Velrose. Even if he was one of the last people she would’ve expected to see in the dead of night, the presence of another person at all was enough to nearly scare her to death. Octavia contemplated ignoring him and pressing onwards, as feeble as she knew the idea would be. She could always run, although she knew nothing of his athleticism. Was she suspicious? Did he have anything to be suspicious of? She knew she was overthinking. It was a reflex.
“I, uh, yeah,” she ultimately stammered as she faced him. She prayed he couldn’t hear her frantically-beating heart, incriminating in its own way.
Francisco waved half-heartedly. “Hey there. Where are you going this late?”
Octavia faked a smile for him, doing what she could to meet his curious eyes with false confidence in her own. “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to--”
And at the absolute last possible second, the knot in her stomach was her only alarm. She remembered.
With as much subtlety as was possible, Octavia feigned a stretch, biting her sentence in half with care. She cast her vulnerable gaze high to the moon instead. “I wanted to get some fresh air. Going for walks makes it easier to sleep afterwards, and it’s a really nice night out.”
The part about not being able to sleep wasn’t exactly a lie. She prayed upon prayed that it would be a viable truth. If the Willful boy disagreed, he didn’t say so. He simply smiled with a shrug of his own. “Fair. We’ll see if you still like doing the same thing in a few weeks, though. It doesn’t get stupidly cold in this part of Mezzoria, but it’s still annoying as hell.”
Octavia clung to whatever light conversation she could. “I mean, you already dress warm.”
“Yeah, well, every time I train anywhere even a little close to Briar, it doesn’t help with a damn thing. I dunno how he can stand it. He still gets frostbite through those crappy little gloves if he’s not paying attention.”
She tilted her head. “He…gets hurt when he practices?”
Again, Francisco shrugged. “What can I say? Apexes are a pain in the ass, sometimes. Too strong for their own good. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve nearly burned my freakin' fingers off. They can be hard as hell to control if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Octavia winced. Mina had already given her a pretty solid example in the Ensemble alone. “I’m…sorry.”
He waved one hand with a dismissive grin. “Don’t sweat it. We’re used to it, and we’ve got it figured out. Look, if you’re ever gettin’ too cold, just come hang out with me. I’ll play something to warm you up, okay?”
She smiled--genuinely, this time. “I’d like that, if you’d have me.”
For a moment, he was satisfied with that smile, and she was content with his. When his face fell, it was immediately uncomfortable. “Can I, uh, ask you something?”
Octavia’s stomach lurched. Frankly, she feared the worst once more. “Yeah?”
Try as she might to avoid his gaze, the one that found her was far more distressed than piercing. “Did you…get into a fight with River?”
Octavia flinched. “What?”
It was Francisco's turn to wince. He stole back his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I know it’s not my business, sorry. I just…he’s been really out of it ever since we got back. He’s got some eccentric little tendencies, but he’s not usually this…sulky. He won’t tell any of us what’s up. We already knew about the thing with Mina, but he’s not the type to give a damn about what that comes with. I know it’s not that. He looks so damn sad. It’s almost kind of pathetic.”
Now her stomach hurt for a different reason entirely. “He’s…really that upset?”
“You said somethin’ to him, then?”
Octavia didn’t have the heart to face him head-on if she was going to admit to her malice. “I…yelled at him about what he did for Mina. I-I get that it was unavoidable, but he was just…completely fine with it. That was ten whole years he’s never going to get back, and that’s on top of what he’s already given up. God knows how much he’s used altogether since the last time I asked him, too. Fourteen years is…unbelievable. I feel like he doesn’t value his own life. I couldn’t stand that he wasn’t upset, not even a little bit. Is that really so unreasonable?”
Francisco stared at her silently for a moment. “He told you fourteen, huh?”
Octavia’s breath hitched. “What?”
When the boy clung to silence once more, she refused to entertain the same. “It was...ten for Mina, and he said he'd used four in total before. Is it...more than that?”
Francisco averted his eyes. The action spoke for itself. Her stomach lurched.
“How much?” Octavia pushed.
His voice was steady where his face was strained. “You don’t wanna know the real number.”
He was right about that much, for how her heart could’ve burst right then and there. “I--”
“He’s…doing what he can to keep up,” Francisco continued. “This is his way. It’s just the kind of person he is.”
“What do you mean?” she asked quietly, still battling her pounding heart.
He sighed. “River’s one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, and you sure as hell wouldn’t know it by his freakin’ legacy. He ended up in Tacell before any of us did, and he was already putting everything he had into gettin’ it where it needed to be. It doesn’t mean a damn thing that we’re stronger than him. He’s…the best of us. He doesn’t see it that way. He gives everything he’s got to compensate, and if that includes himself, then so be it. Nothing we say will make a difference. We’ve tried.”
Francisco crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto his other foot. “Don’t be mad at him, if you can help it. I don’t particularly like it, either. None of us do. Still, he loves being a Maestro. Hell, it’s his whole damn purpose. It’s how he can make a difference, according to him. We can’t stop him from burning himself out, but if this is what gives his life meaning, all we can do is be there for him when he needs us.”
