Octavia opened her journal and flipped through the pages. Each had a name of a villager at the top, and everything she knew about them below. Which, at this stage, was almost nothing. Day had passed since Quintus left and she had yet to find any leads. It wasn't until she was actively seeking out people she realized she'd met nearly every person in the village through the virtue of teaching their children.

When she spoke to them after class, they were nothing but pleasant and neighbourly. Not a shred of suspicion showed in their demeanor, not even when she asked about the scourge. Or they did and she was too incompetent to notice, but she was a necromancer for sin's sake, not a detective.

With a sigh,Octavia tucked the journal away and pushed open the schoolhouse door. The front desk was empty, save for a book she'd loaned Pilar. While she enjoyed small talk with the elder woman, today she found comfort in the silence and solitude. It felt as though someone had replaced her brain with wool and the pricking under her skin had gotten worse.

How long would it be before everyone learned the truth? Before she could no longer conceal who she was. The thought of it made her heart freeze over and shrivel like the plants outside. They'd tie rocks to her feet and toss her into the lake to drown. They'd tie her to a pyre and—

No. Octavia dashed the thoughts away from her mind. It wasn't uncommon for the netherborne to drive necromancers into madness, but she couldn't afford to lose her nerve at this stage or to lose sight of her purpose. Find the anchor, get rid of it, end the scourge. She'd rather focus on the suppositions when they became real problems instead of nagging, pessimistic thoughts.

And so, with renewed focus, Octavia tucked away her coat and headed to class.

Winslet alone occupied the room. She sat behind the front desk, one foot braced against the edge as she tipped the chair on its hind legs. She held a stack of papers in one hand while the other sifted through them, her lips moving soundlessly as she counted.

Octavia's eyes moved to the line of empty desks on the other side of the room.

"Oh, hi," Winslet said. "Are you all right? You look a little off."

Was her discomfort that obvious? She hadn't looked in the mirror before leaving home. Her clothes could be on backwards for all she knew. "I'm fine, really." She gave Winslet what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"Well, the kids went out back with Pilar to put their art projects out to dry." Winslet righted the chair and stood. "Make sure they bring them in before they leave." And with that, she shouldered her bag and headed out.

At least there was time to gather herself before class. She set her flute case on the desk and pulled out her lesson plan for the day. The words blurred into an inky amalgamation of lines that made her head spin.

Octavia set aside the notes and picked up the chalk, cursing her hand for shaking. The black slate towered over her, growing and stretching like a gaping mouth about to swallow her whole.

Get it together. She balled her fist and slammed it against the wall. The pain that shot through her hand jolted the tension from her mind and body, and grounded her in reality. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. There had to be a way to guard herself against the netherborne, to combat the negative effects they were having on her.

"M-miss Octavia?"

She startled, stumbling back against the desk and placing a hand over her fluttering heart.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Arietta was standing beside her, but Octavia had no idea when she or the other children had come in. The rest of them were at their desks, clearing away the materials they'd used for their art projects.

"It's fine, Arietta." She unclenched her fist to find the chalk in bits and pieces in her hand and dumped the crumbs in the tray by the board.

The child held a book in a death grip and her brows were drawn in tight. "Are you all right?" Her voice was small, thin, and her skin paler than usual. The shadows around her eyes made her look older than an eight-year-old should.

"Yes, I..." The lie died in Octavia's throat. "I'm just a little frustrated is all."

"Oh." She lowered her eyes and scuffed her boot against the ground. "Is it because of us?"

"No, no, not at all. You all have been wonderful students. Don't mind me. I'm just being dramatic." She gave Arietta's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "What about you? Are you feeling better?"

The children had told her Arietta was sick all the time. With what though, Octavia didn't know. She didn't want to pry since such topics tended to be sensitive, and she was still new in Hedalda.

"I'm feeling great, really." She gave a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

"That's good to hear. Did you want to turn your book back in?"

Arietta nodded.

"Just put on the shelf. You can pick out another one after class." Octavia opened the desk drawer and pulled out the roster she'd put together to keep track of who was borrowing books. "Does anyone else have a book to turn in?"

Kensi raised her hand, but kept her eyes downcast. "My mom took the book I borrowed away. She said I shouldn't be reading it."

