Trembling did nothing. Nothing did anything.

Brava only shook his head. "I cannot say. It is only the Ambassador who may witness the true depths of each toll. That knowledge belongs to her, whether or not she wishes to harbor that burden."

"You can't…tell me who each toll actually is? Like, who the actual people were that paid it?" Octavia asked, hesitant to impede Viola's highly-justified emotional turmoil.

It was Lyra's turn to answer. Even the soft tones of her voice weren't enough to ease the tension amongst the Maestros. "We know only the tolls of our own. Even so, we are not at liberty to speak them aloud."

"By choice?"

"By…virtue," she murmured. "It is not our place."

"Even if it would help us?" Octavia pleaded. "Even just one Maestro at a time would be a tremendous help."

"It matters not," Brava interrupted. "You will witness each in turn, in time. You will know all, one by one. What difference would it make, even were it possible?"

Octavia's words died on her lips. She couldn't counter the fact. Left only with a distressed Viola, there was little she could do to ease the Maestra's frustrations. If Brava spoke the truth, she'd still find where Viola's third toll had ended up eventually--for better or worse. It wasn't necessarily a comfort.

"Does, uh…anyone else…want to know next?" Harper offered timidly, his own voice not immune from a slight tremble.

When Orleanna turned to face him, Harper gulped. No amount of pulling Royal Orleans closer could shield him from whatever would follow.

"Do you wish to know now, then?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment. "I don't…really want to know, but I know I need to learn eventually. I don't think I have one. I've lost a lot of things in my life, but I don't know what would meet that criteria. I'm sorry."

"On the contrary," she said. "Harper Reed, your toll has been paid twice over."

His reaction, while milder than Viola's, carried the same initial expression of astonishment and a subsequent total loss for words. What succeeded it was a puzzled look that spoke to the turning gears in his head.

"That doesn't make sense," Harper said.

For a brief moment, Octavia wondered if the answer was too obvious to be true. She couldn't have been the only one. Part of her, just the same, was left to wonder if Harper was in denial.

Orleanna didn't respond. To Harper's credit, he didn't raise his voice. He didn't cry, nor scream, nor swear, nor struggle. "That…doesn't make sense," he repeated softly. "It has to be someone else, right? It…wouldn't. It can't."

Once more, another Maestro raised their head to Octavia, confused eyes meeting her own. Once more, all she could do was return a gaze of pain. There was nothing else she could offer.

"To think, Apex, your own squandered an excellent chance at claiming a toll for herself," Mente muttered.

"With ease, all that was to be done was the utmost minimum, and the prize would have been rightful to her alone," Aste continued. "The weakest of blows would have sufficed, for what had already come to pass."

Lyra's ire was unmistakable each and every time Octavia witnessed it. "You are both cruel in ways I do not understand. Their lives are not rewards to be won, nor games to be played."

Her bitter words were lost on Mente. "How nice it must be to have the choice even to decline, that you may face opportunity and turn away still. We cannot say the same for this fruitless fool."

With a pointed glare from the Muse to illustrate their point, the severity of Renato's grimace was enough to compete with Lyra. "That's a lot of fancy words to say I don't have a damn thing, right?"

Octavia's eyes widened. "You don't have a toll?"

He shrugged, his palms outstretched as a drumstick hung between each set of wooden fingers. "I mean, I figured there would just be one somewhere down the line. That whole cause and effect thing, right? Like, I had a cousin that died in an accident when I was a kid. Construction worker. Fell off a building. Really nasty stuff. That doesn't count?"

Viola shook her head, the ongoing unraveling of their current situation somewhat shaking her from her stupor. "It has to be related to Dissonance specifically."

"Or something related to the Muses being here, right?" Octavia asked aloud to no one in particular. "I…had a question about that."

It was Stratos who immediately came to her aid. "What would that be?"

"When you say…related to you guys being here. Does that include things related to Maestros existing?" she asked slowly, her words tentative and small.

With his singular, simple nod, something in her stomach twisted. "That is also true. Solely the impact of one who borrows our strength may bring about the cause and effect that pays the toll."

