Her father's day of rest was the same as Lord Savoy's.

Octavia had attended plenty of days of rest. One attended the ceremony after death to release the spirit to the earth. She had joined in the ritual for murdered soldiers, fallen members of the royal household, nearby citizens, and other noblemen.

But the day of rest she remembered most was her aunt's.

To be clear, Jivanta had died before Octavia was even born. The matter of her body, however, had not been settled until almost a decade later.

Octavia wasn't entirely sure what happened, if she was honest. Her parents hadn't given her details, but someone had apparently stolen her aunt's corpse. It had taken talented investigators to track down the bones so they could finally let Jivanta rest.

Nobody told her why the corpse was stolen away or even how she was found. All Octavia really remembered on the matter was how Friedrich screamed that Jivanta had wanted a Dualian funeral. Guards had eventually come to drag him away, leaving Octavia to watch in utter confusion as a five-year-old Antonia argued with their father that the bones they were about to burn couldn't be their aunt. Their father had just looked at Antonia in confusion before gently reminding her that she had never met Jivanta.

Looking back on it, Octavia wondered if her aunt was perhaps the first victim of the revolution. Maybe she was even Friedrich's first victim.

"Have you decided yet?"

Octavia blinked. She was on the floor with her knees to her chest. A map lay beside her, and Dainn stood above, looking at her warily. She said nothing. She couldn't even remember the last time she had spoken.

It had been three days since her father's murder. Possibly four days. Maybe five. Six? They all blurred together.

Dainn grimaced as he shifted the crutch under his arm. He had returned a few days ago from whatever battle the Revolutionaries had sent him out to. He looked relatively unharmed aside from the missing leg. She hadn't asked if the dragon or a Royalist had taken it from him. She wasn't even sure why he was here right now.

Wincing a little, he moved around until he could lower himself onto the floor next to her. Her bed remained untouched, and the room unused. Plates of uneaten food surrounded her, alongside fresh clothes and buckets of water to wash in. Octavia hadn't touched those either. She was still covered in dried blood, the flecks breaking off into clumps of brown. She wasn't entirely sure if she even slept.

"The ceremony is tomorrow," Dainn prompted her. "They are going to lay Lord Savoy to rest in his gardens. That'll be nice." It would be. Octavia was sure Savoy would enjoy it. He always relished his time among all of his plants in the courtyard. His spirit would do well there. "Where would your father like to go?"

Dainn grabbed the map and held it up. "Octavia," he tried again. When she didn't respond, he sighed. "Your wedding will be soon. If you don't hurry up and pick someone, they'll pick for you."

Pick someone. The thought almost made her laugh. Licking chapped lips, she tried to find the strength to fix Dainn with an indignant smile.

"Friedrich was going to kill us," she said, voice gargling from the lack of use. Dainn's expression tightened. "And now Antonia and I are left to live? Why?" She studied Dainn's face, but he didn't answer her. "Your people think Antonia's some kind of god, don't they?"

"No." Dainn's fingers twitched, voice hardening as he shot her a stern look. "Some people might think she's Life's Envoy. It just means Life sent her down as a savior for the followers of Life. Friedrich is worried he'll lose support from Dualians if he hurts your sister." Dainn's eyes flicked Octavia up and down. "He's worried that maybe you might be Death's Envoy. Especially after..." he trailed off, but Octavia didn't notice.

She still didn't understand the envoy business. She found herself too tired to care. Instead, she sighed, letting her head fall against the stone wall behind her.

"So he'll marry us off like I suggested. To Dualians, perhaps? Since they are now so fond of us."

"Don't think that highly of yourself," Dainn told her, hand touching his wounded leg with a grimace. Octavia lazily let her head fall to the side to look at him. "Perhaps your sister might have some religious affiliation with my people. That doesn't change the fact that you're Romanovian and royal."

"My mother is Dualian."

"Your mother is a traitor, and you're a spoiled brat who refuses to accept that your family harmed thousands of people." Dainn's voice rose, and with it, Octavia's anger. "Even if your sister is Life's Envoy, I doubt all of Life's followers would care. The clock resets. They'll wait until Life picks someone else. I sure would if Death chose you to be its envoy."

"My father is dead," Octavia spat out through her teeth. "Is now the time-"

"My entire family is dead." Dainn leaned forward so their faces were inches apart. "Being orphaned is hardly special. You're lucky you get to live, just like you were lucky to have pretty dresses, servants, and food whenever you wanted." Dainn shifted, grimacing as he tried to right himself on his one leg. "I came in here because I felt sorry for you... I'm not sure why. You feel more than sorry enough for yourself," he muttered and limped out the door.

Once again, she was alone.

Octavia fell to her side, letting her cheek press against the cold stone of the floor. She could hear men training outside, shouts and celebrations somewhere down below her. The world outside her room seemed to burst with life, mocking the death that plagued her.

Did they deserve this?

Octavia had no idea anymore. She was too exhausted to try and figure it out.

