Octavia threw herself from the seat. When she looked back, the siren had changed again, eyes dark and face morphing into something that resembled her mother. Octavia kept moving to the exit, somehow out of breath, as she heard Staël get up to follow her.

"Octavia?" she asked, grabbing her arm. Octavia went to jerk away but froze when her katar almost pressed against Staël's skin. "What did you see?"

Octavia didn't want to answer. Even if she did, she didn't know what to say. Outside of shifting into Antonia, something about the siren unsettled her in a way that left her skin crawling.

"Alright," Staël said when Octavia didn't respond. "Let's just look at the shops, then."

Octavia hadn't even noticed the shops—if they could be called that. Between the animal cages were small stands with various trinkets on them. Some were figurines of the animals, while others were small toys for children. Another was-

"Magic," Octavia smiled, seeing the familiar vials splayed on a shelf. A man from behind the stand grunted as they approached. "I didn't know they sold magic here."

"All used," the man said as if that was a selling point. Octavia tilted her head. "By the performers." Oh. Octavia hadn't realized that was a thing, though she remembered her father once joking that people would probably pay to use any magic Octavia's hands had touched. She hadn't thought any part of that was serious. They were just the ramblings of a proud father.

Looking down at the vials, she picked up some earth magic, waiting to feel the familiar tingle that signaled it was ready to be absorbed. Nothing. Octavia couldn't feel anything through the glass vial. Her scarred hands twitched.

She turned to Staël. "Why don't you buy some?" Octavia asked, holding out the bottle. Staël gave her a bemused smile. "For the farm. It'll help the crops grow, and the animals will have more grass to graze on-"

"I know it would be helpful to have earth magic," Staël said, plucking the bottle from Octavia's hand. "It would also be helpful to have water magic or fire magic. We can't afford any."

Octavia stared at her, trying to do the math in her head.

"But... I've seen your farm. It is a good fifty acres." Octavia wondered if Jacques and Staël did everything themselves or had help. She certainly hadn't seen any other farmhands while she was there. "Even without magic, you'd make a reasonable profit of...." She ticked her fingers off. "Maybe a thousand coins a year? That's... what? About eighty coins a month? You'd need ten for food, twenty for the animals and farm equipment, and another ten for general upkeep." She wrinkled her nose. "Five for new clothes or shoes. Maybe ten more for something fun? Taxes would be another five-"

"Forty."

Octavia stopped. "Forty?" she repeated. Staël placed the vial back on the shelf. "Forty a month? That isn't right. Who's your tax collector?"

Was this another piece of the rebellion they had missed? Were Revolutionaries coming to steal money under the guise of tax collectors?

"I suppose nobody now," Staël mused and thoughtfully picked the vial back up. At Octavia's face, she looked down at the ground, hiding a grimace. "Your father needed plenty of men stationed in Dualis. That wasn't cheap."

"What?" Octavia asked, shaking her head. "I- no. We only have a few men stationed in Dualis."

Staël turned the vial in her hand, thumb running over the label. "Octavia," she said, voice far more patient than before. "Why did Romanov wage war against Dualis?"

This again. It was a question Octavia had been dancing around, a niggling feeling in her stomach whenever someone brought it up. She knew the next words out of Staël's mouth could be lies... or maybe that's just what she hoped.

"We invaded because of a failed trade agreement," Octavia said, remembering her mother explaining it all to her one stormy night. "Romanov didn't have enough magic to support good crops, so we offered to pay them for their earth magic. Dualis agreed but didn't give us the magic. My grandfather invaded and..." Octavia trailed off. She remembered asking her mother how they paid Dualis for the magic and why Romanov had run out. Her mother only hugged her tighter, voice too quiet to make out the words over the cracks of thunder. Now, Octavia felt her stomach churn as the holes in the tale expanded.

Staël shook her head. She dug into her pocket, pulled out six coins, and placed them on the counter. The merchant grunted in acknowledgment. Octavia felt a jab of alarm at how freely they had been talking in front of him. Quickly, she moved away, anxiety rising as Staël tucked away the bottle of magic she could now afford.

"Romanov ran out of magic because your grandfather used it all. None of it went to the people, Octavia. Not to the farmers, not to the fisherman, not to sailors or hunters." She jerked her head toward the tent behind them. "Ironically, circuses are one of the few places you can find magic still."

"How can that be true?" Octavia asked sharply. "Our country is famed for our nature. The Eternal River is run by magic. Our plants grow with magic-"

"I'm sure the area you and the tourists see is lovely," Staël cut in, voice clipped. She gestured around them. "This is how the rest of Romanov looks."