Renato threw his hands up dramatically. "Oh, great. We're just adding new rules now."

"That's a problem," Harper said. "That opens the door for all sorts of ways to pay tolls. Doesn't that mean a Maestro could pay a toll by--"

"Yes, they could."

Octavia wondered if they kept forgetting in earnest, or if their insensitivity was intentional. Either way, she was grateful when Lyra gave an answer before her own words of hurt could leave her lips. She was tired of being reminded repeatedly, accidental or not. It didn't stop the burning. It didn't stop the nausea.

"Hence their venom," she concluded, her faceless gaze still aimed at the two milky figures orbiting Renato against his will.

"Then you shall surely languish upon this world forever, should that suit your fancy," Aste hissed.

"Know that this child has paid her toll," Lyra hissed back. "Speak no further, lest you bring ever more shame to your legacy."

Madrigal didn't move. She didn't speak, she didn't blink, and she didn't breathe. She could've passed as a statue, if she wanted to, for how her distant gaze bored holes in the horizon. Never before had Octavia seen Madrigal so motionless--or anyone, really. Her expression was nearly impossible to dissect, bordering somewhere between petrified and empty. It was almost intimidating. It took conscious effort for Octavia to entertain the idea of calling her name. She didn't get the chance.

"And what say you, boy? You watch on without a care, but you are not innocent to the same plight," Lyra growled.

When she turned in full, her back entirely to the two hostile Muses who blighted her, Josiah's cool expression spoke to something Octavia couldn't pinpoint. To his credit, he didn't flinch, content to continue his lounging with his legs crossed lazily over one another.

"What do you mean by that, exactly?" he asked with equal coolness, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you think me a fool?" Lyra spoke menacingly. Gone was the warmth of her usual speech. This was new.

Josiah didn't answer, only tilting his head slightly to the right as he maintained his relaxed eye contact. How he stayed so calm in the face of her intimidation was beyond Octavia.

"Twice now you have brought him alongside you. Twice, as such, you believed I would not notice. Is this so?"

Octavia side-eyed him. When Josiah remained silent, she took the initiative. "What…is she talking about?"

He never tore his eyes from the Muse. "This, probably."

The silent stand-off between Josiah and Lyra was loaded with indescribable heat that only burned brighter as Josiah flipped the flap of his bag backwards. He ruffled one steady hand slightly within its canvas contents, every motion composed and unhurried. The thick, hollowed pipe of blackened rosewood he eventually withdrew was one which Octavia had briefly forgotten existed. Her thoughts matched the pace of her racing heart. With an unwavering grasp she never would've been able to replicate, Etherion came to settle comfortably into Josiah's hand.

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Lyra didn't move. Neither did Josiah. The Harmonial Instrument between them remained aloft, bound comfortably to Josiah's palm. The boy hardly blinked, staring down the Muse with curious eyes as he awaited her next move.

The endless and agonizing silence was equally intolerable to the Muses. Brava, in particular, was far from satisfied. "Compose yourself, Apex. You do a disservice to your legacy with your pitiful…investments."

"But it is certainly a shock," Orleanna said gently. "How strange it must be to see him again, by coincidence or otherwise planned."

Octavia shook her head. "I'm not following. Josiah, why did you--"

Even when responding, his eye contact never wavered. "It's a Harmonial Instrument. I'm not leaving it out of this. I have some…theories."

"You will explain yourself. You will give him to me," Lyra spat, balling her luminous fists.

Josiah shook his head, his face devoid of amusement. "I'll do one of those things. Tell me if I'm wrong, and maybe I'll think about the other."

"You are truly evil, boy, to dangle him before me in this manner. You know not the forces with which you trifle."

Her threats, seemingly, were lost on him. "Answer this, then. Tell me if I'm wrong."

She fell silent, watching helplessly as he rolled the clarinet between his fingers. When she refrained from interrupting, he continued, tilting his head ever so slightly in the other direction.

"Maestros can pay their own tolls, can't they?"