Octavia pressed her lips together into a thin line as she went down the roster to see what book Kensi had borrowed and suppressed the groan that was bubbling up her throat. The book on necromancers. Lovely. No doubt Diann would have a few choice words about its subject matter, along with many others in the village.

"Don't worry about it. Let's settle in so we can start." Class went swimmingly. She was teaching the children some basic songs they could practice on their own. A few of them still had technical issues. Bad posture, not holding their flutes properly and horrible hand eye coordination among other things. But she wouldn't come down on them for it. It had been a little over two weeks, and they needed more time to adjust to her style of teaching.

Time slipped by in a disorienting blur, and the blare of the third bell rang through the village. Normally, Octavia appreciated its deep, melodic chime and the subtle warmth behind the tune, but today it felt as though her head was the clapper slamming repeatedly against the metal.

"And we're done for today." She couldn't wait to get home and soak in a nice, hot bath, play her flute and get some rest.

As she organized her notes, a knock came on the door, and she answered, expecting a parent on the other side, but was greeted by Lyle's freckled face instead.

"Good day, Miss Octavia." He gave her a nervous smile. "The Council sent me to get you."

Her brows came together. "Did they say why?"

"No, sorry. They didn't tell me." He gestured down the hall, body already angled to head that way like he was in a hurry. "There's a carriage waiting outside. Pilar will watch the children until their parents arrive."

"Just one moment, please." She got her flute case from the desk and packed away the notes she'd been using for the lesson. "I'm leaving early today everyone. Don't forget to bring your art projects in."

"Yes ma'am," they answered in a chorus of dissonance.

With that, Octavia followed Lyle of out of the schoolhouse and into a waiting carriage. Hopefully, this meeting would be short. They probably only wanted a progress report on how the children were coming along. 

"Have you been enjoying your stay in the village so far?" Lyle asked as the carriage rolled off.

"It's been good. Though this place is a little quiet for my liking." She gazed out the window as they rode past the pond. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, and coated everything in a heavy, frozen blanket. It had been shoveled away from the major roads some time during the day, making the way clear for any vehicles or pedestrians.

"I know. It's a bit unnerving sometimes. My father says this place used to be lively when he was a boy." Lyle looked out the window, a small smile playing on his lips. "Beatrix is trying to get the village back to the way things used to be."

How? Working with the Divine City wouldn't get her very far.  The priests had the capacity to protect against the scourge, but not eradicate it. Especially when it came to Hedalda's unique predicament.

The carriage stopped in front of the Council Hall's entrance and Octavia and Lyle hurried inside. In the main vestibule, people waited in the couches and in front of the hearth. Curious glances were shot their way as they shrugged off their extra layers.

"Right this way." Lyle led her to the atrium of the hall, the main meeting place of the Councilors.

There Lady Beatrix and the other councilors were gathered around the long desk at the room's eastern end. Sicero and Lady Beatrix were seated near its center in the high-backed chairs while Levi stood in front of the roaring hearth, a cup of steaming liquid in one hand. Diann leaned on one end of the desk, with the book on necromancers opened in front of her.

Octavia suppressed a groan. They called her all the way here for a book? It seemed so ridiculous that it hadn't even crossed her mind as a possible reason for the summons.

"Thank you for coming Octavia." Beatrix gestured to the empty chair beside her. "Please sit."

Octavia avoided everyone's eyes as she lowered herself into the seat. The best way she could play this was to act ignorant. Pretend she did nothing wrong and knew nothing of why they called her in. "Is something the matter?"

Beatrix planted her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers in front of her face, closing her eye for a moment. "It has come to my attention that you had books brought in for the children. However, the subject matter of at least one of these books has come into question." She moved the book front of Diann and oriented it so Octavia could read it.

It was turned to the page with a drawing of the Night-Blooming Rose. Her face and body were shrouded in shadow, but she was posed elegantly, as opposed to menacingly like in most other books. Her back was arched, legs straight and black wings framed her body as rose petals danced around her.

"This is a lovely illustration," Octavia said, smiling. "I'm afraid I fail to see what's wrong with it."

