Harmony

The outside walls had been enough to smother her in suspense. By comparison, the inside was smothering in a different way entirely.

Versus Coda, the architecture was practically archaic. It took more than a moment to recognize the style as intentional, and yet additional time after to gain a sense of appreciation for it. There was a softness that came with the aura of the city itself, augmented in part by the calm atmosphere so different from the capital. Where such a foreboding exterior had spoken to suspicions of bustling crowds and a suffocating populace, it was surprisingly gentle by comparison.

She could walk in a straight line, for one. There were signs of life, as could be expected. She had her share of shops, bakeries, idlers, and everything in between. Still, where Coda had drowned out her thoughts, the relative quiet of the city left her begging for sound. There was a fine line between soft and empty. She towed it nervously with every step.

Even now, every glance from every stranger was uncomfortable at best and sharp at worst. It was more than enough to send a chill down her spine, and she preferred them to the handful dripping with disdain and hostility. It was with great relief that most moments of eye contact were broken as quickly as they’d been made, the eyes of those she’d never met hurriedly pried away and cast somewhere far off.

The urge to keep her head down or her gaze straight ahead was overwhelming. The closest she got to normality was children sprinting past, immune to the general atmosphere pervading those well at Octavia’s own eye level. Their laughter and happiness, background noise as it was, was the only semblance of satisfaction she was finding in the vicinity. Once more, beneath eyes she loathed attracting, she shuddered.

Welcome to Velrose. You don’t belong here.

“Tough crowd,” Harper muttered.

“Where do we start?” Madrigal asked. Even her enthusiasm was dampened, somewhat, by the oppression of the very air.

Viola quickened her pace at Octavia’s side. “Shelter, probably. We need to find a place to sleep tonight before we do anything else. I’m not too fond of the idea of sleeping on the streets in a place like this.”

Harper smirked. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

“Drey said he’s been here before. He would’ve had to get accommodations,” Octavia continued. “I assume they can’t really shut out anyone with a passport.”

Viola nodded, her eyes already scanning building after ornate building. “They have to accommodate merchants or their entire city would fall apart without trade. It’s in their best interest to at least offer somewhere to stay.”

“But we’re not merchants or anything like that,” Octavia countered uncomfortably. “Honestly, they probably don’t know why we’re here.”

“Or who we are,” Viola added. “Frankly, they don’t need to right now. We’ll get a place to sleep, get settled, and then we’ll start trying to get some answers.”

“Octavia, look.”

She followed Madrigal’s gesturing, and it was immediately worth it. How she’d been so distressed by the atmosphere that she’d missed the spearing tower beyond, she couldn’t explain. No matter how high to the azure sky overhead she offered her gaze, it still wasn’t enough to drink in the entire splendor of the structure.

It was as grand as it was imposing, the relentless sunshine once more stolen by sparkling bronze and tucked away in an alcove so precious. The bell was utterly pristine, no matter how faint its visage was from so far below and so far away. The building to which it was so wonderfully married was not to be ignored, bursting with brilliant color as the same splashing sunlight left radiant glasswork shimmering from afar. It was absolutely splendid. She stared endlessly at both, although it was that which rose well above her head that ensnared her attention the most. It was the first time in Velrose that anything had truly left her satisfied.

Harper whistled. “So that’s the bell tower you were talking about.”

Octavia nodded. Drey had relayed as much, for what he’d apparently been relayed in turn. “Drey said it’s the most amazing thing about Velrose. Something about the way it sounds when it rings, too.”

“I mean, if these people are religious fanatics to the degree that Drey told you they were, I’ll take a wild guess that that whole building is a church,” Viola offered.

“That’d probably be a good place to start, provided they give us a chance,” she answered.

“So what do we even do, walk up and just tell them we’d like to hear all about their culture? Something like ‘hey, this conservator said you guys are suspicious, do you happen to know what a Maestro is?’” Viola asked, her tone splattered with skepticism.

