Octavia frowned at the empty desk next to Lyra and twisted her necklace. Arietta had missed school for seven days in a row—the longest Octavia had gone without seeing her. Worry gnawed away at her with each passing day she met the desk empty.

The children didn't seem bothered at all by their friend's absence, which led Octavia to believe that she was overreacting. Even so, the night before she'd consolidated the notes and songs from all the lessons the girl had missed and resolved to check on her after class.

"Miss Octavia, what do all these curvy lines mean?" Coralee asked. She and the other children were gathered around Lyra's desk, poring over a thick tome of music Octavia had brought from home. It was filled with hundreds of songs written by necromancers from every corner of the world.

"Where'd you see that?" Kensi scrunched her brow, eyes darting over the page.

Coralee pointed near the center of the passage. "Right here."

Octavia rose from the desk with flute in hand. She didn't have to see what they were talking about to know what the meant. "Those are slurs. They indicate that a phrase should be played legato."

"What's legato?" Tallis asked.

"Legato means that it should be played smoothly. All the notes should flow into each other with no breaks or pauses." The children parted for her as she approached the desk. "Like so." She raised her flute and played the passage marked for legato.

The class marveled as the silky melody filled the room. She should play for them more, she realized. The songs they were looking at were far too advanced, but budding musicians needed something to aspire to, and reminders of what they could accomplish with patience and practice. Inspiration was an integral part of any art, musical or otherwise.

When the last note of the passage rang out, the children clapped for her, and she gave a little bow. "We should start to tidy up, it's almost time for—"

As if on cue, the chime of the third bell interrupted her. The usual cacophony followed, scraping chairs, packing away of flutes.

Octavia followed suit, taking her heavy tome back to the front desk. She'd borrowed a page out of Winslet's book and began toting her things in a large messenger bag. On one side went the tome, alongside pages of notes and lesson plans, on the other was her flute case and her favourite poetry book. As she took apart her flute, a knock came on the class door. It swung open before she could answer, and Sicero stood on the other side, regaled in his white and gold finery.

"Good afternoon," he said with a small smile.

Octavia closed the latches on her flute case with slow deliberate movements, and tucked it away in her bag. If this was a another summons from the Council to berate her over something trivial, then she wasn't having it. On the other hand, this could be her chance to explore the Council Hall, search for the nightwalker. But was it worth her peace of mind?

"Miss Octavia?" Sicero still stood by the door, brows tight, and she realized her expression wasn't the most welcoming.

"Apologies, I just wasn't expecting you. Are you here for Tallis?"

"No, actually, I'm here for you. Beatrix has asked to speak with you. It's nothing troublesome, I assure you," he added when she scowled.

Octavia didn't budge. "And why did you come to get me? Why didn't she send Lyle?"

"I..." He coughed into his fist. "I had something to discuss with Pilar and would've had to come here either way."

"I see. I'll get my things." She ducked back into the classroom and shouldered her bag. "Class, I'll see you all tomorrow. Be good for Miss Pilar."

"Bye, Miss Octavia," they said in a dissonant chorus.

She followed Sicero out, only stopping to throw on her coat and scarf and give Pilar a half-hearted farewell. Their horse-drawn ride awaited them on the cracked terrace, so did the cold. Thick grey clouds had hung overhead since morning, and they sucked away all of the sun's warmth before it could reach the earth. A brutal wind rushed from the north, making eyes water and teeth chatter.

Even though the walk to the carriage was short, they were both shivering by the time they climbed in.

Octavia settled back into the plush seat and wiggled her toes to return some feeling to them. She stuck her hand in the side pocket of her bag, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized she'd neglected to pack her bell.

She bit the inside of her cheek to suppress the curse climbing up her throat. As both a necromancer and a magician, being creative was a part of her job. Music was everywhere, so finding a new way to utilize her power shouldn't prove too troublesome.

"I hope I'm not pulling you from anything important," Sicero said.

"I was going to visit Arietta." Residual irritation made her tone more clipped than she intended. "She's been absent for more than a week of school, and I wanted to take her notes of everything she'd missed."

