Octavia opened her journal as she exited the bakery and flipped to the page designated to its owners. There wasn't much to jot down. One of her students—Coralee—manned the store with her older brother while their parents worked in the back.

They'd been nothing but nice, like everyone else she'd spoken to that morning, offered her free samples of jams and pastries. The only thing of note she'd learned was that the owners of the armoury and inn fled Hedalda two years ago. 

The buildings in question stood across the street, sealed shut with boards. Snooping around there may earn her another summons from the Council. She rang her bell instead, pushing her power behind the tune. Her mind followed it on its journey as it filtered through walls and windows, losing strength. And when it reached as far as it would go, it returned to her, with nothing. Disappointing, but not surprising.

Octavia turned the trudge down the street, past the piles of debris standing like indifferent onlookers. Two days had passed since the netherborne attack and most of the debris had been cleared away. The schoolhouse had incurred minor damages – as the council had put it – and was closed until further notice.

There was no staying home today since her house was being repaired. So she'd left early to do more investigative work instead. She was more determined than ever to find the nightwalker, and with the recent attack, bringing up the netherborne didn't make her sound suspicious.

Octavia had stopped off at the butcher before venturing to the bakery. She'd already met by virtue of teaching his child, and knew he'd lost his wife to the netherborne years ago. Their family ran a large farm and raised most of the village's horses and livestock. He'd been nice enough to give her a short tour.

They had a few pregnant mares and a gang of cats that kept rats away, but beyond that, there was nothing of interest to be found. So after an hour's worth of touring and small talk, she bought some sliced meat for dinner and went on her way.

It made no sense. Hiding a decaying, soulless corpse was no small feat. Her necromancy should've weeded it out by now. Perhaps now was the time to return her and go over everything she'd learned, but she wanted to check one more shop.

And just down the road, was the florist. As she stepped into the warm interior, a bell rung over the door. The scents of flowers and fruits bombarded her from every direction, wafting from the jars and vials of scented oils and waters on display.

From the back of the store came a man with big grey eyes and messy wheaten hair. Arietta's father. His wiry form towered over the glass display that partitioned the front of the shop from the back.

"Oh, hello Miss Octavia," he said with a small smile. "What brings you here?"

"I've just been shopping around. They're repairing my house, and I can't stand the noise. And I think I deserve the treat after such an ordeal."

His eyes softened. "I understand. What can I interest you in?" He flourished a hand at the display. "We have waters and oils scented with flowers, fruits and spices."

Octavia glanced around at all the shops offerings. She wasn't short on money, and in her experience, throwing it around was the fastest way to get people to talk. "Is there anything rose scented?"

"Yes, but..." He roughed his hair, looking down at the display. "We only have one rose product remaining, and it's on the pricey side."

"Money is not an issue, I assure you."

"Well, may I interest you in this palatial rose box?" He pulled a red-painted box, with gold roses and leaves decorating the top. He raised the lid, and nestled inside was a candle, scented water in a decorative bottle that resembled a decanter and a jar of scented oil.

Octavia picked up the bottle of rose water, traced her fingers along the gold filigree work on the glass. "This is incredible."

"Thanks. My wife made it for a wealthy Dame in the Isles of Marr. But after we were overrun with netherborne, she canceled the order." He gave a shrug. "We've been hard pressed to sell it since."

"Why would she cancel?"

"Well, people consider towns and villages afflicted by the netherborne to be unlucky. It's why a lot of the boats have stopped coming. Passengers and goods arriving from a scourged place are considered a bad omen."

What utter hogwash. Octavia couldn't decide what was more annoying, the netherborne or the superstition that came along with them. At least she could kill the netherborne, but ignorance refused to die. "I see... Well you won't have to worry about selling this anymore. I'll take it."

His face lit up like a dawning sky. "Thank you, Miss Octavia. My wife will be so thrilled about this." He covered the box and rummaged below the display, filling the shop with the click-clack cacophony of tumbling tools.

While he worked Octavia perused the shelves, and her eyes landed on a small harp sitting between two candles. "You play?"