Octavia winced. No matter her wording, that particular conversation was going to be a mess. “I mean, honestly, I only based my guess on this city by the fact that the passports showed up at a musical auction. Also, Drey said there was a ‘mystery’ to it, for whatever that was worth.”

“Drey, who you’d known for less than an hour at that point,” Viola added with a hint of sarcasm.

Octavia blushed. “I-If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but that was my general thought process. Given the looks we’re getting, there’s probably at least a reason we’re not welcome here.”

“Inn,” Madrigal interrupted plainly.

It literally said Inn, blunt enough that it nearly made Octavia smirk. Had Madrigal not pointed it out, she more than likely would’ve walked right past it. The architecture was identical to all that surrounded it, snugly positioned between whatever other shops saw fit to flank it from either side. The woman waiting before the building wore the exact same sharpened gaze she’d been fighting to avoid. Sleeping on the streets was starting to grow less unappealing, if this was going to become a regular issue.

“Excuse me, miss,” Viola began, taking charge where Octavia nonverbally refused to do so. “Do you have any rooms available for the night?”

Where once she’d found a standard sharpened edge, Octavia now could’ve cut herself on that same glare. “For whom?”

Viola shrunk somewhat beneath her pointed gaze. “Four people--myself and the travelers behind me. We can pay without issue. Several nights would be ideal.”

The woman crossed her arms. The hostility in her eyes bled into her voice, somehow. “You’d be sharing one room for your whole stay. You can only stay for three nights at maximum.”

Viola recoiled. “Three nights? I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly? Only three? Like, at all?”

“Standard. That’s how it is. This is the only inn here, so if you don’t like it, you won’t have any luck anywhere else. Three nights,” she repeated.

“Even if we pay extra?” Viola pressed, her voice rising somewhat.

“Doesn’t matter. Standard for everyone,” she repeated casually.

Whatever knot Octavia had gone out of her way to unravel in her stomach came back with ease--tighter, perhaps. The bell tower had been a nice reprieve. Three days to scrutinize Velrose in full was almost laughable, given what little she’d seen of it thus far. Really, sleeping on the streets was now exactly one-half of her problems. Beneath every hostile glare that latched onto her back even now, the idea of what would happen if she was genuinely deemed to not belong here was horrifying. It raised an entirely new issue, and she once more shuddered at the concept of both concerns in combination.

It was a reflex for her eyes to dart about uncomfortably, clinging to whatever bastions of less-violent attention she could beg for. Octavia struggled not to look a single stranger in the eyes, or to come even slightly adjacent to their faces at all. The silence was still awful, and Viola’s continued arguing with the innkeeper only served to draw yet more attention where she pleaded to be ignored. If she could’ve blended in with the gentle architecture, innocent and pure, she would’ve fought for her life to do so.

She at least appreciated the innocent purity of the same children who continued to play without concern, utterly immune to whatever daunting atmosphere sought to smother her in full. She tracked them with her eyes, bursting with the only happiness she could salvage in such a place. It was the one thing that calmed her racing heart, familiar in a way that spoke as much to Coda as it did simply to natural human interaction.

She spoke too soon, ultimately. Cobblestone didn’t exactly seem to be a fun surface to crash into with such force, particularly at a speed notable enough that Octavia could physically hear the impact. The boy was lucky he didn’t smash into the hard granite of the adjacent fountain outright. He would’ve been even luckier if he wasn’t bleeding, let alone if it was only from one place. She winced fiercely at the sight, mildly concerned the small child had managed to hit his head in the process. Under no circumstances did she blame him for crying. At this point, she wouldn’t have minded crying for an entirely different reason.

It wasn’t as though there was much she could do besides stare with great discomfort, given how she feared the wrath of whoever would witness her attending to a child not her own. In this city, under this atmosphere, she didn’t dare. Instead, she was rooted in place beside an equally-uncomfortable Madrigal. Somewhere in the process of watching, she’d lost Harper entirely.

“Harper?” she called, soft and audible all at once.