There was no collective gasp, nor any widespread shock. Still, the idea alone was more than enough to prompt a visible ripple of discomfort amongst the Maestros as a whole. Harper winced. "What do you--"

"Octavia," Josiah began, his head snapping in her direction. "How many tolls do you have?"

She froze. She knew the answer. Even so, she was almost afraid of asking Stradivaria again. It took all of her courage to cast her eyes upwards, trembling as she met his faceless gaze. Her only consolation was the manner by which she was positive he recognized her discomfort. At the very least, he made the effort to be gentle.

"Octavia Ellis," he began, "as I am sure you are aware, your toll has been paid twice over."

"Twice," Josiah repeated, cutting off any chance Octavia had to interject. "I…figure the first one isn't very cryptic."

Octavia wanted to punch him. By the looks on some of her companions' faces, she wasn't the only one--even if he was correct. She opened her mouth to chastise his insensitivity. Once again, she never got that far. He pressed.

"So, think for a minute. What's the other one?"

In truth, Octavia had thought about it already. For how much he was presenting the concept as a unique revelation, the idea wasn't his alone. She was all but 100% certain who her other toll was. A Maestro's own death would suffice, if his--rather, her--hypothesis was true. Of all of the hidden rules that slowly seemed to be surfacing, not one was quite as damning. The thought made her blood curdle.

Her discomfort still wasn't nearly enough to halt Josiah's theorizing. "This one. It's been paid, hasn't it?"

Octavia could've sworn she heard Lyra growl. Nonetheless, Stratos interrupted before Lyra's venom could sting the boy further. "While I cannot say of my own volition, I would suspect as much."

Only now did Josiah allow himself to blink, inhaling sharply as his shoulders relaxed. "There's a lot of extra rules you guys are hiding from us. I don't like it."

Orleanna shook her head. "We hide nothing."

"Lying by omission is still lying," he said calmly.

"I will not deny the complexity of this task," Stratos offered. "It is precisely for that reason that the...caveats of its execution may be more than we have initially disclosed. I can assure you, it is not intentional."

"I don't believe you," Josiah spat.

"Josiah!" Octavia hissed. His cynicism was unwelcome. If it was aimed at Stradivaria, it was worse.

She wondered if he'd ever look away from a furious Lyra. She found her answer in the form of his gaze versus her own fury instead. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. There's too much that isn't being said out loud. I'll support whatever you want to do, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Octavia cringed, fighting a headache born of stress that she was slowly growing accustomed to. She doubted Stradivaria would be of much assistance to that end. "Can I witness Etherion's toll, too, then?"

He shook his head. "A bond is key. Only when bound to one of our own may the Ambassador bear witness to they who paid the tolls."

Josiah laughed, a single and uncomfortable exclamation that spoke only to bitterness. "See? Another rule. Can't witness a damn thing without a Maestro, and we already know what happened to Etherion's."

"Man, what the hell's gotten into you?" Renato asked, more puzzled than angered. "You've been this little ball of negativity for a hot minute now. This isn't like you. At least, I don't think so."

"I don't want Octavia to do this anymore."

His words made Octavia physically recoil, her fingers trembling around Stradivaria's body. Even as she gripped the violin tighter, the manner by which chilled blood pulsed through her fingertips only furthered her discomfort. This was heading nowhere positive.

"It's not up to you," Harper replied sharply.

"I don't care. I have a really bad feeling about all of this."

"Josiah, it's fine," Octavia reassured, neglecting her distaste for the empty words on her tongue.

She was half-lying. With every word out of the Muses' mouths, she, too, was gradually growing more unnerved. Ignorance was bliss. She'd already chosen this path, and there was too much she didn't understand. Whatever other caveats--as Stradivaria considered them--applied to her messy task, she didn't particularly want to know.

Even so, the look of hurt on Josiah's face when he cast his eyes helplessly into the dirt spoke volumes. She didn't blame him. Were she in his shoes, as hellish and unkind as the world had been to him in the past several weeks, she wouldn't be too fond of Maestro endeavors. Octavia entertained the idea of mentally trying on the shoes in question, and she still came up short in every fashion. There was absolutely no way. She left it be.