"I see. Well, I'm sure Beatrix won't keep you long."

Depending on the nature of their meeting, she could learn more about the Council, or the Hall itself. All roads she'd taken so far only led to dead ends, but she'd take a million more if it meant eliminating the scourge.

"May I ask you something?" Sicero asked. His eyes held a peculiar glint, like there was something grave on his mind. Or a nagging thought he needed to get off his chest.

Octavia arched a brow. "You may."

"Why do you dress in such dark clothing all the time?"

She stifled a laugh. It was a question that she got often—a little ridiculous coming from him, though. "I like it. I like the way it looks, the way it feels. I consider the way I dress an integral part of who I am. Is that a problem?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. I was simply curious. It suits you."

They rolled up in front of the Council Hall and rushed through the cold into the empty vestibule. Octavia tossed her scarf and overcoat on the wooden rack, before following Sicero to the atrium. No Councilors sat behind the desk and the benches stood in stacks against the wall. Her eyes were drawn to the hearth, and a ripple of heat flashed through her hands as she remembered sticking her hands in the flames for a book.

"Right this way," Sicero said, pulling her out of her reverie. He led her through a door behind the stone desk and into a cozy little antechamber with overstuffed blue furniture and decorative throw rugs. A roaring fire danced in the hearth, and heavy drapes were pulled across the windows to keep the cold at bay.

Octavia sighed from the warmth seeping into her skin, and the smell of fresh pastries and tea. A spread was laid out on the coffee table–cakes cookies, sandwiches pastries and tea, along with porcelain cups and saucers.

Sitting on one of the couches was Winslet and Lady Beatrix. Their shoes were abandoned by the door and their legs covered by a knitted blanket. Each held a cup of steaming liquid.

"Oh, hi there, Octavia," Winslet said with a grin. "Come, sit with us. I feel like we never get to talk."

"That's because you're always running away." She took a seat on the couch opposite them with Sicero.

"Well you can blame my Lady here." She twirled a lock of Beatrix's hair around her finger. "She always wants to spend time together, even more so now that I don't have to teach all day."

"Please, help yourself to anything." Lady Beatrix gestured to the spread on the table.

Octavia and Sicero reached for the teapot at the same time and their hands brushed together. She pulled a way as a tingle ran up her arm, and linked her fingers together on her lap. "Sorry."

"Allow me." He inched closer to her to reach an empty cup and poured out some tea before offering it to her.

"Thank you." She smiled as the warmth seeped into her still cold fingers.

"So, this is why you were asking about giving the kids art lessons? You're trying to spend more time with Octavia?" Winslet gave a devious grin over the rim of her mug.

Octavia blinked at Sicero, who was more invested in stirring sugar into his tea. "Art lessons?"

"He asked me if he could come in some days and give the children art lessons. Before the third bell. Which is when you get there. So he'd always run into you. And get to see you. And talk to you. And woo you with his priestly silver tongue."

"I see." Octavia opened the honey and added a thick dollop to her tea. Her spoon made melodic clinks against the inside of the cup as she stirred. I can use this, she thought as she watched the honey and tea swirl together. She lifted her spoon from the liquid, watched a single drop of tea trickle down its silvery lip and rapped it three times against the rim of her cup.

The sounds resonated through the Hall, along with wisps of her power, snaking into every crack and under every door, greedily hunting for any secrets hiding in the depth of the building. Nothing. 

"Octavia?" Beatrix asked. "Is something the matter?"

She snapped her head up, realizing she'd been focused on her tea for longer than was appropriate. "No, I'm not familiar with this blend is all, but it smells lovely." She caught whiffs of citrus and rosehip in the steam.

"Ah, well let's get to the real reason I summonsed you here." The Chief Councilor sat up a little straighter, still managing to retain an air of regality in her relaxed pose. "I'm not sure if you were told, Miss Octavia, but the Winter Ball is coming up."

"I don't know what that is."