"Miss Octavia, how much do you know about what happened the night the netherborne came into this world?" Sicero asked.

Everything. More than you. She filtered that thought out before it could escape. "I'm a musician, not a historian. With all due respect."

"To put it simply," Levi said, turning from the fire. Some of the flames were caught in his eyes, and they burned holes into her as he stared her down. "Our children are young and impressionable. On top of that, they trust you, which means they will take your words as gospel. Surely, you understand the kind of power that gives you."

Octavia's lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "It sounds like you doubt your children's capacity for critical thought. Furthermore, the words in that book are not mine."

"Semantics." Diann's voice was soft, but rang clear through the room. "It matters not who's words they are. We pay you to teach music, not to fill our children's heads with lies." She swiped the book from the table, and tossed it.

End over end, it twisted in the air, aching towards the hearth.

Octavia shot from her seat, but couldn't close the distance before the book fell into the flames. Even as the fire flared brighter, she reached in. The flames bit her fingers, and the heat made her eyes water as she pulled the book out. It had already caught, the pages near the back cover burning to a char. She he patted the flames away, sparks and embers landing on her dress but not catching.

"Octavia stop." Sicero's hand landed on her shoulder. "It's not worth it."

She shrugged his hand off. "Someone took the time to write and bind this book's contents. Just because you disagree with the subject matter, doesn't mean it deserves to be destroyed."

Diann scoffed, the sound having the same effect on Octavia as nails on chalkboard. "One cannot disagree with facts, Octavia. We're talking about necromancers here, people who are dangerous. Not puppies or kittens."

"If that's how you feel." Octavia didn't look away from the remains of the book. Her heat broke a little as she watched smoke curl from the burnt pages.

"This isn't about feelings, Octavia," Sicero said. His voice was a lot less hostile than Diann's, but held a patronizing tone that one would use when speaking to an ignoramus. "This about protecting our children. You wouldn't tell them to trust a netherborne not to eat them, would you?"

Octavia balled her burnt hands into a fist, not meeting any of their eyes as she stood to retrieve her flute case. Exhaustion made her legs heavy and both her heart and hands burned. She wanted to go home and lick her wounds, forget this day happened. "I suppose now we don't have to worry about any of them reading it again, now do we? One of you, or someone on your behalf, can come and vet the other books to make sure the subject matter is suitable for your children. Is there anything else you all need me for?"

Sicero breathed a sigh. "Octavia—"

"Have a nice day, Councilors." She was out of the door as fast as her legs could carry her without running. When she got to the vestibule, she didn't bother putting on her coat, scarf or gloves. She tossed them over her arm, ignoring the dubious looks from the villagers, and marched out into the snow.

Her anger was enough to keep the winter chill at bay. It burned through her chest and tingled down to her shaking hands. It made its burning fury known in every mighty cloud of breath she exhaled and left its imprint in every measured step she took. It even distracted her from the searing pain in her burnt hands.

Octavia was halfway to the lake when the pounding of hooves on snow reached her ears. She pretended not to hear, even when the horses ran past her, even when carriage came alongside her, even when Sicero called her name from inside.

She picked up her pace, and the horses followed suit.

"Miss Octavia, please," Sicero pleaded from inside the carriage.

They were still a ways away from the split in the road that would take her home. Unless she took a detour. She hoisted the hem of her dress before veering off the road, pushing through the shin-deep snowdrifts. If her legs froze and fell off, then so be it.

The sound of the carriage door shutting made Octavia groan. She sloshed through the snow faster, hoping he wouldn't be able to catch up.

"You should put on your jacket," he said, trailing in her wake.

Octavia stopped and finally looked at him. A myriad of emotions were coursing through her, and whichever one manifested on her face made the High Priest flinch. "Why are you following me, Councilman?"

"I just don't want there to be any bad blood or misunderstandings between you and the Council."

"You don't want your children to think necromancers are good people. You don't want them reading stories that suggest that. You don't want me poisoning their minds with such ideas. I understand perfectly. I know my place now. I will teach music. Nothing more. Nothing less."

He winced as though her words had burned him. "At least allow me to—"

"Good day, Councilman." Octavia pushed through the snow without a backwards glance.