Katars, as it turned out, were very hard to use.

The weapon was a blade with horizontal handles. Octavia would grip one like she was about to throw a punch, except instead of the recipient meeting her knuckles, it would be the tip of a blade.

"Terrible," Jacques said when Octavia tried to stab the wooden post, only for the knife to point downward as it slipped through her grip. He walked over, grabbing her wrist. They had given her two pieces of thick leather to wear from her forearms down to her fingers as armor. Jacques studied her arm for a moment. "I'll meld the metal to the leather," he decided. "The handle is too complicated for you."

"It is not!" Octavia objected, but Jacques had already snapped the blade away from her. Whatever. She wasn't as useless as they seemed to think she was. If Octavia could just  use her magic...

Staël snickered from where she was feeding some chickens. 

"I know this is a trap," Octavia said, feeling her face grow warm. Staël gave a mocking look of interest. "You're trying to distract me until the Revolutionaries show up. I bet they have some sort of ransom on me-"

"If we wanted the Revolutionaries here, we would have called them days ago," Staël said. "Besides, we aren't the liars here. You said you could use knives."

Octavia groaned. Jacques and Staël seemed to mean well... but Octavia refused to trust them completely. She had considered leaving several times, but the truth was that she had no idea where she could go, and she was still recovering. Who knows how long she could make it without a constant source of food and water?

It appeared, however, that her luck might be changing.

Octavia stood near the edge of the farm, curiously watching as large cages rolled by with a group of people all walking, singing bright songs. Staël set her pail of water down and joined her near the fence post to follow her gaze.

"Have you been to a circus before?" she asked. Octavia shook her head. Savoy had once had a menagerie where she could see whatever animal her heart desired. When she was six, he decided the animals were too much work and returned them. "Come on, then." Staël hopped over the fence. Octavia frowned. "Unless you want to stay here?"

Octavia looked down at her hands. They still hadn't healed. It was getting worrying. Octavia felt as though the anxiety of waiting for her hands to absorb magic made the farm seem smaller with each passing day. Maybe it was time for her to take a step away from it.

...or maybe this was a trap. Were revolutionaries hiding under the guise of a circus?

"One second," Octavia told Staël and sprinted back to where Jacques was still working. He looked up at her, giving a small wave in greeting. Octavia returned it, looking around a few times before spotting her katars on a tree stump. "Did you already modify these?" she asked.

Jacques glanced at the weapons before nodding, getting up to help her wrap the leather around her wrists. The blades were now embedded on top of her hand, unable to move unless Octavia directed it otherwise. They felt like part of her almost. As if these blades were somehow now bound to her in a way she couldn't explain.

"Thank you," she said, holding the blades up. It was strange to think the metal had come from Friedrich's axe. She could almost pretend this wasn't the weapon that had sliced through her father's neck weeks before.

"Be careful," Jacques told her sternly. Octavia smiled - a real smile - and gave a murmured promise to do just that. If he ended up truly being her friend and she lived through this... she would buy him so much yarn.

Dashing back to Staël, she held up her hands and hopped over the gate.

"Ridiculous," Staël muttered but followed Octavia toward the large tent and the surrounding enclosures. Octavia tried to contain a childlike excitement as she got closer. Even Savoy's menagerie hadn't been so extensive and wild. Octavia stared in wonder at a pile of colorful seashells that began popping open at once, revealing small birds with glowing eyes that squawked before fluttering into the sky, helping workers tighten ropes and straighten tents. To her right was a large pile of rocks that began to form into some semblance of a creature. Octavia stepped back.

"Are you okay?" Staël asked, amused. Octavia turned to her left to see a snake flicker between several colors as it slid up the arm of a woman who was patiently waiting with a stick in hand.

"They have so many animals," Octavia whispered, looking at the sky above her. There was a roar, and all Octavia could see was a pair of claws and feathered wings soaring above. Laughing, Octavia clapped her hands together.

"If you like that, you should see the show," Staël said, jerking her head to the side. They were approaching the tent now, people flitting inside with excited whispers. Octavia placed her hands behind her back, but nobody seemed worried about weapons as the tent filled with more people.

