If Octavia was honest, she wasn't sure she could be patient. Each day, she roamed through the castle, looking for answers. Not once had she seen any sign of Lord Savoy. The guards claimed he was ill, but Octavia found the lack of confrontation odd. Savoy had never hidden away before. Even when he was sick, he had always demanded a visit to tell Octavia how poor her magical prowess was or that her singing voice was subpar.

"Good morning," Octavia said brightly, twisting her skirts as she passed Savoy's door one morning. One of the guards smiled at her. The other was new, looking at her warily as she brought out a bundle of flowers tucked in her arms. "Would you mind giving these to Lord Savoy for me?" she asked, holding them out. "And wishing him my best as he recovers?"

The new guard leaned away. "You've cursed these," he growled.

Octavia frowned, looking at her flowers. "Of course not," she said, sniffing one pointedly. "Look, I brought one for you, too." She pulled out a red rose and gave it to the other guard, whose cheeks tinged pink. "Do handsome soldiers not like flowers?"

"You are the sorceress," the new guard said, reaching for his sword. "You-"

"Haz!" the other guard hissed, reaching out to stop him. "She has no magic here. Look at her hands." Octavia shifted the flowers to prove her hands were clean. Haz narrowed his eyes but said nothing. "I'm sorry, princess."

"She's not a princess anymore," Haz muttered. Octavia wordlessly plucked out a blue flower and walked over. Haz tensed but didn't move as she pinned it on his uniform. "There. It matches your eyes," she said. Confusion touched his expression. "The spirits reside in flowers like these. They'll protect you from harm."

"You would want me protected from harm?" he asked. Octavia laughed, bowing her head to peer up at him through her lashes. The distrust in his face was still there, but she could see it waning in favor of bewilderment.

Octavia bit her lip. "My family and I are in a lovely palace with good food. You are protecting us. Why would I ever want to see you harmed?" She touched his arm before placing the rest of the flowers in front of Savoy's door, pausing to hear if anyone was inside. Only silence replied. "Thank you, Sir Haz," she added.

Giving the guards one last look, she turned away to sashay down to the gardens. She had just reached a bundle of bushes, kneeling to place her hands into the soil, when a new voice spoke.

"You truly are something else."

Octavia rolled her eyes. The dragonrider again. Dainn, they called him. Octavia dusted the dirt off her hands and stood up. Now that the guards were out of sight, she could let her lips curl in disgust. After all, Dainn didn't seem quite as gullible as the rest of her captors. More volatile and irritating, perhaps. But, unfortunately, not as easily manipulated.

"Will you leave me to pray in peace?" she asked.

Dainn stepped from behind the pillar he was behind. "Pray?" he repeated. He looked around the garden, eyes flicking over the countless flowers and finely trimmed trees. "You're playing in the dirt. You aren't praying."

Octavia's tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek in annoyance. She could tell by the lilt of his accent that he was from Dualis - not Romanov. He had the same drawl her mother did, a voice filled with soft constants, unlike the sharpness a native Romanovian might enunciate with. Despite the similarity in speech, Octavia would have never pegged Dainn from the same country as her mother. His skin was the color of winter branches, and eyes honeyed brown. Her mother's skin was copper, and her eyes much darker.

"Taking care of the earth is how we pray," Octavia said shortly. Dainn ran his palms together, the fire magic in his hands mocking her. If she could shove him down and take it without being killed, she would.

Unlike most other countries, Romanovians didn't worship any gods. They had spirits. Spirits were who ruled over nature. It was the duty of every living thing to keep trees growing and rivers running after their inevitable demise. The druids were there to commune with the dead, listening to their wisdom and thoughts. If the spirits were happy, Romanovians had a bountiful land and good fortune. If they were not... less so.

Prayer usually entailed taking care of the land in some way, easing the spirits of their burden as you spoke to them. Octavia prayed often, watering and kneading the soil as she whispered to the spirits, calling to her ancestors whom she knew were watching with saddened hearts at her family's fall from grace.