If he’d heard her, he didn’t show it. Prying eyes meant little to him, apparently. The degree to which he moved almost instinctively with steps far too hurried was simultaneously admirable and risky. Already, he was crouched low, utterly uninterested in all but one tiny gaze alone. She held her breath.

“Are you okay?” she heard him ask softly.

His words were met with much the same crying, more or less lost to reasonable pain. He pressed. “Did you get hurt?”

Crying or not, he at least earned an affirmative nod for his troubles this time. Viola was still oblivious, her arguing effectively ceaseless at Octavia’s back. Otherwise, she was fairly certain Madrigal was watching with equal investment.

Harper tilted his head. “Can I see where you got hurt, then?”

The degree to which there was no actual blood was extremely surprising. Even from across the street, she was fairly certain she would’ve caught at least a speck of it, should it have stained the stone below. Light splotches of red sure to evolve into bruises served as the only souvenir of a cruel collision with the ground. Harper smiled gently.

“It looks like you’ll be okay. I’m sorry if it hurts, though. Did that scare you?”

Where there was no blood, there were at least tears. Open dialogue or not, Octavia was still not particularly shocked to find at least that much. She was much more concerned at the way by which people were slowing around her. Standard paces slowed to hesitant crawls or outright halted entirely to drink in the same spectacle. She clenched her fists. It didn’t matter if their eyes weren’t on her. She didn’t particularly like where they were landing, more or less defenseless on the ground as he was.

“Harper, there’s people staring,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Once more, he ignored her entirely. He was on one knee, his attention just the same in one place only. “Don’t cry. You’ll feel better in a little while. Do you want to go back to playing with your friends?”

The boy shook his head, his tearful distress possibly endless at this point. Octavia couldn’t quite dissect the exact look that crossed Harper’s face. It was concerning, particularly given the oddly-specific smile that followed.

Viola had been kind enough to purchase a home for Royal Orleans, by which the little instrument no longer was forced to cling to aging towels and other decaying means of concealment. He’d protested in earnest, and yet Viola’s stubbornness had won out in the end. It was a lovely case, really. Every shimmering silver lock was gorgeous as it sparkled beneath the sunshine, and the material held up splendidly against whatever rugged elements would challenge it. He was testing it against cobblestone today, apparently. He was testing the same glistening locks today, apparently. She was going to have to kill him today, apparently.

“Harper, don’t!” she hissed.

The moment the sunlight slammed into the golden splendor of the trumpet in full, she really, really entertained the idea of killing him. He met her gaze. She tried to convey the same sentiment with her eyes alone, given the way he was also ignoring her flailing and desperate nonverbal pleas for him to stop. What panic she harbored in her eyes probably betrayed her false hostility immediately.

The instrument settling comfortably against his lips did little to impede his ceaseless smile. He winked at her. That, too, did little to impede her bubbling panic. She strongly contemplated tackling him before this could go any further. As it was, she was too anxious to even watch what was to come. She did it anyway.

Really, if the people of Velrose who might’ve loathed her would’ve stopped to drink in her reactions, they would perhaps have been baffled. To be in such abject panic over a boy playing a trumpet was perplexing at best and insane at worst. There was always the chance Harper simply intended to play normally. She’d seen him do it, satisfying as his temperate song still was. It would be harmless, a sweet gesture she could live with. He’d surely tease her about her anxieties afterwards, and she’d have earned them in full. They’d laugh. It’d be funny. She’d look back on it fondly.

The moment she saw the same familiar, crackling embers spark to life beyond the bell, she mentally ran through every way she could slaughter him. She hoped he was fine with dying in Velrose.

As had been the case many times over in the past several minutes, Harper very much ignored her. His song absolutely was not tailored to her fears, yet again crafted with intent to serve one person alone. It was still lovely, for what it was, carried steadily on the wind in tandem with the precious embers scattering like orange stars to the open air above. They were brilliant beneath the sun, delicate in every way. Were they not aflame, they could easily have passed as the most searing of rains that splashed against the sky.