Eli glanced up and breathed a laugh. "That old thing? It belonged to my late father. Back then everyone in this village knew how to play some instrument or another."

"That sounds lovely."

"It was. I wish Arietta could have met him. They would've gotten along swimmingly."

"How is she by the way?" Octavia asked.

"Quite fine." He sliced a length of gold ribbon and a knife. "She's spending the day with Tallis and Lyra. Those three are thicker than thieves."

Octavia shifted on her feet. She couldn't imagine caring for a chronically ill child on top of enduring the scourge. Seeing Arietta spritely some days and nigh too weak to hold a note on others was disheartening.

"I know she's... having a rough time now," Octavia continued. "Is there anything I can do while she's in school to make things easier for her?"

"That's very sweet of you. So long as she doesn't overexert herself, she'll be fine." With that, he tied the box up with the ribbon and they completed their transaction. "It was nice doing business with you ma'am."

"Likewise. Enjoy the rest of your day." Octavia stepped back out into the frigid air and noticed a familiar face coming over the bridge.

"Miss Octavia!" Lyle called, waving a hand to get her attention. He ran the rest of the way and was breathing heavily by the time he reached her. "I've been searching everywhere for you. Councilman Sicero wishes to speak with you."

"Is it urgent?" She turned down the road, pretending as though she had places to go and people to see.

"I'm afraid he didn't say. He just asked me to get you." Lyle fell into step with her, his brown brows drawn tight.

"Well, I have my hands full right now." She raised her bags to punctuate her point. "So the Councilman will have to wait."

"Well, he's at the Cathedral. I'll tell him you're preoccupied at the moment."

"I'd appreciate that, Lyle. Take care." She turned away to round the pond and headed home, arms heavy with the spoils of her journey. Too bad the skull of a nightwalker wasn't amongst her goods.

When Octavia arrived at her residence, she met the people who were doing repairs packing up for the day, while Councilman Levi inspected their work. He looked at her as though she were a houseplant before testing her front door. They had replaced the broken frame, along with the doorknob.

"Miss Octavia," he said, his tone deadpan. "Repairs to the back wall are complete, and the broken shelving has been replaced. It will be a while before we can get you another cool box but you should be fine if the weather keeps up this way." He held out her new key, which hung from a short steel chain.

"Thank you, Councilman." She balanced her bags in one hand and accepted the key.

He only gave a grunt before turning and leaving with the workers.

Octavia stepped inside and went straight to the kitchen. The scents of sawdust and mortar were still ripe in the air. The jars that had survived the netherborne were lined off on the shelf and there was a square a few shades lighter than the rest of the floor where her coolbox had been. She set her things down and got her kettle going on the wood-burning stove.

She at least deserved to warm herself up and rest her feet before going to see the High Priest. She pulled out one of the flaky pastries from the bakery and nibbled on it as she flipped through her journal, pondering everything she'd learned that day. Which was almost nothing. 

Not counting the priests, Hedalda had almost a hundred citizens, a paltry amount for island of its side. Most had cleared out once the scourge took over and those left had nowhere to go and no means to set up a new home elsewhere.

Octavia leaned back in her seat and took a sip of tea, sighing when the warmth spread through her. So far, she had no reason to suspect any of the villagers she'd met so far and few places left to search.

There were only two public places in the village she hadn't explored. The Cathedral and the Council Hall. Hiding a nightwalker in the Cathedral would be a smart move since it was the last place anyone would think to look. Even her.

But that would mean one the priests allowed the netherborne to plant the anchor in the village. But how? She gazed at the steam curling from the kettle's spout, her eyes following its twisting and curling dance to the ceiling. Perhaps by weakening the barrier enough for it to slip through. It made such perfect sense that Octavia couldn't fathom why she hadn't thought of it sooner.

The Cathedral was a long way from her home, her feet were on fire, and she didn't know how much of the building she would get to explore. But this revelation stirred a restlessness in her that wouldn't be sated until she searched the Cathedral.