Her feet faltered. As enchanting as this all seemed, she couldn't be foolish. Taking a slow breath, she looked around, forcing herself to look for traps and potential escape routes. Childish whimsy would not make her an easy mark.

"Hello?" Staël asked, holding out her hands. "Are you coming or not?"

Swallowing, Octavia gave her surroundings one last appraising look. Her father once told her not to walk into anything without at least three plans in place. She eyed a few more exits - and then the mass of people. Assuming they weren't all out to kill her, Octavia could probably figure out at least a dozen more escape routes.

With that thought to reassure her, Octavia gathered her courage and stepped inside the tent.

"WELCOME!" a man yelled, floating in the air. His palms were glowing purple, a gust of wind keeping him lifted above the ground as he seemingly walked on nothing. "Take a seat! Get a snack! We'll begin momentarily!"

The seats all circled a vast ring. Inside were various performers demonstrating tricks with elemental magic, swallowing fire or forming shapes out of water droplets. From above them, people tied in silks were flying across the air alongside some winged lizards.

Octavia fell into one of the front-row seats, leaning against the railing that divided them from the show. The lights dimmed, and Staël gave a small snort as she sat beside her. "They really didn't have these at the palace?"

"My mother doesn't like them," Octavia mused. "She never said why."

Staël shrugged, and the smell of something fried and buttery floated past. "Well, I suppose this kind of entertainment is outlawed in Dualis. Maybe your mother still has some Dualian qualities after all."

Octavia paused, tearing her eyes away from whirling magic and chatter to look over her shoulder. "Outlawed? Why?" she asked, brows furrowing.

"Dualians are really big on the protection of magical creatures," Staël said, which was odd to hear, considering that Dainn had enslaved a dragon.

Octavia looked out over the circus ring again. "Are they mistreated?" she asked slowly. How could something so lively be a bad thing? Her heart sank that perhaps the naivety that she had worked her throttle was showing.

"It depends who you ask," Staël answered. "And some Romanovians would say it doesn't matter."

"How could it not matter?"

"Because with how miserable their lives are, they deserve something to look forward to."

And with that morbid comment, a spotlight rose. There was music somewhere that Octavia couldn't quite identify, but her attention was quickly diverted to other things. A horse with a single silver horn trotted front and center with a woman whose clothes glittered under the spotlight doing a handstand on its back. A scorpion followed, almost the size of a wagon, with two heads and three stingers. Octavia felt her heart drop as the performers skipped over to it as if they couldn't see the venom on its tails.

A batlike dog came next, scaring the audience as it flew overhead with its teeth bared. Octavia was so distracted by its eyes glowing gold that she almost didn't notice the woman walking out in flowing fabric.

Staël gave a soft gasp from beside her. "A siren," she whispered, hitting Octavia's arm. Octavia turned her eyes - a little startled to find that the siren looked eerily similar to the audience.

"Watch your ears!" one of the performers shouted. A few audience members clapped their hands to the side of their heads while others leaned in, eyes alight with curiosity. The siren only smiled politely. Octavia frowned. She was beautiful, eyes an eerie gold and hair cascading down to her feet.

"I thought sirens were water creatures?" Octavia asked, eyes flicking to the girl's bare feet.

From beside her, a man scoffed. "They give her plenty of water, I'm sure," he said, clapping his hands as the siren stepped forward. Octavia didn't know what to make of that response as the tent quieted, all waiting for whatever was about to happen. Octavia was fairly certain a siren's song was a dangerous thing. Perhaps this woman was merely acting?

Before she could ask, the siren's eyes met hers. Octavia almost jumped at being noticed - adrenaline rushed through her as the girl opened her mouth. A single note echoed across the tent.

Octavia couldn't say what exactly her voice sounded like. All she knew for certain was that the girl's form flickered with every note. Her hair shrunk, becoming shorter and curlier as the strands darkened, and her eyes moved from gold to orange.

Octavia couldn't be certain... but the siren seemed to take a step closer to her. Then another. And another. With each step, her image sharpened, leaving Octavia's heart to stutter. It felt like a dream. A nightmare. Something in between.

The siren kept singing until a perfect replica of Antonia looked back at her.