It didn’t matter how pleasing of a sight his warm melody offered. Unlike the three Maestras he traveled alongside, Harper was, by no true fault of his own, cursed with the inability to play quietly in the open air. He was audible. He was exceedingly audible. Octavia was exceedingly light-headed.

She’d already asserted that people were staring. If they weren’t before, if the sentiment was a deterrent alone, they absolutely were now. Octavia gripped her braids in frustration, tugging harshly as her eyes chased the rising stream of flickering embers that climbed into the sky. Madrigal was sincerely clapping in awe at her side, beaming with utter disregard to the situation as a whole. His song was enough to finally get Viola’s attention, at least. She literally screamed.

“Harper!” she cried at a volume that terrified Octavia. “Are you insane?”

He definitely was. As Octavia had come to expect, Harper yet again did not bother to acknowledge their collective panic whatsoever. Instead, the sprinkle of delicate sparks that still shone so vividly amidst the sunshine were one of two things to which he offered his attention. His gentle harmony flickered in its own right, every note as warm as the precious scarlets and oranges he painted the sky above with.

For how many eyes had fallen to him, accompanied by how many emotions and how many intents, he never ceased. His smile behind the mouthpiece never faltered. He was fearless, his confidence seeping into his song. He earned a smile back, every sparkling ember reflected where once had been tears.

“Wow,” the child breathed.

“This isn’t happening,” Viola muttered frantically, tangling her fingers deep into her hair. “This seriously isn’t happening. Tell me he’s not actually this stupid.”

“W-We can fix this!” Octavia reassured.

She absolutely could not fix this. She had no idea where to begin to fix this. It was the auction problem all over again, albeit born of their own circle rather than the actions of a stranger. Every method of damage control she could concoct in her head was useless. Her eyes flickered back and forth helplessly between Viola’s frustration and Harper’s blissful ignorance. This was an entirely new type of screwed.

“A…Maestro?”

One word brought her world screeching to a halt, fast enough that she felt dizzy. Viola caught it simultaneously, apparently, for how quickly their heads snapped towards the innkeeper in tandem.

“Excuse me?” Viola murmured.

“A Maestro,” the woman repeated quietly. “A Maestro has come to our city.”

“You know about Maestros?” Octavia practically shouted.

Her revelation was contagious. The crowd so haphazardly gathered had traded hostility for wonder. Judgmental glares melted beneath the glowing warmth of embers carried so joyfully upon the wind. Where Octavia heard the word once, she heard it soon dozens of times over.

“He’s a Maestro!”

“Here? A Maestro?”

“Wait, seriously?”

“There’s a Maestro over there!”

Octavia still wasn’t sure exactly what Harper was and wasn’t ignoring, given the way she watched his eyes flicker at least once to his surroundings. He rose to his feet with care, claiming more space with which to send his song burning brighter. He did so somewhere between gently and passionately, every once-fizzling ember now sparkling and sizzling with something far more luminous. Their delicate crackles had evolved into something notably audible, every breath with which he could fuel his flickering flares leaving them challenging the sunlight overhead. His grin was perhaps the only thing brighter by comparison, unfaltering even in the depths of his fiery song.

Harper turned his head slightly, and he finally--finally--gave her his attention. What terror and doubt had plagued her had melted in the presence of his luminous warmth. With his gaze on hers alone, the sudden sparkle igniting in his eyes put her light to shame. His song exploded with happiness in equal measure to that of his brilliant smile. She’d never actually seen his flames before.

It was a literal explosion, in a sense. Octavia knew him by his gorgeous little embers alone, delicate and fragile in a way that still spoke to lovely warmth. Now, the fire that erupted forth from the bell of Royal Orleans was a different type of beautiful entirely. His flames were absolutely splendid, scathing bursts of radiant oranges and luminous scarlets that swirled and spiraled without restraint. Where his precious sparks had crackled so softly, there was nothing inhibited about his fiery song broiling in the open air. The wavering mirage left in the wake of every scorching note was spectacular, and she could hardly look away. It was closer to the mental image she could’ve expected from the terminology of the will of fire. It didn’t make the display any less incredible. It wasn’t his audience alone that was captive. She couldn’t fight her smile.

