Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

Incandescent Refrain

"Not too fond of the cold?" Sicero asked as he slid in next to her and shut the carriage door.

"I'm fine with it, so long as I can be at home, curled up with something hot to drink and nice to read." Octavia secured her scarf tighter around her neck. All the warmth she'd regained in the Hall had been sucked from her body, even though she'd only been outside for a moment.

"That sounds divine. I can't remember the last time I've sat down and relaxed for more than a few minutes." He slouched and tilted his head up to the roof of the carriage, his face growing thoughtful. "There's always something to do, or something to worry about. My mind is always busy."

She knew that feeling too well. How could anyone in this village relax knowing their end was just one netherborne siege away? "You have the rest of the day free, don't you? A good book does wonders for a weary soul."

"I'll have to find one then. The books I own are for scholarly purposes rather than entertainment."

Octavia fished her poetry book from her bag. "You can borrow this one. It's one of my favourites."

Sicero took the book and turned it over in his hands, examining every inch of the leather binding before opening it. "Poetry?" He flipped closer to the middle, to where braided bookmark laid betwixt the pages. "Black Wings. You unfurl at night, curling and flaring like roses in full bloom. Black wings. You soar like the hopes of youth, carrying the burden of a better tomorrow."

Octavia's lips parted as she listened to him recite the poem. The lilt of his voice smoothed over each syllable, each word, each line and stanza, as soothing as a lover's touch. They rolled off his tongue, filling the carriage with a cadence gentle enough to lull a child to sleep.

He stopped midway, brows drawn. "Is something the matter?"

She slammed her mouth shut and looked away, her face burning. "No, I just. . ." She cleared her throat. "You have a very nice voice." She could feel his smile on her face, warm as the sun's kiss.

"Thank you." A moment of awkward silence ensued before he asked: "Is this poem about the Night-Blooming Rose?"

Octavia's heart sank at the question. He was sharp, she should've expected no less from him. Her tongue battled with a lie. "I suppose it could be. I love the cadence of it, and your voice really added a depth and richness to it." 

His smile brightened to a grin. "Perhaps I'm in the wrong line of work then."

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the florist shop. Blessed fate was shining down upon her. 

"Do you need me to come with you?" he asked, as she rifled through her bag for the notes she'd prepared.

"No, it's fine. I just need to drop off these notes." She climbed from the carriage and hurried up to the door, feeling Sicero's eyes burn into her back. He hates necromancers, she reminded herself. And he wanted to eliminate them along with the scourge. 

Octavia stepped into the shop, the bell dinging over her head. Arietta's father stood behind the glass case with a line of glass jars in front of him, and he put on a smile at the sight of her. "Miss Octavia, what brings you here?"

"I hope I'm not disturbing you." She returned his smile. "I came to drop off these notes for Arietta. I didn't want her to fall behind after missing so much class."

"It's no problem at all. Right this way." He led her through another door at the back of the shop, to a tiny hall. Hammering and the occasional sawing drifted from behind another door.

They took a flight of stairs up to a cozy living room. A decorative throw rug dominated the floor, surrounded by plush brown furniture. The air carried the same floral scent as the shop downstairs. Arietta sat bundled up on a couch in front of the healthy fire crackling in the hearth. A stuffed bear was beside her, one of its button eyes hanging by a single thread.