Octavia woke in the dead of night to hisses and screams. The heat wafting from her necklace was intense enough to make her sweat. She sat under her bedroom window and listened to the chaos. The shrill screams of the villagers, the shouts of the Priests, the roars of the nethernorne slammed into her ears and beat against her brain.

An attack. As she'd feared, her songs weren't enough anymore. Which left brute force as her only other option if she want to keep them away. But it was the one option she couldn't act on. She reach into her bedside drawer and felt around for her silver bell. It hung from a red silk ribbon and had a tiny bird embossed on top.

Another crash rocked the village, sending tremors through her home. What do I do? If she went out there and fought, her cover would be blown. If she played from where she sat and the netherborne exploded into a shower of blossoms, it would raise suspicion. She clutched her tiny bell in her hands, weighing her options.

Judging from the sounds alone there were more than five, but less than ten rampaging through the streets near the villages entrance. The priests had them vastly outnumbered, with at least thirty in their ranks. A patch of woods was all that separated them from her residence. Perhaps there was a way should could distract them to make the priests' job easier.

It was worth a try. With one flick, the bell cried out a chime that rippled outwards, transcending the walls of her house. Octavia put the barest spark of power behind the sound, enough to intrigue the netherborne, entice them into her trap.

There was a distinctive lull in the noise, a diminuendo in the symphony of chaos, before a single roar tore through the night. Octavia sensed one netherborne growing closer as pin pricks tickled her skin.

Its pounding footfalls grew louder as it drew closer to her. She could feel it careening around the buildings and through narrow alleyways like a bull on the loose. She could imagine its sharp claws digging past the snow and into the earth for purchase to propel it further, its snapping jowls hungry for blood and death, and its wild eyes greedily seeking out the source of the bell's chime.

The scent of potpourri invaded Octavia's nostrils as the monster ran down the back side of her street. Octavia closed her eyes and listened, taking in every pounding footfall, every huffing breath that clouded the night air. She rang her bell allowing the sound to shout its glory into the darkness, sending waves upon waves of her power to ride the tune.

The netherborne screeched, a pained sound that belonged beyond the grave.

Octavia was thrown down as it slammed into the back wall of her home. Face first, she hit the ground, pain lancing through her lip. The sound of shattering glass bounced off the walls as the lantern was knocked from the bedside table.

The distinctive woosh of fire reached her ears, not long followed by the scent of burning wood. With a groan, she raised her head and the metallic tinge of blood stung her tongue. But the pain faded to the back of her mind as the orange-yellow light of flames danced in her peripheral.

Sin and symphony. Octavia pushed to her feet, stumbling to one side and crashing into the chest of drawers. Wood rattled and her combs and brushes fell to the ground. She took a second to regain her equilibrium before rushing to her garderobe. She grabbed a nearby towel and soaked it in the wash basin before tossing it over the fire.

The flames hissed and spat at her, coughing up clouds of smoke that made the air hazy before it finally died. It was only by the faint torchlight flickering outside that she was able to find her way through the haze of smoke to the window.

A chilling draft washed over her as she pried it open, and she inhaled a lungful of fresh air. It was only then that Octavia noticed how quiet it was. Gone were the screams, the roars, the panic. Only the crunch of footfalls against the snow and the murmur of conversation carried on the wind.

It worked. Hedalda was safe for one more night. But for how much longer? The thought weighed her down, loomed over her like an ominous shadow. And with each day that passed, each time she failed to gain any new ground, that shadow grew ever bigger.

Along with her doubt. Her determination had brought her far, but she wasn't sure how much further it would take her. Conviction and ambition wouldn't amount to a hill of beans if she didn't have the strength and wit to back it up. She hadn't been able to stop the scourge the night this calamity started, what had made her believe she could do it now?

Octavia pressed her forehead against the window, the cool glass jogging her memory. Of course. It had been that boy. The one she'd found in the wheat fields riddled with blight, right after watching the village – along with her efforts to stop the scourge – get destroyed.

Saving him had given her the one thing she'd needed to temper her resolve. Hope. Hope that if she could save him then she could save humanity. And that hope hadn't died yet. The doubt may dim its light, but it would not extinguish it.

