Harmony

Collectively, the Maestros now had two major, inexplicable concerns--the harassment of a homeless camp and the changed conviction of an accidental killer. Both had gone, and continued to go, unsolved, with few leads to pursue. Octavia had long since stopped trusting in her ability to chase “leads” in any capacity, really. While there had been saving graces to both situations--the release of Breileneth and the promise of Vincent’s eventual freedom, respectively--they’d still made for an exceedingly overwhelming week. Truthfully, this was the second time this week alone that Octavia had been forced to do battle with Dissonance before ten o’clock in the morning. She missed sleeping in.

Regardless, the last several days had not been kind to their abilities to investigate anything at all. With the efforts of preparing for Vincent’s trial, there’d been little time to focus on anything else of merit. The one person who’d opted to stay out of it all was Harper, who’d disappeared for long periods of time in between every scrap of paperwork and planning.

Octavia had a feeling she knew where he’d gone for the last several days repeatedly. She was surprised he wasn’t staying there longer, finding him back in his bed at Viola’s abode every evening. She planned to at least ask him how the children were doing, let alone if they’d recovered well from the fire. She tried to skirt the topic of whether or not the damage from the flames--ablaze where there was already so little to preserve--was meaningful in the first place. She’d hardly needed to bite her tongue. The conversation steered in a different direction altogether.

“Someone paid them.”

Octavia tilted her head. “What do you mean? Who?”

They’d hardly made it through the door before he’d plopped himself down on the couch, arms and legs crossed in tandem. “Holly and Ivy. Someone gave them the bounty they were promised.”

Octavia settled down beside him hesitantly. “The…one for burning down the camp?”

Harper nodded. “Yeah. That one.”

“Even though they…didn’t actually do it?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Domino told me.”

“Was it a lot?”

“It was exactly what they were promised. Which was a lot, yes.”

Octavia cast her eyes into her lap. “Should we be…happy for them? That means they can take care of themselves more, and…not hurt people in order to survive, right? And help Domino, too.”

He scoffed. “If it lasts. Trust me, it’d be nice to see them get their act together.”

“Do you think the person that paid them is the same one that told them to do it?”

Harper shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe they paid any other guys who tried, too. Who knows. Compensation prize.”

“Do you...think they don’t realize Holly and Ivy didn’t actually succeed?”

Harper rolled his eyes playfully, not devoid of a teasing grin. “Camp’s still there.”

Octavia winced, embarrassed. “O-Oh. Yeah. Good point.”

He chuckled. If nothing else, it was nice to see him laugh again.

“I don’t get it, though. How do you get paid and have no idea who paid you? Someone had to hand them the money, right?” she asked.

“Someone did, but it wasn’t anyone of note, from what I heard. Just some person who was told to pass it along, like a delivery boy. Who they got it from is anyone’s guess.”

With that much, he was back on his feet, battling his way out of the couch he’d already partially sunken into. Octavia lamented, somewhat, that the conversation didn’t stretch just a bit longer. It had been several days since she’d gotten to spend time with him. Even so, with the emotional distress he’d likely been through today, she didn’t push.

“Where are you going?” Octavia asked anyway.

“Very strongly entertaining the idea of going back to bed,” Harper answered bluntly, stretching his arms. “You should try it. Definitely worth it.”

She wasn’t at all opposed to the idea. She smiled. “I might. Thanks.”

With a grin, he was gone, abandoning her and her couch-blessed comfort zone in favor of yet more comfortable mattresses. Octavia entertained the concept of sleeping on the couch instead, resistant to the notion of getting up in the first place. With Stradivaria’s case on the table before her, she’d more or less already made herself comfortable. There was no harm in closing her eyes for a bit. She did.

“Can we talk for a bit?”

So much for that.

It was a good thing that she hadn’t yet progressed to the “laying down” phase of her couch reprieve. If she had, she was fairly certain she would’ve outright refused Josiah’s request. Octavia reluctantly opened her eyes, resisting the urge to ignore him regardless. She patted the cushion beside her own.

He shook his head. “Not here. I…kinda wanna take this outside.”

She could’ve killed him.

“It’s that private?” Octavia groaned.

“It’s pretty private.”