“You’re telling me you know about Maestros? You’ve seen them?” Viola continued to press frantically, her wide eyes never once leaving the innkeeper.

“Yes, of course,” the woman answered, her attention more than stolen by raging flames aloft. “You didn’t tell me there was a Maestro among you children!”

“About thaaat,” Madrigal teased.

The implications of the situation were the least of Octavia's concerns, and her eyes were on Harper alone. He was perhaps the one thing burning brighter than every brilliant flame Royal Orleans could offer. She paid little attention to the cheers and praise he garnered with such simple effort on every side, a city once so hostile now ensnared in the palm of his hand. Octavia didn’t blame them one bit. His fires were resplendent, easily replaced with yet more doubly luminescent the moment one flame faltered.

He was endless, and his smile more so. He found plenty of time to meet her eyes again and again, perhaps more so than whatever care he could gift his captive audience. At least once, he clung to her gaze almost permanently. The way by which he managed to continue his fiery melody with one hand was extremely impressive. It left the latter available.

One finger flickered between herself and him, trailed by the most fleeting gesture to the ground in front of him. This time, it was her own grin that was explosive. She nearly hurtled Stradivaria’s case to the cobblestone below.

Viola’s scolding at her back meant nothing. The enveloping gazes of those she’d feared mere minutes ago meant nothing. The anxieties that came with being more or less encircled by strangers meant nothing. His happiness was impossibly contagious, and her eyes were for him alone. Octavia got the same back, and Harper hardly needed to repeat the same motion. He did anyway, and it left a violin on a collision course with her shoulder instinctively. She loved it.

It was so rare that her light spoke not to harm, justified as her defenses always were. There was an irony, then, that the softest radiance she’d ever offered had burned specifically for him. To do so twice over would be a blessing. It was the first time she played alongside another Maestro with genuine joy in her heart.

Where his own happiness had left him bursting into flames, she sparkled with the glow of every star in the sky. The warmth that bubbled beneath her fingertips and splashed onto the strings was free of panic, born only of satisfaction. He’d already seen her luminous little orbs before, miniature stars in their own right. Now, she’d grant him the chance to experience them once more.

Blessed in excess by the relentless sunshine above, it took effort to leave them shimmering brighter than that which shone down from on high. It didn’t impede her in the slightest, and every radiant ribbon that swirled forth from her luminous song was a lovely substitute. The golds and ivories that kissed the sky were wonderful, unrestrained and ambling upon the wind. Sometimes they were blighted by stray flame, mingling beautifully with scalding crimson that challenged the sun in turn. She could probably burn brighter than him, if she tried. Given the look on his face, she was extremely tempted.

His grin was as infectious as his energy, and his scorching melody wrapped her heart up in full. At least once, he intentionally did the same outright, and she put her faith in him regarding the mildly-concerning proximity of his explosive flames. He never burnt her, and she trusted him instantly. The way by which bursting scarlets surged and flickered so relentlessly before her left her skin as hot as her blood, stray embers teasing her own glorious little stars. She played. He played harder. Today, she learned that he was, in fact, competitive.

“That’s…amazing,” she heard afar from the innkeeper. “That girl’s a Maestra, too?””

Madrigal’s own excitement was more than audible above their songs--unsurprising, truthfully. “We’re all Maestros, ma’am! Every one of us!”

“Incredible,” she responded breathlessly. “To see this many Maestros in our city is…unbelievable. It’s been so long.”

“So long since…what, exactly?” came Viola’s own voice. “Have you had Maestros here before?”

“In passing,” she clarified. “We haven’t had one in quite a while. It’s been at least a few years now. For this many to come through, though? And on the same day, no less? It’s nothing short of a miracle. You have my apologies for my behavior earlier.”