"Our annual celebration of life and prosperity, and the village's only surviving tradition. Though if some had their way it would be gone along with everything else. It's a night of food, drink, merriment and entertainment, and the entire village attends."

Octavia soaked in this information, her mind racing with ways to use it to her advantage. If everyone in the village was in one place that night, she'd have the whole place for herself, she could look through homes for clues on the whereabouts of the nightwalker.

But was she really so desperate? To turn to such anarchic behaviour to achieve her goals? Lying about who and what she was one thing, breaking into people's homes was a lowly undertaking that should be reserved for the degenerates of society.

Beatrix leaned forward in her seat. "But I have a favour to ask of you. I would love it if the children could play for everyone at the ball. If it's possible that is. I know you've only been working with them for a short amount of time."

She could say no. Or that the children weren't ready. Or that she, herself wasn't ready. She hadn't packed any formal attire.

"It doesn't have to be grand or show-stopping." Beatrix's eye shined with hope. "I told you music has been a part of our village's culture for a long time, and I don't want to lose it. I don't want the children to lose it."

Octavia stared into the dregs of her tea. She had an obligation to this village and it's villagers to be their music teacher. But she also had a duty as a necromancer to rid this world of the netherborne. There had to be a way to do both. If everyone in the village attended the winter ball, that meant whoever let the nightwalker in would be there.

"Fine," Octavia said, setting her teacup down. "But it will have to be a small ensemble. Not all of the children are at the same level unfortunately."

Winslet smiled. "That's perfect. I'll be putting a small play together with the rest of the children. But, could Arietta be a part of the ensemble? I know she's missed a fair bit of class, but I don't believe she'll be strong enough to be in the play. And I don't want her to feel left out."

"All right. I'll just have to spend a little extra time working with her." And it was even more imperative that she deliver all the notes Arietta had missed so she could catch up.

"That'll do. I hope it's not too much trouble teaching them a song in time." Beatrix leaned back and threw an arm around Winslet.

"I think I'll have more of a problem finding proper attire."

"What you wear normally is fine. Though a tad..." Winslet grimaced at Octavia's current outfit, raking her eyes up and down the black gown. "...dark for my tastes."

Sicero shot Winslet a withering look before turning to Octavia. "If you'd like, I can have the Cathedral clothier put something together for you."

"I might take you up on that," Octavia said.

Winslet waggled her eyebrows. "You could get matching outfits. Although I don't think I've ever seen Sicero in black."

Sicero's didn't rise to her taunt, but the twitch at the corner of his brow belied his irritation. "Well, we shouldn't keep Miss Octavia any longer." He stood and offered Octavia a hand.

His palm was warm against her fingers as she placed her hand in his. His fingers curled, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he hoisted her up.

"Thank you." Octavia retrieved her bag and bid Beatrix and Winslet farewell, not missing the suggestive look the latter shot her as she followed Sicero out of the antechamber. They walked in silence to the main vestibule and donned their coats before braving the frigid air beyond the exit.

"Would you like to see the clothier now? Or to drop Arietta's notes first?" Sicero asked, his breath clouding the air. The winds from the north tousled his curls, teasing them into many black ringlets. Save for that one, curious tuft of white behind his ear.

She brought her brows together. "You're coming with me?"

"If that's fine with you. I mean, if you don't mind my company." His eyes drifted away from her face, to a spot on the ground.

Octavia almost laughed. The High Priest, a Councilor and man of the cloth was being coy with her. From any other man it may have looked pathetic, but he wore reticence well. She angled her head in an attempt to meet his eyes. "Are you not a busy man, Councilman?"

"Unless the netherborne decide to start attacking, I won't be until tomorrow." He stood a little straighter, but the uncertainty darkening his hazel eyes remained. "That's when we'll be adding fortifications to both barriers ahead of the ball. I need to rest up for that. It's going to be a long, arduous two weeks for me."

"In that case, I'd be happy to have some company." She turned and started for the carriage, but not before seeing his face brighten like the dawning sky. "Arietta first."