There was no joking in his voice, nor any smirking or smiling to be found. It wasn’t quite cold, but it was enough for her to raise an eyebrow. She suddenly felt bad for giving him a hard time, doing what she could to push herself off the couch--with extreme effort. With a stretch of her own, she reached for Stradivaria’s case.

“Don’t bring Stradivaria.”

Octavia blinked. “What?”

“If something happens, I’ll take care of it, so don’t worry. Just…leave it here.”

She wasn’t a fan of where this was going, for more reasons than one. “Why?”

He sighed. “I know I say this a lot, but I’m usually right about it, so just trust me.”

She hated her inability to argue with that sentiment. With one fleeting, pained glance at Stradivaria’s case, she began the mental process of coping with being separated from her partner--again. Octavia thought about at least taking the Harmonial Instrument to her room first. Still, it was surely safe enough inside the manor in general that she could get away with leaving it where it was. Given the “no separation from instruments” rule, she really hoped Josiah was serious about keeping her safe. She didn’t particularly anticipate Dissonance showing up here, of all places, and yet she’d learned to expect the unexpected recently.

“Outside” in question wasn’t the front yard that Octavia enjoyed stealing the sunshine from on clear days. Instead, he opted for the back. Josiah led her past every room she was used to--and many she wasn’t--out through a door so rarely used on the far side of the manor. Viola’s backyard was splendid in its own right, although not quite as ornate as the front courtyard. Still, it saw cobblestone paths to lovingly-maintained bushes of carnations and peonies--the latter matching with the feline of the same namesake inside. Speckled milkweed between stone crevices lured stray butterflies, and maple benches splashed with coats of creamy white left plenty of places to drink in their beauty.

Relative to the height of the manor behind them, shade was abundant. The one gazebo in a similar creamy color offered its own contribution to the same. There was even a fountain, although small and more suited for delicate trickles than roaring sprays. With the morning sun once more blessing her warmly overhead, the combination of a softly-clouded day and the serenity of nature was at least compensation for her voyage outside. It still didn’t keep her from missing her bed.

Josiah held her hand once more, pulling her gently through the peaceful yard and towards a zone of notable shade. Towering shrubbery, uniformly rectangular, served as a natural fence around the perimeter of the yard. It was somewhere near to this extreme rear of Viola’s property that he finally came to a stop. Even then, he was still slow to release her hand. He’d been holding her hand a lot lately, really.

“Sorry. It’s a…habit.”

Josiah's grip quickly unfurled, and her hand was set free. Octavia hadn't realized the words had left her mouth. She winced. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong with it. It was just an observation.”

“I can stop doing it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Octavia shook her head. “No, seriously, it’s fine. If you want to hold hands, we can.”

He averted his eyes, opting instead to shove that same hand into his bag. “Don’t…worry about it. Let’s just get to the point.”

“What did you want to talk about? What was so important that we had to…do all of this, I mean?”

Josiah answered her with his actions, somewhat. When he withdrew Etherion, the rosewood shimmering somewhat underneath the soft rays of the sun, it only partially satisfied her curiosity. She still had no actual idea where he was going with this.

“I haven’t actually seen him face-to-face yet,” he began. “I can’t, unless there’s…someone of your legacy there, if I understood right the other day. You’re like a little catalyst. I need you to help me out.”

Octavia blinked. “You could’ve said hi to him any of the times I’ve been around everyone else. Why now?”

Josiah sighed. “I wanted us to be alone. I wanted you here for it, too.”

She tilted her head uncomfortably. “Here for…what?”

“Just…you’ll see. Help me get him out, whatever that involves.”

In truth, that wouldn’t take much effort. She hadn’t yet met a Muse who was reluctant to see her. From the extremely brief contact she’d had with Etherion, he seemed nice enough, regardless.

With two fingers, Octavia tapped delicately against the rosewood. “Hey, you said you wanted him to let you have a proper introduction, right? He’s giving you one.”

Josiah raised an eyebrow. “He said what?”

Josiah didn’t get a chance at clarity. Yet again, the pulsing radiance and coagulating rays that Octavia had come to associate with a luminescent birth greeted her eyes. This time, the stark, stimulating shades of yellow that assailed her were somewhere between ferocious neon and glittering gold--vivid enough to contrast with the far softer hues of Stratos.