He rolled his eyes playfully. “And he’s pretty attached to you, so I’m sure that didn’t help any. You’re gonna end up breaking his freakin’ heart.”
Octavia blushed. “You mean…are you saying he--”
Francisco smirked. “Haven’t figured that part out yet. Haven’t asked. He sure as hell acts like it, sometimes.”
Octavia did what she could to stem her fidgeting the moment she noticed it. She cleared her throat in the wake of her embarrassment. “Is there…really nothing that would get him to change his mind? About using his gift so freely?”
Francisco shook his head sadly. “Trust me, if there was something that could, we would’ve been all over it a long time ago. I’m gonna be real with you, I’m seriously worried about what’s gonna happen when we find the Apex of Spirit.”
Octavia froze. “What do you mean?”
“It might kill him.”
Francisco’s eyes flashed with something dark that made Octavia’s blood run cold. She clung to the hem of her dress anxiously. “What…do you--”
“He says he wants to,” Francisco continued, “and I know he’ll be nice about it, but it’s…probably gonna destroy him. It’s all he wanted. Don’t get me wrong, he loves Rondelio, but not having an Apex is seriously doing things to that boy. I swear to God, nobody beats up River more than River beats up himself.”
Octavia’s heart hurt more with every word that left the Willful boy’s mouth. “I…please tell him I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just wanted him to be safe.”
Francisco tilted his head, sliding his hands into his pockets casually. “I can tell him, sure. I think it’d mean a lot more to him if you told him yourself, though.”
She didn’t necessarily disagree. Her heart continued to sink ever further on a downwards path. “River…knows I’m gonna have to guide Rondelio someday, right?”
Francisco didn’t answer.
“He…does know that, right?” Octavia pressed weakly.
He sighed once more. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. He knows. I know he knows.”
The knot that was born in Octavia’s stomach was impossible to untangle. This entire conversation had cursed her with more than one, regardless. She hated it.
“Look,” Francisco added, somewhat more upbeat, “just…talk to him. If you want to apologize, go for it. It’d make his day, I’m sure, but even just seeing you would probably get him out of his own head for once. Give him a chance. He makes bad decisions, but he’s not a bad guy. It would…mean a lot to me--to us.”
Octavia smiled softly. “You guys really care about him, huh?”
He returned the same. “I mean, you’re the center of your little circle, right? He’s ours. Be good to him, okay?”
She nodded. “I will.”
“You really ought to go to bed. It’s late as hell. Nothing fun ever happens when it’s my turn to patrol absolutely nothing all friggin' night, so this was at least something. I appreciate the company. Want me to walk you back?”
Octavia shook her head, keeping her smile intact. “I’m alright, but thank you. I’ll see you around, okay?”
Francisco grinned. “See ya.”
Even after she’d turned on her heel, taking the sod below along with her, her heart still stung, somewhat. It would’ve been easier if River was simply angry at her in turn, maybe. To know she’d accidentally crushed him was, frankly, equally crushing. Already, she was experimenting with the right concoction of apologies in her head. There wasn’t much she could do to undo what had already been said. As to her initial sentiment, she still didn’t even feel unjustified. That, too, was frustrating.
“One last thing.”
Octavia stopped, throwing her gaze over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
Francisco, too, was already on his way, adjusting his partner’s case on his back. At least briefly, he stilled. Even facing away from her, his voice was calm and clear.
“Where were you actually going?”
Her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe.
“I-I…I told you, I was--”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Francisco offered. “I was just curious. Weird thing to lie about in the middle of the night.”
“I…I’m not...”
Without turning, she saw him shake his head. “I don’t need to see it. I can hear it.”
Her whole body trembled. Octavia couldn’t help it. She couldn’t manage to spill another stuttered word from her throat, and every last excuse she could cobble together fled instantly. It was a hole she couldn’t dig herself out of.
Francisco raised his hand dismissively, one departing step at a time sparing the Ambassador from interrogation she was powerless to escape. “Sleep well. See you around. Don’t get bit by bugs, and stuff.”
Octavia didn’t dare move, let alone breathe, until he was nearly out of sight. Even then, the breaths she did manage to gather were shallow and weak. She was aware that the moon only continued to rise ever higher. It didn’t make it any easier to move. It didn’t drain the lead that had pooled in her legs, or the dread that had edged out River’s distress from her heart.
With four innocent words, Francisco had become one of the most dangerous people in Tacell.
And in her dismissal of every patrol, every reassurance of a Dissonance-free sanctuary, every highlight of a Maestro-laden paradise, Octavia had come to believe with all of her heart in the utter safety of her little haven. Even if Mixoly’s words still warred with Stratos’ actions, the discrepancies she’d highlighted were undeniable, unshakable, and unignorable. In the span of one evening, every “thank you” had become a risk, and every last face in Tacell had become a threat.