It was an hour - or two, or three - when the door slammed back open. She half-expected it to be Dainn again, but it was Nema who stood at the entrance, looking furious.

"Get up."

Octavia did not. Nema didn't seem to agree with this because she crossed the room in four fluid steps, grabbed one of the buckets of water, and threw it at her. Octavia gasped, the water shocking for a moment as she jerked away.

"Great. Let's get the blood out of your hair," Nema said flatly and rolled up the sleeves of her silk robes. Octavia spluttered, still trying to regain her wits. "Move."

Nema grabbed Octavia's hair, yanking hard until she was over another bucket, dunking her head in. Octavia coughed, accidentally inhaling some water as she finally pulled away, slapping Nema away from her. Her head spun, the lack of food catching up as she tried to move.

"What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" Nema shot back, letting her go. Octavia scrambled up, giving a frustrated scream as she grabbed a plate of old food and threw it at her. Nema batted it away with ease. The platter clattered to the floor. "Antonia is locked away, and you've done nothing but sit here-"

"And what am I supposed to do?" Octavia shouted. Ire was beginning to fill her, lodging itself in her throat. She felt like someone else was speaking through her, some personification of anger she couldn't quite control. At once, it was too much. At once, something snapped. "What can I do? What should I do?" she shouted, not caring that everyone outside the room could probably hear her. "My father is dead! My mother and brother are being hunted as we speak. And not even the spirits know what fate awaits Antonia and me. I wish Friedrich dared to kill us when he had the chance!"

Nema closed her eyes, reaching for her, but Octavia spun, kicking one of the buckets of water to the ground.

"Octavia-"

"I tried," Octavia hissed, turning to point a finger at her face. "I tried to get free. I tried to figure out how to save everyone. I failed. I shouldn't have to try again. I have lost everything!"

The last note broke, a shout crumbling to a whisper. Nema grabbed her wrist, shoving her against the wall.

"You'll try again," she said. Octavia shook her head, and suddenly, a dagger was at her throat. "You. Will. Try. Again." Nema pressed the blade against Octavia's throat. A subtle sting rose, but Octavia didn't respond. There wasn't even any fear at the idea that Nema could end her life with a flick of her wrist. "Antonia needs you. Help her, or I swear to the spirits I will cut you limb from limb and use your blood to feed the earth," she hissed. The dagger moved to her ear. "Don't think I'm above such things-"

"Not for Antonia, I'm sure," Octavia spat back, shoving her away. Nema narrowed her eyes. "Your dedication to my sister has always been so admirable, druid. I'm glad she found such comfort in religion."

Nema faltered at that. Octavia wasn't sure why. Did she think Octavia didn't know? Antonia told her most things. Even if she didn't, the pieces weren't hard to figure out.

"There is no law saying a druid can't fall in love," Nema said, a note of defensiveness rising. Octavia gave a mirthless smile. "The spirits don't judge me."

"If I remember correctly," Octavia said, and Nema lowered the knife. "Druids can fall in love as long as they put the spirits first." Nema raised her chin. She was a few inches shorter than Octavia but held her ground as Octavia pointed a finger to her chest. "Are you putting the spirits first, druid?"

A silence followed. Nema's nostrils flared, but Octavia could feel a wedge of panic between them.

"Of course," she said and turned, pulling out one of the dresses that Octavia had been ignoring. "It is your job to put your sister first. Are you doing that, princess?" When Octavia didn't answer right away, Nema put the dress in her arms. "Get it together. I'll be presiding over your father's day of rest. If I don't see you there, I'm coming back to cut off a finger," she said coldly and turned, her green robes swirling as she marched out of the room.

Octavia stood there for a moment. Her whole body felt numb. Nema's threat held no genuine concern for Octavia. Losing an appendage seemed like the least of her problems at the moment.

But Antonia...

Octavia sighed. She couldn't abandon Antonia. Her father was dead. Lord Savoy was dead. Her mother and brother were missing. It was easy to push Antonia from her mind amid all the grief, but Octavia knew she couldn't stand by and do nothing.

Dropping the dress on the bed, Octavia fell to the ground again, though this time, she grabbed some of the food brought this morning and stuffed a fistful of bread in her mouth. She hadn't noticed how hungry she was until she was on all fours like a dog, desperately swallowing as much food as her body could handle.

All in all, it took her two hours to look presentable. The blood felt like it was stained into her skin, obstinately remaining despite her vigilant scrubbing. In the end, she ignored the dress Nema had handed her, instead opening the closet to find some other clothes that had been brought to her over the past few days.

She had expected that at some point, they would stop dressing her so finely, but all the dresses in front of her remained expensive silks and velvet with intricate patterns and flowy designs. Octavia touched the fabric, realizing bitterly that it was another way to ensure she couldn't run off without someone recognizing her.

She yanked off a black one with short golden sleeves, slipping it on before pinning up her hair.

When she looked in the mirror, a stranger stared back at her.