Much like the lightning that Josiah brought down with each and every vicious note, the flashing brilliance that accompanied Etherion’s manifestation was almost too bright to handle. Whether it was simply the shading of the light or something else entirely, Octavia was unsure. Still, she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut for at least a moment.

What greeted her seconds later upon opening them was, expectedly, the tell-tale shape and visage of a Muse. Aloft well above both herself and Josiah by several feet, the figure that awaited her was built somewhere between the statures of Orleanna and Stratos. With a sleek, slender build somewhat smaller than Stratos’ own, he was far from intimidating. Still, she’d heard his voice before, along with all of the smooth and cool composure that came with it. Octavia hadn’t expected it to belong to a body the slightest touch tinier than her partner's. It didn’t make the Muse's existence any less starry and awe-inspiring, as usual.

“I still don’t know your real name,” Octavia offered, raising her eyes to where his own would’ve been. “I figure I can’t just keep calling you Etherion.”

He bowed to her politely, the slightest nod of his head accompanying the gesture. “I am known as Ethel. It is a pleasure to see your face at last, Ambassador.”

Apparently, she’d underestimated how nice his voice was. Her suspicions that he could give Stradivaria competition were now undeniably confirmed. Even so, hearing him aloud was somehow more pleasing than hearing him in her head. The smooth, low tone that dripped from every word he spoke gave her chills in the best way--especially with her title in those same lovely sounds. She was suddenly glad Stradivaria wasn’t here, lest she’d have to compare them once and for all.

Octavia hardly remembered to curtsey back, as was slowly becoming a custom. “I-It’s really nice to meet you, too. I…know it’s been a long time coming.”

“Indeed,” he spoke. “Far too long.”

“I keep forgetting exactly how long you two have been acquainted, if you could call it that,” Josiah murmured.

“To you, boy,” Ethel addressed him, turning his attention away from Octavia, “I have many words, and you surely have many questions in turn. For now, as it is, I offer you my salutations--even given the circumstances.”

Josiah waved, his expression neutral. “Good to meet you, too.”

Octavia tensed. “Did you…call me here because you wanted me to do the Witnessing?”

Josiah stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Partially. Not right now. There’s something I need to get out of the way before we touch that.”

Ethel hummed, a sound Octavia couldn’t divorce from amusement. “Even now, you cling to ultimatums. Do you not believe my word to be true?”

Josiah sighed. “It’s not you specifically. General precaution. If you know me as well as you think you do, I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.”

“What are you talking about?” Octavia whispered.

Josiah didn’t bother keeping his volume low in turn. “If he wants to go home, then he needs to tell me some things first. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. “You can’t just hold him hostage!”

“I can,” he hissed, “when it involves us.”

Octavia had no words to argue. She didn’t get a chance to press him further. It was Josiah’s turn to press instead, his narrowed eyes solely locked onto the Muse before him.

“Talk,” he demanded.

“You are free to ask,” Ethel offered calmly, “and I will do what is within my power. However, I implore you to remember our discussion.”

Josiah nodded. “I remember.”

“Tell me this, then,” he asked softly. “Is Stratos with you?”

At the mention of his name, Octavia stiffened. It was Josiah who shook his head on her behalf.

“No. He’s not anywhere near here. I made sure.”

“Good.”

Octavia really didn’t like where this was going.

“For what you can tell me, then,” Josiah began, “what are you hiding from us?”

“Myself?” Ethel responded gently.

“All of you.”

“I kindly ask that you be more specific, boy.”

“There are things you’re not telling us. A lot of things. These…these little ‘rules’ that keep coming out--about you, about us. Now, some of it is putting us in physical danger. You told me about Madrigal. None of us had any idea. How can we be sure there’s not other…stuff like that going on? Why isn’t everything being communicated? What are we being kept in the dark for, especially when we’re going through all this mess for you guys?”

Josiah practically growled the last portion of his question. Octavia had half a mind to tell him to stand down. Even so, this wasn’t her partner. Judging by the conversations she’d heard simply walking past his room, she doubted this was the first time he’d spoken to Ethel this way. The Muse took his harsh interrogation in stride, regardless.

