Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

Nightlong A Cappella

Octavia grimaced at the ride awaiting her outside. Two horses stood tethered to a wood contraption that had seen better days. The elements had worn away at the slats, leaving some rotting and others with tiny pockets and holes. Even from where she stood, the pungent scent of animal waste reached her nose.

As Zhen pulled her down the steps, icy daggers lanced through her feet, and She cursed herself for choosing beauty over function. Diann opened the back, and the stench became so strong, Octavia's eyes watered.

She climbed in and picked the corner with the least amount of feces, keeping the hem of her dress up. Through the slats she watched Zhen and Diann mount the horses. As they rolled along, she felt every bump, crack and pebble they hit on the road. The make-shift carriage rattled and shifted on its frame.

By some miracle, the thing didn't fall apart on the long ride back to the Cathedral. Footfalls sounded out like drumbeats and shadows leaked into the wooden slats as a group of priests converged on the carriage.

One yanked opened the door, two more pulled her out, and Zhen took hold of the rope as they marched into the Cathedral. Octavia supposed she should feel honoured to have an entire contingent of priests escorting her. She doubted even the Council got this level of star-studded treatment.

"Bring her this way," Diann ordered, mounting the steps to the ballroom.

Zhen stopped in her tracks, and Octavia nigh bumped into her back. "Amongst the villagers, Diann? Wouldn't it be better to put her away in a room until the—"

"Excuse me." Diann turned and stood at ease with her hands tucked behind her back. "Need I remind you that it is the Council that holds the authority in this village? Not you glorified toy soldiers? Now. Bring. Her. This. Way." And she continued up the steps.

Zhen didn't say a word, but the tenseness in her shoulders was evident in the way the seams of her jacket strained. She pulled Octavia up the steps at a brisk pace.

A few times, Octavia tripped on the hem of her dress, but the priests caught her before she fell. When they reached the top of the staircase, Diann took the rope and yanked Octavia forward, through the door.

Everyone was still gathered in the ballroom which had been converted into a makeshift infirmary for the injured priests. Mats and low tables heavy with medicine were arranged in neat rows. Medics soothed cuts bumps and bruises, while villagers passed around food and hot beverages.

But activity ceased when Octavia stepped into the room, and every head swiveled towards the steps. The weight of a hundred gazes bared down on her shoulders.

The hilt of Diann's sword dug into Octavia's back as she pushed her towards the stairs. "Walk."

With her hands bound up, she couldn't hold on to the balcony rail, and with Diann's taught grip on the rope, she couldn't hold up the hem of her dress. She didn't make it two steps down before her foot caught the hem of her dress. Gravity pulled her into a rolling fall, every step digging into a different part of her body. The air was punched from her lungs as she landed with a smack on the polished floor.

Humiliation, that was the Councilwoman's goal. She didn't care if Octavia was a threat—or perhaps didn't believe Octavia was a threat at all.

Diann's boot came into her line of vision a moment later and pressed the tip of the sword against her throat. "Get up." A swift kick put Octavia onto her stomach and redoubled the throbbing pain assaulting her body.

"Stop! Stop hurting her!"

Through blurred vision Octavia watched Tallis weave his way through the crowd, but Zhen caught him by the arm before he could make it far.