Octavia looked up. She had seen Staël and Jacques's farm, sure, but paid little mind to the surrounding area. As she took in the horizon, she expected to see what she always saw: lush grass, trees with long branches, and vines at every corner.

Instead, the field around them was yellow, with the one pond she could see in the distance filled with discarded food and bloodied clothes.

Staël touched Octavia's arm. "It got so bad that people would leave the country and smuggle magic back illegally. And..." Her voice went taut, but at Octavia's face, it softened slightly. "The truth is that your grandfather used all of our magic up on frivolous parties and his army. There was no trade deal with Dualis. Your grandfather simply had no more magic to spend and poured the last of it into his army to take Dualis's."

Octavia looked out over the circus, watching someone use fire magic to send colored flames popping into the sky.

"And my father?" she asked quietly. "I don't remember him holding many parties."

"No," Staël agreed. "He married your mother to try and stake a claim to Dualis's magic legally. Dualis didn't back down. After the war ended, your father promised that Romanov's troops would retreat after only taking a bit more magic." Octavia frowned at that, but before she could ask questions, Staël continued. "And then you were born."

From inside the tent, the crowd gasped in wonder. Octavia ignored it to try and register Staël's tone change.

"And?" Octavia asked, shrugging. What did her birth have to do with any of this? Staël gave a wry smile, reaching out with surprisingly gentle fingers to push a curl out of Octavia's face.

"And you were very, very sick," she said softly. Octavia blinked a few times. She couldn't remember ever being sick. Not once in her life. She had no colds, no allergies, no bouts of any fever or aches. Her mother claimed she had strong blood. "There were rumors your aunt cursed you."

Her aunt? Octavia could have laughed. What a ridiculous accusation.

"Jivanta died before I was born."

"Not before cursing your mother," Staël said, and bit her lip. "Octavia... Jivanta was special."

Like Antonia, she thought. But that had to be a lie. Antonia was the first of her kind. Nobody else in the world had been born with magic. How would they keep this sort of thing a secret?

"What does that have to do with cursing my mother?" Octavia asked instead, mouth dry and gritty. As if she was speaking through sand.

Another thunderous round of applause came from the tent. Octavia looked back, noticing a few men whispering to the merchant she and Staël had just bought magic from. Quickly, she turned away.

"Politics," Staël answered wryly. "Jivanta was rumored to be some kind of... Dualian envoy. I don't know most of it, but she married your uncle to kick off the revolution. She started this. Not Commander Friedrich."

What? Octavia blinked, throat closing up. No. Absolutely not-

Staël grabbed Octavia's arm. "The way I heard it, Jivanta tried to curse your mother not to have children to end the bloodline. She planned on using the fact her sister couldn't give your father an heir to topple the Thalestris rule."

"No."

"Yes," Staël said sharply. "And then you came to be in spite of that. Her magic didn't work. Jivanta was supposedly Life's Envoy. It was rumored she couldn't prevent life with her magic in that way."

Octavia breathed out slowly. There was that word again. Envoy. She still didn't understand what it meant. She didn't care. From behind her shadows moved, but she didn't notice. Her mind was swirling with nonsensical thoughts, trying to piece together the wisps of chaos. She didn't understand, she didn't understand, she didn't-

"Then you were born sick. Everyone in Romanov knew it. Nobody expected you to live past infancy."

"That's- that's not right-"

"Your father made a trade with the Cambrian Empire," Staël continued before Octavia could argue. "They have chosen magic there. It healed you, but in exchange, they wanted Romanov's magic... so... your father was in debt again, and his soldiers still had easy access to Dualis." Octavia felt her stomach churn. "I think it was easier for him afterward," Staël mused. "He just took from Dualis and ignored how little Romanov had. Anytime he got more magic, he gave it to you or the army or used it to decorate his throne."

"Stop it," Octavia said, turning away. "You're not-"

"You can't claim everything you don't like to hear is a lie."

"I can if it is a lie!" Octavia snapped at her, spinning back around. "None of this even sounds real. How can you-? Staël!" she shouted when Staël just shook her head and walked away. Octavia didn't follow. Instead, she backed up, suddenly all too aware that these animals were in cages. Maybe the circus wasn't as great as she thought. Maybe nothing was as she thought it was. Maybe Staël was lying. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe-

Something grabbed the back of her shirt, tugging her back. A curved blade was at the base of her throat with someone pressed against her spine. Octavia's breath caught - tensing as she went still. The stranger didn't cut her throat. Instead, they leaned in, breath hot against her ear.

"Hello, wife."

Dainn.