“I would like to make you aware that this question does not have a simple answer,” he answered peacefully.

“There are no simple answers to anything.”

Ethel nodded. “Where we have touched, such is unfortunately true. I will not ask whether you wish to hear such an answer, elaborate as it may be. That much is clear to see in your eyes.”

Sharp as they were, piercing the golden light in a manner cold and calculated, Octavia wasn’t particularly inclined to disagree. She’d had her own tangle with difficult answers to difficult Muse-flavored questions--simply asking about the origin of Stratos’ alias had landed her in a mess with somewhat horrific implications. Given the gravity of Josiah’s questions, she braced for worse.

“Assist me in this, then,” Ethel said. “I am…searching for a manner in which to phrase this that you might understand.”

Josiah tilted his head in the slightest. “What is it?”

“What is…something of your world that is delicately crafted? Something fragile, made by your own hands? Something around which one must take care, lest it tear to shreds or fall to pieces? Something that must be…maintained organically, something not to be trampled upon?”

Josiah threw his eyes at the ground for a moment, trading interrogation for contemplation. Octavia did the same. The example she found made her feel somewhat silly, at first. She debated even offering it, given that whatever Josiah came up with would likely be more sensical if she gave him time.

“A spider web,” Octavia finally tried, her voice soft.

Josiah side-eyed her, although not with malicious intent. When he nodded, she felt both pride and relief. “Yeah. A spider web. That works.”

Ethel nodded much the same. “A fair comparison. In that case, I say unto you, boy, that your world is much the same as a spider web.”

Josiah raised an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

“It is no simple task to bring an entire world into being, and no more simple to fill it with life. There are 'rules' that govern creation, limitations mandated by the hands of those who would craft all from none. Permit me to ask, and correct me if I do not speak the truth, but are there not limits and restrictions to your own world from within?”

It took Josiah a moment to respond. “You mean, like…physics? I guess so, if you put it like that.”

“Then compare such to your…spider web. Every thread, you could believe, is a restriction put in place to preserve what has been created by our hands. Whether or not such a thread seems relevant or meaningful is perhaps in the eye of the beholder. Could one be expected to count every unique thread of such a web?”

Josiah crossed his arms. “Where are you going with this?”

“These ‘rules’ which concern you so,” Ethel continued, “compose a spider web that must be maintained at all costs. Such ‘rules’ were not ours to make, such ‘rules’ were not ours to disclose, and such ‘rules’ must absolutely not be broken.”

“So you’re saying Madrigal has to give up part of her lifespan every time she wants to use her gift, for the sake of the spider web? Is that seriously what I’m hearing right now?” he spat.

“I assure you, boy, not a single restriction of our own exists without reason. In the case of the…gift of the Spirited, for example, it was never intended to grace the hands of a human. Of this, I know you are aware. As such, our blessings were not meant to interfere with this world. If they are used to leave a lasting mark upon this earth, then there must also be a price paid.”

Ethel’s tone darkened as he continued. “The Spirited child would not have sacrificed her lifespan had she not resisted the natural laws of this world to save that boy. I do not fault her, for she did not know the true cost. The burden for such is solely upon Lyra. Of that, I am certain she is aware. We are not meant to be here. I cannot speak to that truth enough.”

“So now that you’re here, you’re just gonna make up all these extra rules about being here?” Josiah argued.

Ethel shook his head. “I will say this as succinctly as possible, within the terms we have agreed to use.”

Josiah gave him a moment, shifting his weight to his other foot in aggravation. Octavia was lost. She did her best not to show it.

“Our Lord of All created a spider web,” Ethel finally spoke, his voice soft, “and there existed one of our own who walked directly through it.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. Josiah didn’t quite do the exact same, although the look of surprise on his face still spoke to at least some degree of shock. He didn’t press, nor did he question. Instead, he gazed expectantly at Ethel, awaiting elaboration.

“Our Lord has worked to…weave the threads of this spider web once more, crafting new threads from what can be salvaged. We were never meant to touch the spider web with our own hands, and our entanglement has brought great harm. Our Lord has carefully created…threads upon which we may find our freedom. Even so, they are closely intertwined with more threads we are still not to breach. Does this make sense?”

