Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

Muted March

Octavia tipped her face up the sun and sighed as its warmth seeped into her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness behind her lids masked all her troubles. The netherborne, the daywalkers faded into the distance. Everything. Just indulge in a simple pleasure.

"Damn daywalkers," Quintus scoffed.

And just like that, the illusion of bliss shattered, its broken pieces fading to the edges of her consciousness. Cruel reality came rushing back as she cracked her eyes. The Cathedral's fire pit sat cold and dead beside her, much like the rest of the village. A daywalker floated amongst the stand of frozen trees flanking the building. It trailed its hands along the bark, wandering in circles and figure-eights.

Quintus had removed the top of his case and laid it on the table. A single wine glass filled halfway with water stood next to it.

"I have to applaud you, Octavia. I would have moved on from this village in a heartbeat." Quintus wet his finger and ran it around the rim of the glass. An unmistakable hum of power vibrated behind the tune, and the daywalker jumped before flitting away and disappearing behind the Cathedral.

Octavia toyed with the edge of her flute case, tracing her fingers over tiny bird embossed in one corner. The only bird she'd ever see in this place. "These people need help, Quintus."

He scoffed again, his brows angled and jaw set. "Octavia, these people hate us. For two hours on my carriage ride here there was some idiot prattling on about how necromancers are the worst thing to ever happen to humanity. And how they couldn't wait for us to be eliminated along with the netherborne. I'm baffled as to how you can be okay with this."

"Just because I tolerate it, doesn't mean I'm okay with it Quintus. You think it makes me squeal with delight to hear people calling me a monster?"

After a beat of silence, Quintus gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry. I just hate that this mess is being pinned on you."

"Can you blame them?" she asked, a humourless smile crossing her lips. "They saw a black-winged creature flying over them as netherborne tore apart their world. Wouldn't you make the same assumption?"

"No. They've been blinded by their ignorance." He ran his finger over the rim of the glass again, the pure sound resonating around them.

Octavia frowned at him. She was used to Quintus having reservations about her decisions, but this time he seemed particularly irate. "Where is all of this coming from?"

"We worry about you, Octavia. Me, Celesta, Jaredeth. We worry about what's going to happen to you once these humans find out who you truly are. How long do you think you can keep up this farce? What would stop them from marching you into the Divine City and throwing you at the feet of the Prefects?"

She shrugged. Stuffy, pious men, in stuffy, pious clothes were the least of her worries. Her focus was on ridding the world of the netherborne, and if the Divine City got in her way, then she would topple it. 

Her old mentor would often accuse her of being too myopic. Not thinking about the consequences of her actions, being too grounded in the here and now. The old woman annoyed Octavia—even posthumously—because her words rang through Octavia head at the most inconvenient times.

"I just need your help, please," Octavia said.

"You always have it." Quintus planted an elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand, the other lazily toying with the wineglass. "Tell me everything."

"My songs didn't work. The first night I was here, I played for six hours straight. And the next day, the netherborne and the daywalkers were back. I went exploring and found this." She pulled a sheet of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to Quintus. A replica of the symbol she'd found, drawn in black ink.