“N-No offense taken,” Viola stammered. “Who was the last Maestro who came through?”

The innkeeper was quiet for a moment. Octavia struggled to make out her words, more than occupied as she was. “I don’t remember her name. Didn’t see her much, she just met with the acolyte and left. You kids should meet with her, too. I promise, she’ll definitely want to meet with you.”

“The acolyte?” Madrigal asked.

“The acolyte of the church,” the woman continued. “The keeper of the bell tower who sees all. Go to her.”

“Wait, why?” Viola interrupted.

“She needs to know you’re here, that’s why. Everyone will tell you the same thing. It’s in your best interests to speak with her.”

As to what that referred to, Octavia only half-cared. It was cryptic, granted. Some part of her brain was more than aware she was making progress. Most of her was exceedingly interested in outshining Harper--literally and figuratively, if he was going to put up this much of a fight. She forgot she had an audience, at some point. On sight alone, with his burning eyes never once drifting left nor right, he was apparently guilty of the same.

She was laughing, at least. If Harper weren’t so occupied with maintaining his blazing melody, beautifully overlaid with her own, she had a strong feeling he’d be laughing along with her. How his breath control was borderline perfect was beyond her, if he was able to offer up such a scathing song and the fiery brilliance that came with it again and again. Octavia could’ve sworn he was getting progressively more dramatic, for how fiercely every roaring scarlet plume was left scorching the very air. It was as wonderful as it was overpowering, a sun of his own making that set her soul ablaze.

She couldn’t quite tell if her own sweat was secondary to the unforgiving heat of their searing melodies in tandem or their faltering stamina. It was enough for her to call him out, much to the dismay of the part of her that could’ve burned forever.

“Let’s finish this up!” she cried well above their radiant harmony. “See if you can top this!”

Octavia surrendered her stars in favor of streams, radiant ribbons swirling aimlessly about her on every side. She adored her own warmth, pulsing luminescence left grazing her skin each time they drifted past. Draped in Stradivaria’s light, she didn’t hesitate to birth yet more with every lovely note. She lost count of exactly how many she made, although there came a point where her eyes captured only glowing golds in her permanent peripheral. She was incandescent, a star of her own making at the center of her newborn galaxy. She didn’t fear the soft sizzle of every ribbon that passed her by, content to illuminate her braids and leave her enveloped in artificial starlight.

The little spin she added at the center of her personal solar system was exclusively to mess with him, the skirt of her dress billowing in her wake. It worked wonderfully. The look on Harper’s face, stunned into shock as he was by her brilliant display, made her laugh even harder. It was almost enough for him to stop playing outright, given how long he was staring.

He did, in fact, find a way to top that.

Where she’d dismantled the stars, he assembled the sun. When he bounced back, he did so with a blazing smile and a heat she couldn’t match. His flames were less unrestrained, his pulsing oranges and bursting scarlets less raging. She’d never seen them so compressed, densely packed into a scorching ball of fire that would surely incinerate the sky. If he had remorse as to burning a hole in the clouds high above, he very much did not show it.

It took little effort for the scathing sun to swell, fueled in equal parts by stolen breaths and a melody far too competitive. It was beautiful as it burst forth, besieging the open air without mercy as it climbed ever higher. No longer could she call it a "little" fireball, for what notable size he’d somehow managed to nurture such brilliant flames into growing. She trailed it with her eyes all the way up, somewhat concerned as to how long he’d truly have full control before it carved a place amongst the stars in its own right. The self-assured grin on his face as his eyes continuously flickered to hers wasn’t the best sign.

The boom that followed startled her violently. The broiling ball of flame never made it that far, exploding into splashing sparks in every direction. It was a resplendent display, searing rain sprinkling down from on high in yet more gorgeous hues of crimson. Conceding defeat was as dissatisfying as it was undeniably enjoyable.