Josiah didn’t respond for a moment. “I think so. I already know you’re not supposed to be here, but…what do you mean someone ‘walked through it’?”

Ethel sighed, a tiny sound that didn’t escape Octavia’s ears. “Not so long ago, you referred to us as gods, did you not?”

Josiah stared blankly. “Please tell me you’re not about to say I was right this whole time.”

“It is not so. Are you aware of the difference between a god and a creator?”

He shrugged. “There…isn’t one, really, if you mean on a divine level.”

Ethel shook his head again. “On the contrary. Where a god is meant to govern, a creator may breathe life into a work of passion before setting it free of his touch. That was his spider web. It was to be admired, to be watched and loved with eyes far off as it blossomed--for better or worse. We did adore it. We were content with the care we had provided in its infancy. Our worlds were not to meet, and there was one for whom this single restriction was not satisfactory. The consequences of her rebellious deed cannot be granted enough damage by words alone.”

“She Who Brought the World to Ruin.”

Octavia’s words instantly drew both Josiah and Ethel’s gazes to her, the former accidentally stinging her with the cold stare he’d worn all along. He seemed to realize quickly enough, and his eyes softened--albeit with great confusion left behind.

“Who?” he asked.

“He has told you that much, then?” Ethel breathed, his voice much more gentle towards Octavia than his own partner. It was almost flattering.

Octavia nodded in the slightest, squeezing her hands together anxiously. “I…don’t know who she actually is. Stratos won’t tell me. I just know she exists, and I know she made a mistake. That’s why everyone’s here, isn’t it?”

“A mistake,” Ethel murmured. “Is that how he phrased it?”

“Is that…not what it was?” she asked.

“There are those who would argue that ‘mistake’ is far too lenient a term for her error. Yes, it was surely unintentional. However, Ambassador, you will meet with many who do not have the same lenient views as your own partner.”

Octavia gazed downwards, fixated on the grass rippling quietly around her boots. She couldn’t ask Stratos more about the mysterious mistake-maker, regardless. She’d already tried once, and she’d nearly upset him in the process.

“What…did she do, exactly?” Octavia tried. This might’ve been the only chance she was going to get any time soon.

Ethel tilted his head ever so slightly. “So captivated was she by this spider web that she wished to tread upon it, to walk through its threads and improve it ever more. It was not with negative intent, of that I will grant her. She sought to bless the world further. She sought to share her love with those who called the web home. It was here, though, that she was besieged by ideals that betrayed the beauty she had believed in. Where she had once offered her heart, she instead found it crushed by corruption. When she pleaded for forgiveness, for a chance to spectate once more, she could…not be untangled from the spider web. Her agony annihilated what had been made.”

Octavia recoiled. One hand rose to her mouth in horror. “Did she…she couldn’t have, right?”

“Is that even possible?” Josiah asked in equal shock, withdrawing his hands from his pockets. “For a Muse to…to…”

Ethel nodded. “She was the first. The throes of her pain reached high Above, and were unlike what had ever been fathomed. It was unstoppable, as was she. There was naught we could do to resist. We, too, fell into the grasp of the spider web. It was only by the hands of our Lord of All that her agony was brought to an end, her fate much the same as ours. Her ‘mistake’ has poisoned the threads of the spider web.”

“She…that’s the reason we have Dissonance,” Octavia breathed. “It was her.”

“From here, we cannot ‘cleanse’ the spider web in full. We must return to our realm rather than further affect what we were never meant to touch. I apologize, oh Ambassador, but we plead for your help because we are not meant to touch this web.”

“You’re working…from the inside,” Josiah muttered, one hand raised to his mouth in thought. “You’re...using Maestros as vessels for your power, because you can’t do it yourselves. Am I onto something, here?”

“You are correct. You are, after all, descendants of our own legacies. We are compatible, and we have chosen those with whom we feel a connection for a reason. We offer to you the blessings of our legacies, by which our aims may be mutual. It is not, of course, with every bond that we are so...productive.”

Octavia winced. Cadence was surely a special case. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for Ethel, given all of the time he’d likely spent ignored.

