The frigid winds stung Octavia's face as she stepped off the gangplank. She stared back at the vast sea she'd spent two days on to reach this island. Flat, and dreary, just like the sky that hung over it, with only the boat she'd arrived on bobbing upon its waters. The light filtering through the clouds brought no warmth with it, only the promise of winter's frigid misery.

She walked down the stone dock of Hedalda's only port, passing stone pillars worn away by salt and wind and water and boarded-up buildings. There was an emptiness hanging in the air akin to the feeling one might get when stepping into an abandoned building.

Or a cemetery.

The rest of the passengers had gathered around a large carriage. They huddled together, heads bowed and shoulders hunched like an oppressive force was bearing down on them. Children clung tight to their parents as they spoke in hushed tones.They reminded her of sheep, herded together to be slaughtered for a feast. She joined them by the carriage, but kept her distance as men loaded their luggage into the back.

The wide road leading away from the port drew Octavia's gaze. It disappeared into a forest, where black trees stood like silhouettes drawn in ink against the snowy landscape. Their gnarled branches twisted and crossed over each other in an eerie mosaic.

The sounds of footfalls against wood drew her attention back to the carriage where the other passengers were piling in. Octavia followed them inside and sat near the door, opposite a man and his young daughter. The former had an arm around the child, but his eyes were out the window, looking as though he expected something to burst through it. The latter held a thick tome close to her chest, and a curtain of dreadlocks hid her face.

Just how bad were things here, Octavia wondered. When Jaredeth had asked her to help this village, she hadn't asked for details. She never did. Wherever the scourge plagued humanity, she went swiftly and without hesitation. No matter how bad the scourge, she eradicated it.

As the carriage rolled forward, a few passengers flinched. Others clasped their hands together like they were sending up silent prayers. She frowned at them, but when she looked down at her own hands, she found them fisted so tight, the seams of her gloves threatened to burst.

It wasn't uncommon for the netherborne to have such an effect on people—even necromancers. They were good at taking lives, but they were better at robbing one of their peace of mind. Which was worse: death, or living in a constant state of fear and panic?

One by one she relaxed her fingers until her hands were flat atop her flute case. Then she took a deep breath and gazed out the window. The carriage rolled through the frozen forest. The trees, choked to death by winter's repressive fist, stretched their gnarled limbs into the sky. A fresh dusting of snow coated their branches, and they went on as far as she could see. Not foot print or animal track marred the fresh powder.

But there was something out there—the cause of the uneasy aura that her fellow carriage dwellers gave off. The netherborne hid from sight, lurking, prowling. They elicited a prickling feeling under Octavia's skin, like she was being poked by a thousand needles.

As time crawled by, the atmosphere in the carriage became more troubled. People held their bodies rigid, their lips flattened into thin lines. They looked as though they might shatter at the slightest touch.

Octavia placed her thumbs on latches of her flute case, but her sense caught up to her actions before she could open it. What would that look like, pulling out her flute and suddenly playing it? Surely these people knew of necromancers, and surely they hated them. Perhaps her voice would be a better option, though unconventional.

A prickle ran down her arm, and she winced, her hands shaking against the latches. They could think what they want. Chasing away the netherborne was more important than first impressions, both for her comfort and theirs.

Octavia leaned her head against the window, the shock of the cold against her skin chasing some tension from her bones. And she hummed a sweet, melancholic tune, emptying her mind of all doubts and fears and focusing on the melody and the gentle vibrations of her power.

It had been a long time since she'd used her voice. It sounded alien in her ears, like it was coming from someone else. The power behind the tune vibrated through her and weaved into the air, seeping out of the carriage and into the wintry forest. The song meandered through the trees and found its prey lying near the fringes of the island.

Octavia almost missed a note as her heart slammed against her ribs. So many. She counted at least a hundred in the path of her song. No wonder these people were cowering like lost puppies.

The prickling disappeared from beneath Octavia's skin as the netherborne retreated, slinking deeper into the forest like snakes slithering back into their holes. She wrapped up her song and took a breath. Her muscles relaxed, but the worry nipping the back of her mind remained.

"Why did you stop?"

Octavia cracked open an eye and found the little girl across the carriage staring at her with wide eyes. She brushed her dreadlocks from her face and tilted her head like a curious animal.

"The song is over," Octavia said.

"Oh." She drummed her fingers on the top of her book. "Your voice is very pretty."

"Thank you." Octavia gave the girl as warm of a smile as she could muster.

The rest of the carriage ride was spent in silence, but the atmosphere was more relaxed than when they'd left the docks. Octavia glanced out the widow and caught sight of chimney smoke rising in the distance. Not long after that—but two hours after leaving the port—the village came into view.

There was no gate to pass through, but they passed through something. Octavia felt a slight shift as they rode between the two pillars that marked the village's entrance. It was fleeting, but it was there—a feeling akin to stepping out of the shade and into the sun. Some kind of ward or barrier, perhaps, to keep the netherborne out.

People stood along the street beyond the entrance, their faces lighting up at the sight of the carriage. As soon as they crawled to a stop, everyone began piling out. Octavia sat and waited while the other passengers exited. People hugged their loved ones, thanking the gods they made it back whole and hale.

Octavia stepped out and nearly tripped over her own feet. Floating amongst the villagers were apparitions with blue-tinged bodies and eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light. Daywalkers. Souls of the dearly departed that had awoken from their eternal slumber. She swore under her breath.

Daywalkers too? They were harmless, regular humans couldn't even see them. But she could, and they would make her work in this town even more complicated. Because she had to pretend they weren't there or everyone would think her mad.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

Octavia turned and came face to face with a young boy. He had a mop of shaggy brown hair atop his head—some of which obscured his bright blue eyes—and a smattering of freckles across his nose.