No amount of "trust me" would help, either. She'd already offered him that before, and not with success.

"I just…let's just do this already. I don't want to dwell on it anymore."

Stratos' voice, once calming, now only felt intimidating--even with identical verbiage and tone. "I ask once more, with whom will you begin?"

"Me."

Viola didn't give Octavia an option. By the time the newly-crowned Ambassador had raised her head, the Maestra had advanced on her. Face to face, she clasped Silver Brevada in front of her tightly with both hands, stilling the flute upright. Her face was not fully devoid of fear, although it paled it comparison to Octavia's own. Viola's flats dug into the soft earth below as she stood at attention. Her bold and rigid posture brought at least some semblance of contagious confidence to Octavia herself.

"Let's do this together," Viola said. "You and me."

Octavia's fingers twitched against Stradivaria's neck. Part of her was afraid to let go, clinging to the comfort of the violin. "Are you sure? You don't know what's going to happen--to you, to me, to both of us."

"Then we'll find out together. Put Stradivaria down."

Even the suggestion made her uncomfortable. "Viola--"

"Let's do it," Viola repeated. "Don't be afraid."

It took extra strength on Octavia's part to uncurl her trembling fingers from Stradivaria, doing what she could to relax her vice grip on the violin. It was enough to return her circulation. She hadn't even noticed it was gone. More so, she was thankful for Madrigal's nearby assistance, by which she surrendered her partner's body with only mild mental distress. It didn't keep her from fleeting looks of fearful separation anxiety, her saving grace stolen from her arms. Viola was immune to her plight.

"Look at me."

Octavia did as she was told, meeting the Maestra's demanding gaze wordlessly.

"Whatever happens, happens. You're not alone. I told you I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, no matter what. You're the bravest person I know. You can't go soft on me now."

Octavia wanted to cry. She almost did. She forced a weak smile, wiping wet eyes with the palms of her shaking hands. "I'll do my best."

"Stratos," Viola began, raising her head to the Muse above, "how do we do this?"

Octavia sighed with relief as Viola took the lead, her heart pounding heavily. Stratos' words were muffled in her ears, nearly overpowered by the sound of her own blood rushing past. "It is the responsibility of the Muse to carry out the rites. Octavia, you need only lay your touch upon the vessel at will, and you will bear witness to the toll."

"A-At the same time? Both of them?" she stammered. Already, her throat was dry, and the words were a struggle to concoct.

"One at a time."

"I have to do it twice," she whispered anxiously.

Even if Viola knew, she couldn't stop herself from repeating it out loud. It was the most terrified she'd ever been. It was one thing to take a life. It was another entirely to lose her own.

Brava's voice was sudden, loud and powerful with a vivacity to his words that came all too quickly. "Viola Vacanti, your toll has been paid twice over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the ones who paid the toll."

His words were over as quickly as they began. There was no glow, no sparkles, no additional magic that she could perceive in any capacity. She had, frankly, expected more to preclude her sickening actions. The distance between her task and the precious moments she had to savor before her own death--or death itself, maybe--was all but gone. No amount of hesitant gazes towards Stradivaria helped. He only nodded his head.

At your ready, he urged her softly from within.

Octavia ran out of excuses. She gulped hard, her throat tight enough to stifle what little oxygen she could swallow. With violently-trembling hands raised aloft over Silver Brevada's newly-outstretched body, she regurgitated the same sentiment of panic over and over against her will. She was going to die. No amount of thinking it over was helping it sink in.

She could still pull out. She could still step back and regroup. There was another way, surely. No one would fault her, surely. If it was any of the others, if they stood where she did, she wondered if they'd have the courage to follow through.

Priscilla would've.

You're the bravest person I know. You can't go soft on me now.

If nothing else, for the outcome it would bring, she could do it for Viola, too.

With one final look into Viola's unwavering eyes, loaded with determination and faith, Octavia plunged both hands downwards. Chilled metal stung her burning palms, and still her blood burned in the worst way. She blinked, she stumbled, and her world went black.

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