“There’s a question I’ve had for awhile,” Josiah confessed. “Why musical instruments, anyway? There had to be dozens of other forms you could’ve taken, right? It’s so…specific.”

“Stradivaria said the Muses were more like ‘sounds’ than anything,” Octavia answered instead, her own explanation hesitant in and of itself. “At least, that was…how I took it. It almost makes sense, right?”

The questioning aspect of her half-hearted answer was cast not at Josiah, but at the applicable Muse above. He nodded somewhat. “You are correct. Upon this world, this was the manner by which our Lord opted to most efficiently interpret our existence. I implore you to recall that the ‘rules’ of our realms are not the same. It is through these methods that we came nearest to a physical manifestation of our presence.”

Octavia returned his nod, even if his response was somewhat convoluted. The idea of Stratos as a metaphorical violin rather than the one that graced her hands was difficult to wrap her head around.

“I know you said you have to go back to...Above, right? You have to go back to Above to get rid of the Dissonance, but the other Muses said you each can do it a little bit at a time. For one Maestro individually, I guess. Is that right?” Josiah asked.

“Indeed. It is all the strength we are afforded, but even this is a contribution to which we are obligated--not by our Lord of All, but by what our brethren have wrought upon this world. It would take all of us in tandem to fully purify what has been unleashed, and the hands of our Lord most of all. This second ‘spider web’ would not have overshadowed that which was to be, were it not for the careless actions of one alone.”

Josiah fell silent for a moment, his eyes as blank as his face. “What…is that supposed to mean?”

Octavia gritted her teeth. She knew the answer to that one. She wondered if he’d hate her, should she admit to not telling him sooner--or not telling anyone sooner. She still couldn’t fathom it in the first place.

“It is we who have ruined the path of fate itself. It is we, too, who must atone. To each of our own, we have endeavored to--”

“Not that,” he interrupted sharply, shaking his head. “Is there a…first spider web?”

Ethel paused. Octavia could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

“There was, once.”

Even now, Josiah’s face was equally emotionless, skeptical and disbelieving. “What was the difference?”

If Ethel noticed the look on his partner’s face, he didn’t show it. “Due to the decisions of one so misguided, there are those who would never be born. There are civilizations which will never rise, and lands which will never flourish. There were those who led this world, those who enriched its culture, those who raised the spider web into something beautiful, and all are no more. All will never be as it was. The threads have been severed. The false titles we took upon our capture by the spider web, many chose as to the feelings that shattered them so. Some spoke to the strength which they still strive to carry with pride. Others…apologize. They pay homage to what once was, and what will never be again.”

Octavia stared deep into the grass tickling her boots. “That’s what Stradivaria said, too,” she spoke sadly.

“You guys really ruined everything, huh?” Josiah muttered with disdain.

“There is little to offer besides my deepest apologies, to which I will speak time and time again.”

When Josiah stopped speaking, the silence stretched on for far longer than was comfortable. It strangled the air for long enough that Octavia took the lead.

“She Who Brought the World to Ruin,” she murmured. “What was her legacy?”

It was Ethel who hesitated. “That of your own.”

Octavia loathed the pang of guilt in her heart. Logically, she knew that the sins of the Muses were not her own. Still, she couldn’t suppress the feeling, nor could she muster the strength to summon another question. Even with a Muse willing to divulge everything she could desire to know in front of her, she found nothing else. More uncomfortably, she didn’t enjoy the sinking feeling that came with his prior rejection of Stratos. Of that, too, she was afraid to press.

“Are you satisfied, boy?” Ethel asked of a quiet Josiah.

He sighed. “I know if I say yes that I’m gonna regret it later. I got the gist of what I needed, I think. I’m gonna kick myself when I think of something else in the future. Even now, I feel like I’m forgetting something I wanted to ask.”

Octavia tapped his shoulder twice. “He didn’t mean it nicely, I don’t think, but Brava said the Muses from Etherion’s legacy are…more open to talking. Maybe you could talk to one of them, when we meet another one? If you have any questions by then, I mean.”