She hitched either portion of Stradivaria beneath the crook of her arm, clapping along with those offering far, far more of the same. Her own applause came with a playful roll of her eyes. “Alright, I give up. I’m not gonna lie, you’ve got me beat on the flashy stuff. Show-off.”

When the trumpet descended from his lips at last, she’d expected to find the same endless grin--if not teasing of his own to match hers. Instead, his eyes only trailed between Royal Orleans and the sky above several times over, stray embers above still sizzling beautifully as the wind claimed them. He tilted his head.

Octavia echoed the motion. “What’s wrong?”

Again, he repeated the same cycle of circular glances. “That wasn’t me.”

She followed along this time. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the other stuff, yeah, but not the last thing,” he clarified. “I didn’t do that. I’m sure of it.”

Once more did her own gaze track to the still-smoking blue skies above. If he hadn’t recognized the extent of his own strength yet, it would be his right to uncover. He had plenty of it, clearly.

“You two must meet with the acolyte,” came a voice from the crowd, dispersing as it was. “She’ll be so pleased to see you.”

“Yes, yes!” another agreed unseen. “She’s been waiting for Maestros for such a long time.”

“The…acolyte?” Harper asked, raising an eyebrow.

Octavia had heard the term just barely within earshot. She’d hardly given it thought, more or less dismissing it outright in the moment. In this context, it was somewhat more confusing.

“We got told the same thing,” Viola called, Madrigal still more than content to applaud beside her. “Great performance, by the way.”

Octavia beamed as they rejoined her, still dispelling the residual adrenaline that came with exuberant light. “T-Thank you!”

“And as for you,” Viola snapped, one pointed finger spearing viciously in Harper’s direction, “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Harper laughed. “Okay, in my defense, didn’t you say Octavia sorta did the same thing for me when we first met? Besides, it’s not like I did it for no reason. It’s…kind of a reflex.”

The harsh look Viola tossed at her instead was enough to make Octavia blush, somewhat. In terms of haphazardly displaying their instruments to strangers, she and Harper were now even. It wasn’t the most enviable form of camaraderie.

“You two have a bit too much in common,” Viola hissed.

“The acolyte,” Madrigal interrupted. “The innkeeper told us to go talk to the acolyte of the church. She said the acolyte is the one who watches over the bell tower.”

“So it is a church,” Octavia murmured. “What are we supposed to be talking to her about, exactly?”

Viola shook her head. “I haven’t quite figured that part out. The innkeeper didn’t go into detail. Either way, it’s something to follow--especially if she knows about Maestros.”

Harper shrugged. “The whole city knows about Maestros, apparently.”

“This entire place is weird. I’ll give you credit for landing us somewhere promising,” Viola teased, elbowing Octavia’s side gently.

Octavia smiled, teasing or not. To follow a fleeting idea in Coda halfway across the continent and be correct was immensely gratifying. What physical sensations had accompanied anxiety and doubt along the way had long since evaporated in their entirety, whether beneath treasured warmth not her own or in the presence of progress at all. It felt wonderful.

“Drey did mention something about religion being an important thing in this city. Maybe he meant that the church itself is important?” she tried.

“Maybe, but if they’ve got a church, they’re probably worshiping something. Either way, we’ll find out soon enough,” Viola offered.

Every step that followed into the heart of the Blessed City spoke to little of the apprehension she’d carried so recently. Where she’d shied away beneath hostile gazes on every side, she now found genuine endearment and soft acceptance. This, too, was its own warmth, and she carried her head as high as the bell tower looming peacefully beyond.

They were not the first of their kind to voyage through Velrose from beyond the walls, if words in passing were to be believed. The thought ate away at the back of her mind, edging its way down into her heart. It wasn’t quite a hope she was clinging to, a stretch as it may have been. She’d already gotten lucky enough by simply being here. Still, she kept it in reserve to dissect. She wasn’t alone. She could breathe easily. In the confines of a city so far from home, mysterious in every way, she didn’t mind getting her hopes up.

You don’t belong here.

She did, apparently.