Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

Candlelit Cadence

Octavia set her pen aside and picked up the stack of sheet music, reading every note, checking every ligature, pause and annotation. If there ever existed a perfect song, this was it. She trailed her hand down the side of the page, careful not to smudge the ink.

Since returning from the search of the island, she'd occupied herself with the mind-numbing monotony of recording the song. It distracted from the disappointing amount of nothing they'd found while scouring Hedalda. Even the netherborne hadn't come out to play.

Octavia and Quintus, along with the teams of priest led by Zhen and Ezra spent the entire afternoon searching the island from end to end. While signs of netherborne activity littered every corner, there were no clues which could lead them to the anchor. Despite that, she wasn't too worried, the search of the village held far more importance.

She rose from the couch, stretched and paced around the room. Her body was in a strange, hazy place beyond exhaustion, where it had perished any hope of rest. She paced along the perimeter of the room, stopping by the hearth to let the heat seep into her. Atop the mantle laid a square sheet of paper, coated in a layer of dust.

The other side held a drawing. Of her. Her likeness stared out from the page with bright eyes, etched in ink and charcoal. All the details were there, even the stubborn baby hairs at her temple that curled up no matter how much she smoothed them. She recognized the art style. It filled the pages of a once burnt book.

How flattering. Sicero cared enough about her face to take the time to draw it. Yet only regret, cold and heavy settled over her. She should've kept her distance, turned a blind eye to his shy smile and a deaf ear to his silver tongue. Now her heart paid the price.

A knock sounded on the study's door and Sicero came in, carrying a tray with a porcelain tea set atop. "Pilar told me you were in here. I thought might appreciate something hot to drink." He laid the tray on the clear side of the low table.

"Thank you. Is this yours?" She held up the drawing.

"Ah, yes." He cleared his throat, his eyes darting away as though searching for a distraction. The veil of shyness came over him again, making him look more like a child than a centuries old man. "It's nothing. You can throw it in the hearth if you want."

"Why would I want to do that? It's such a nice drawing." She paced back to the coffee table and laid it next to her sheet music.

He met her eyes again and smiled. "Thank you. Would you like a cup? Marin wasn't in the kitchen so I had to brew it myself. Hopefully, it's palatable."

At her nod, he poured out two cups, and they sat in silence, sipping the spicy blend while the crackling of the fire and the weight of unasked questions occupied the space between them. She peeked up at him, but his eyes were on his drink. Thoughts passed through their hazel depths but remained unspoken. Perhaps he'd resolved that nothing he could say would close the rift between them.

"You were working on music?" Sicero asked, picking up a page.

"It's the song the netherborne was singing earlier. I don't—"

The study's door swung open and Quintus barged in, hair scruffy, bareback despite the cold and carrying a bowl of dried fruit and nuts. He took a seat in an armchair and kicked his bare feet up next to their tea.

"Excuse me. We're having a meeting here," Sicero said.

"Then have your little meeting, but I'm not leaving Octavia alone with you." He tipped the chair back and tossed a nut in the air before catching it in his mouth.

Octavia set her tea down so she wouldn't throw it at him. "I don't need a sitter, Quintus."

"I know, but it never hurts to have reinforcements."