"Dualians don't pray like that," Dainn finally said. Octavia walked over to where a fountain sat in the garden's center, surrounded by cobblestone pathways. The water glowed faintly, imbued with water magic to keep it swirling and clean. Octavia dipped her hands in to rid herself of the remaining dirt.

"I know what your prayer entails." She grabbed a towel hanging over a tree branch and wiped her hands.

"Do you?" Dainn asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on. Let's see how much someone with a royal education knows about the land your family steals from."

Octavia bristled but didn't allow herself to rise to the bait. Was stealing how the Revolutionaries spun it to the Dualian people? As if. Her father would never steal from another country. Especially a country her mother came from. What did they even think her family stole?

Tempering herself, she spun around, skirts swishing as she met Dainn's expectant gaze. "Life and Death," she answered. "You pray to one of them, right?"

Those were the two gods, at least. Some countries, like Htraeh, believed in many gods. Other lands like Cambria believed in only one. The Dualians had two, and two different branches of theology alongside them.

Some Dualians believed Life was the reigning god, thus only praying when a child is born. Others thought Death was the reigning god and only prayed when someone died. "Which one do you worship?" Octavia asked.

Dainn pursed his lips and touched his forearm, where a golden stripe went from his wrist to his elbow. "Both," he said snidely. Octavia narrowed her eyes. "But I pray to Death. When Death's Envoy comes, that's whom I'll serve."

He didn't seem pleased by that. Octavia didn't know what Death's Envoy was, possibly another prophecy like the Htraeheans had. Dainn's hand fell from his arm. Octavia's mother had worshiped Death, too. She suspected that sometimes she still did. There was a thin line, Octavia thought, between the Romanovians worshiping spirits and the Dualians who prayed to Death over Life.

Octavia turned, letting her hands hover over the fountain. She could feel the water magic bubbling underneath. If she reached for it, then it might absorb into her hands. The temptation was strong. She missed the feeling of power molding in her hands. She missed her favorite brand of fire magic, especially. Octavia had never learned to use a weapon. Only magic. It was what made her strong. It was what made her Octavia Thalestris.

Dainn reached forward and pushed her wrists down. "And what do your spirits think of your flirting with every guard here?" he asked dryly.

Octavia grimaced at the ground, trying to keep her composure, before turning to look at Dainn. "Is showing my appreciation for their bravery so horrible?" she asked him. Exasperation touched his eyes. "And what of you? I've seen you everywhere I turn. Why are you following me?"

The question was asked sweetly, pure innocence injected into her tone. Dainn didn't seem to buy it as he raised a brow at her. With Lord Savoy's garden in the center of the palace, he seemed extra aware they were surrounded by the walls and terraces of the castle. Others glanced at them as they walked by, but nobody seemed alarmed by the interaction.

If anything, more people were watching Trajan and Lucius as they dashed by. Octavia eyed her brother, who was laughing at something while Lucius stuck his tongue out at him.

It was hard to watch them play together, knowing Friedrich was the one trapping them here. It felt wrong. Neither Trajan nor Lucius seemed to share this sentiment as they chased each other, ignoring the Revolutionaries all frowning.

She supposed it wasn't too different from Octavia trying to win over their captors... but Trajan's innocence tainted the benefits of such a friendship.

A low snort brought her attention back to Dainn. "Well, you might try to escape," he said.

Octavia balled her hands by her sides before relaxing them. "Oh, but I am a mere royal," she drawled. Dainn narrowed his eyes. "How could I possibly escape with my limited capabilities?" 

The sarcasm slipped off her tongue easily, and Dainn smiled with equal sarcasm in return.

"You're not a royal, actually," he said, and Octavia turned, walking away from the fountain, further into the garden where the leaves of the branches allowed the sun to trickle through, forming patterns on the stone beneath her feet. "Or have you already forgotten your father abdicated?"

Breathe. Octavia's blood boiled, but she wouldn't give him another reaction. 

She turned to face him with a pleasant smile that she knew looked forced. It was. "Lord Savoy once signed a paper pledging his allegiance to my father." She gestured to where a blue revolutionary flag hung on a wall at the end of the walkway. "And now it appears he has defected. I'm starting to think papers don't mean much."