Sin and symphony. That was all a necromancer swore by, all they needed. So long as she had her flute, and she had breath, the netherborne had better beware.

Octavia turned from the window. Her feet faltered and her legs grew weak as she shuffled to her dresser. In the top drawer was a bag with bandages, balms, elixirs and herbal poultices she kept on hand. Only half a roll of white linen was left, and she made a note to replenish her supply. After a week and a half of treating her burns, she was running low on everything.

Octavia removed the damp bandages from her hands first. The skin underneath was peeling in some places and the worst of the burns had scabbed over. She rubbed balm over the wounds before wrapping them with fresh linens. Then she drenched the remaining bandages with elixir and pressed it against her lip.

The stinging pain made her eyes water, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing along her jaw. It would feel even more fantastic in the morning. Perhaps she could ask for the day off. Trying to teach or trying to play her flute with a busted lip would be unwise.

A thumping noise from downstairs pulled her out of her thoughts. "Miss Octavia!" a muffled voice came from outside. Even after being filtered by the many walls separating her from its owner, it still managed to retain its musical quality.

Octavia, leaned against the wall next to her door, hoping that he would just go away. The banging intensified, not at all helping the headache blossoming behind her eyes. It was followed by the crack of splintering wood and the march of boots climbing the steps. Then the banging reached her door. With the way she felt, he may as well had been banging against her head.

"Miss Octavia?" Sicero's voice drifted in from the hall.

She opened her mouth to answer, but her split lip reminded her that talking wasn't a good idea. She reached over and undid the latched before pulling the door open.

On the other side, Sicero was poised as though he was about to ram the door down. He stood in a halo of flickering light courtesy of the lantern he held in one hand. Sweat gave his copper skin a sheen and his black curls stuck out at every angle. Octavia hadn't seen him since the incident with the book, and she wasn't too keen on interacting with him or any of the Councilors.

"Councilman," she said, speaking as loudly as her lip would allow. She pulled the linen away from her lip, flipping it to press the clean side against her wound.

"Miss Octavia, I..." His words trailed off, as though he didn't know what to say. "Are you all right?"

"As all right as I can be given the circumstances, I suppose." She walked past him and descended the steps to the livingroom. Her eyes were drawn to the entrance–the door hanging by one hinge and its frame splintered apart.

"Was there a fire? Where did all this smoke come from?" Sicero followed behind her as she moved to the kitchen.

Broken glass jars littered the floor along with pots and pans. The cool box had been busted open, the fresh meat and milk spilling from the hole in its side. The back wall was warped inward, with some of the variegated bricks on the verge of falling.

Octavia sighed and kicked through the wreckage until she found a broom. As she pulled it from underneath a leaking sack of flour, the top half of the broomstick fell away. It would have to do. Once her room was clean and the smoke cleared, she could rest and recover.

She turned to go back to the living room and nearly bumped into Sicero. He'd asked her something, hadn't he? Something about the smoke. "The lantern was knocked from my bedside table. Part of the floor burned, but I managed to out it before it got serious."

She took slow steps back up to her room, being careful to look for any stray debris. Pale moonlight beamed through the open window, illuminating the mess on her bedroom floor. Most of the smoke had cleared but the scent of burning wood and lamp oil still lingered.

As Octavia began cleaning up the mess, she caught sight of Sicero standing in her door, looking around as though he were lost. "Was there something else you needed, Councilman?"

"Are you sure you're all right?" His voice was quiet, despondent almost.

She shook her head. "No, not right now. But once I get this mess cleaned up and I'm able sleep, I will be."

"Ah." Sicero raked a hand through his hair, making it even more scruffy than it was. "I can make arrangements for you to sleep elsewhere if you'd like. We have ample space at the Cathedral and the medics can tend to your injuries."

"That won't be necessary. I have medical supplies to take care of my wounds." She punctuated her point by nodding at the bottle of elixir she'd used on her lip.

"I see. Well, goodnight then Miss Octavia." He gave her a nod, but this time it came without a smile.

"Goodnight Councilman."