Ethel made nearly the exact same hum of amusement she’d grown to expect from Stratos--and she still hated how lovely it sounded from him instead. “Yes, I am not particularly surprised he would say such. There is much to be spoken of him alone. Still, I cannot necessarily confirm nor deny the willingness of my brethren to speak on such matters in detail. To indulge the fervent inquiries of this boy was my own decision, be there consequences or otherwise. I can only pray this knowledge served as enough to satisfy his curiosity. In that way, it is true that even a human may remind me of myself.”

Octavia smiled. “It doesn’t help much that he kinda held you hostage, I’d assume.”

“I do have one last question, then,” Josiah spoke suddenly, his tone darker than usual.

Despite the mild change in his partner’s voice, Ethel was unshaken. “I will oblige to the best of my ability.”

When Josiah met Ethel’s visage with his eyes, their piercing glare was unnerving and accusatory. Even from his side, spared of their direct line of fire, Octavia’s blood felt startlingly cold. She still wasn’t fond of that look.

“Why haven’t the other Muses told us any of this? Why won’t anyone else talk, or be entirely honest with us up front? Why do we keep having to pry things out of them? And what...‘consequences’ are you talking about?”

Ethel didn’t speak. He took Josiah’s icy glare with surprising coolness of his own, his eventual words low and unnerving.

“That is, perhaps, the one question I cannot answer. I…cannot tell you.”

Josiah growled under his breath. “I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”

“Know that in answering your inquiries, detailed as they were, I have committed an act that has already…”

He trailed off, his words replaced with softer ones. “Should you seek to discover the truth of your own accord, I pray for your success--even at my own risk. However, of this inquiry, I absolutely can say no more. I truly apologize.”

Josiah closed his eyes, exhaling with notable frustration. “I guess I should be grateful for what I did get.”

Abruptly, it was Octavia he turned to instead. “I know I’ve been asking a lot of you, but there’s still more things I need help with. There’s a…‘step two’, if you know what I’m getting at.”

She tensed. “Are you asking me to…”

Josiah nodded. “If you’re willing.”

He didn’t hesitate to thrust Etherion’s body in her direction, the rosewood already dangerously close to her. She resisted the urge to take a step backwards, hesitant herself instead. “W-Wait,” Octavia pleaded.

Josiah stopped, his eyes softening.

“You…know what’s probably in there, right?” she said, unable to conceal the fear just barely touching her voice.

Those soft eyes widened briefly, and he sighed. “I forgot for a minute, honestly. I…it’s probably her, like I said before. Can you still do it?”

Octavia’s gaze flickered between Josiah’s own and the beautiful clarinet in his outstretched palm, still shimmering with falsely-enticing innocence in the light. “I don’t really have a choice, but it’s gonna be rough. I don’t know a lot about her, but I’ve never done one for someone I’ve actually…met before.”

Josiah nodded empathetically. “Take it slow. It’ll be over before you know it. I’ll be here when you get out, whatever happens.”

There wasn’t much option to take anything slow, particularly given the sneaking sensation that he was rushing her. In truth, Octavia hadn’t expected to do this today. To be fair, it had to be done eventually, and she hadn’t witnessed a toll in several days. She supposed she should be grateful for her extended reprieve. Aside from that, she somewhat owed him for his immense assistance at Vincent’s trial. It didn’t make her any more thrilled to do this. She raised her eyes anyway, her permission to Ethel silent.

“Josiah Eleison, your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.”

The pressure was only one of several, less important reasons her hands shook as they approached the clarinet. Josiah’s gentle gaze of reassurance was lost on her. There was a part of Octavia that prayed she was wrong, by which she wouldn’t find Cadence within after all. The rest of her knew her wish to be completely and utterly useless with almost absolute certainty.

By association with Drey, she’d done what she could to push the girl out of her mind in full. Even if it wouldn’t, hopefully, be quite as severe as the inevitable toll for the man himself, she dreaded what she’d find in the dark just as much. She feared she wouldn’t escape unscathed, cursed to witness the visage of Priscilla’s killer once more--even in passing.

Dwelling on it was doing far, far more harm than good. Octavia held her breath as she took the plunge, thrusting her palms downwards onto the warm rosewood with too much force. She hoped she didn’t hurt Josiah’s hand on the way into the dark.