Dainn stepped towards her again, hands behind his back. "Neither does kings, it would seem."

Octavia pulled her shoulders back. "So it would seem," she repeated dryly, and moved to where a lemon tree sat amongst the vegetation. She reached up, plucking one of the fruits from the tree, and ran her thumb over the skin. Scratching her nail over it, she brought the peel closer to her nose, inhaling the scent slowly. It reminded her of home, their lemon trees, and how she and Antonia would rush down to pick the best fruits for the cooks.

She sat down on a wooden bench and looked up Dainn. "I would never leave this place without my family."

"You wouldn't? Oh, wonderful," he threw back, following her to the bench. "I can sleep at night knowing I have your very reliable word on the matter."

"I have broken no vows nor made any betrayals. Don't act as if my morality is on trial here."

"And you presume to think I made a vow to your family?" he asked, stepping in front of her. He had two curved blades sheathed at his hip, but Octavia refused to let herself be wary of them as she glowered up. He was standing in front of the sunlight, his face a shadow so that the light burst around him.

"I don't care enough to presume anything about you."

"Of course," he agreed and moved out of the sunlight to study a wilting flower on the ground. "Which one are you anyway?"

Octavia felt a flicker of indignation rise in her chest. "Excuse me?"

He didn't even spare her a glance. "Antonia or Octavia?" he asked, which was the wrong order to say their names. Octavia was older. Her name came first. That was always the way of things.
Not that this miscreant seemed to care, or perhaps he did it to annoy her.

"You don't know who I am?" she asked, lips pursing as Dainn dusted himself off, giving a meager shrug.

"I think I've done a marvelous job narrowing it down to one of two people."

Octavia smoothed out her dress, taking a moment to compose herself. "I don't owe you my name. I don't owe you anything." She stood up to press a finger to his chest. "My father-"

"You really want to defend your father?" Dainn cut in, looking incredulous. "After all he's done?"

"He's a good man."

"No. He's a good father," Dainn corrected. Octavia clenched her teeth. "But rest assured, his gentleness stopped with your family. He only left the kid gloves on to conceal the blood underneath."

That wasn't true. Octavia knew her father. She knew him better than anyone. He was part of her. He raised her. He loved her, and he loved their people. She could still remember the nights he had taken her to visit the townspeople, giving out fresh food and coin from the treasury.

"Do you feel that?" he had once asked her, placing Octavia's hand over her chest. She looked at him, a little amused, as she nodded. "That's not just your heartbeat. It is the heartbeat of every life in Romanov. If you're ever lost, you can feel them right here."

Octavia pressed her hand to her chest, hoping to feel them now as Trajan raced past, shrieking while Lucius loudly complained he was bored of whatever game they were playing.

She thought about snapping at both of them when an idea surfaced. Or the start of an idea. It was better than nothing.

"Where's my sister?" she asked, turning to abandon Dainn completely. "ANTONIA!"

A few guards waved as she gathered up her skirts to rush out of the gardens, spinning around until she caught sight of Antonia watching a few druids pray. Dainn stepped out of the garden but didn't follow Octavia as she rushed to her sister's side.

"Walk with me!" she said brightly, ignoring Antonia's annoyed groan when Octavia turned her head to whisper into her sister's hair. "I think I have a plan." They were arm in arm as they walked down the hallway. Eyes followed, but none dared to try and separate them.

"A plan for what?" Antonia asked, fixing her with an indignant look. "You know, we could be done with all of this if-"

"Quiet," Octavia interrupted, spinning them away from the dining room where more soldiers would be feasting. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to pinpoint where the spies lurked. "I know what you think we should do. Do you not understand the danger you speak of, or do you not care?"

Antonia sighed. She didn't answer, but she also didn't argue. At least not now. Octavia tried to calm her rising anxiety. Antonia meant well, but the idea she was alluding to...

"What is your plan then?" Antonia finally asked. Octavia bit her lip, unwilling to risk the walls having ears. She looked down at the lemon still in her hand.

"Come with me. I'll show you."