"Are you Miss Octavia?"

"I am," she said.

He stuck his hand out with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary. "Lyle. I'm aid to the town's council. I've been sent at the behest of the Chief Councilor to escort you to the Hall."

Octavia arched a brow at him. A little overzealous, but amusing. "You can tone down the formalities. I'm not that important."

"Right, sorry." He gave her a sheepish grin. "We should hurry now, I don't want to keep the Chief Councilor waiting."

"My bags..." She looked back at the carriage.

"Oh, don't worry. They'll get your residence in one piece, I promise you." He gestured to a smaller carriage off to the side. "Right this way, please."

Octavia obliged and followed him into the plush blue interior of the carriage. The inside smelled like jasmine, and there was only a single seat, big enough to fit three people. As they rolled forward, she pushed aside the frilly white curtain guarding the window.

Hedalda had quite the charm to it. Stone buildings with wood roofs lined both sides of the main street, each with a chimney that spewed smoke into the air. But it was quiet. All the merriment at the entrance faded behind them, leaving the same unnerving emptiness she'd felt at the port.

"So, you used to work for King Jaredeth, hm?" Lyle asked, cutting into her thoughts. "Can't imagine why anyone would leave a cozy job like that to come here."

Neither could she. No practical human being with any sense of self-preservation would leave a job at a castle to live on a netherborne-infested island. But she never claimed to be either of those things. So long as the scourge threatened mankind, staying cozy wasn't an option. Not for her at least.

"Ah, I mean, that's not to say your coming here is a bad idea." Lyle rubbed the back on his neck, his cheeks tinged pink. "Sorry, I'm not much a welcome committee, am I?"

Octavia breathed a laugh. "It's fine. Jaredeth proposed the idea, and I accepted. And a change of scenery is nice every once in a while."

"Right, well... Let me show you around."

As they rode along, Lyle pointed out the major sights to her. An inn, two stories high with windows boarded shut and a half-broken statue of a lily out front. The florist, the bakery, an old abandoned armoury. There seemed to be the running theme for this village. For every two buildings that were occupied, there was one abandoned.

The road they followed led to a wide stone bridge that arched over a frozen pond. Beyond it were buildings larger than those on the main street. One of which, stood a colossal five stories high, with pointed arches, flying buttresses and a bell tower to boot, and seemed out of place amongst the quaint, conservative dwellings it towered over.

"That's the Cathedral," Lyle explained. "Home of our town's Priests. It's quite the sight isn't it?"

"Indeed, itcertainly draws the eye." So, they had Priests in this town. That explained the barrier she felt upon arriving. As if the netherborne weren't enough of a hassle, she had the Divine City's stooges to contend with as well.

"Over here are the schoolhouses." He pointed out his own window at two buildings standing side by side, one half the size of the other. "One for the younger kids, and one for the older kids. And up ahead, you'll see the Council Hall."

The Hall wasn't as big as the Cathedral, but still impressive in its own right. Three stories high and carved from gleaming grey stone. Flags flew from its pinnacles, bearing a gold lily surrounded by a wreath of leaves.

The carriage stopped in front, and they climbed out into the cold. Lyle ushered her through the arched double doors of the main entrance.

Octavia sighed as the warm interior of the vestibule melted the cold away from her body. She relieved herself of her coat and scarf, hanging them on the polished wooden rack flanking the door.

"Follow me." Lyle led her past the empty couches and roaring hearth to a door opposite the entrance. It led to a large open room with an elevated stone desk at its rear. Five high-backed chairs were tucked at regular intervals behind it, wood benches leaned in a neat row against the north and south walls and the stone floor was damp from being scrubbed clean.

"We call this the atrium. It's where the Council holds their meetings," the boy explained. "Twice per month, villagers can come in to speak to the Councilors and air their grievances."

From there, they took a side door into a narrow hall, and followed it to the door at its end. Muffled voices drifted in from beyond it, pausing when Lyle knocked.

"Come in," a feminine voice called from the other side.

A thick blue rug cushioned her feet as Octavia stepped inside the office. The first thing that caught her eye was the daywalker hovering near the heavy wood desk dominating the floor space. Its eyes were glued to an open book, darting back and forth, greedily absorbing the information on the pages.

"This is Miss Octavia," Lyle announced, and she snapped her attention away from the daywalker.

For the first time, she noticed the two other people occupying the room. The first, a woman of tall stature, seated in the chair behind the desk. Her wavy auburn locks framed her face, and she observed Octavia with one piercing green eye, the other covered by a black and gold eyepatch.

Despite that, there was something regal about her. The way she sat, back straight, legs crossed with arms on the rests of the chairs, made her look like a queen on a throne. An air punctuated by the red double-breasted coat she wore.

"Please sit." She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.

One was occupied by a man regaled in white and gold finery. Like the woman, he exuded an aura of authority, but not in the same way. His warm hazel eyes added a gentleness to his air, the type of authority that valued trust over obedience.

He gave Octavia a smile and nod as she lowered herself into the vacant seat.

"Can I offer you anything? Tea, pastries?" the lady asked.

"Sure. That sounds lovely." Octavia laced her fingers atop her flute case, trying to block out the daywalker's presence. It floated near the bookcases lining the back wall, one ghostly finger trailing along the spines of the books.

"I'll take care of it," Lyle said before scurrying from the room.

"Let's get the formalities out of the way shall we?" The lady flicked a wayward lock of hair from her face. "I am Lady Beatrix, Chief Councilor of Hedalda." She gestured to the man sitting beside Octavia. "This is—"

"I can introduce myself," he said extending a hand to Octavia. "Sicero, Councilor and High Priest of the Hedalda Cathedral."