They did, in fact, have their differences. Some were more obvious than others.

  As had been established, one was a violin, and one was a viola. Octavia had made it abundantly clear that there was a distinction. One was the Ambassador, and one wasn’t. Granted, that may not have genuinely imbalanced their strengths overall. One was level-headed, and one was exceedingly unstable--at least, at the moment.

  What had prompted her outburst was still largely a mystery, and she was every bit as much of an enigma up close as she was from afar. One screamed as she played, and one didn’t. One carried hate in every panicked gaze, and one didn’t. One wove an unpredictable song, as grating and shrill as it was simultaneously beautiful, and one didn’t.

  One fought with rays. One didn’t. He’d never seen that before.

  In Josiah’s defense, he’d never seen any aspects of a heart of light outside of that which Octavia had blessed his eyes with. He knew, logically, that there were various methods of manifestation the Ambassador had had at her disposal, and he did what he could to recall them individually as he ran. The barrier she’d managed to make at Vincent’s trial, for one, had pushed the expansion of her luminescence to its limits. The radiant, arching shield she’d saved his life with when he’d fled Velpyre was another.

  There was the surging tide of lustrous light that had beaten back the raging Dissonance on their second voyage there. In truth, he’d even suspected something similar when he’d looked out the windows on their horrific train ride to Solenford. Octavia had options, her precious rays by default be damned. It should’ve come as no surprise that Faith, too, could choose to take a different approach. It was new all the same.

  Her aurora was blinding, the variable orbs she birthed with every weaponized note equally so. It was almost difficult to look at, both secondary to their sheer luminosity and the fact that they were dangerously beautiful. It was a distraction he couldn’t afford, pulsing like gasping stars as they were. Undoubtedly, with such radiance came the white-hot fury of the suns they sought to become, and every last one that laid in wait for him to approach would surely not stay stationary. The look of unfathomable agitation in Faith’s eyes was enough of an indicator. She wouldn’t be content to embrace patience, and she wore every hateful emotion on her face that Josiah could imagine.

  It was to her detriment. He could read her like a book.

  “Get the hell away from me!” she screeched, her bow screeching just as hard as she dragged it sharply over the strings.

  It was almost a disgusting noise, and the dichotomy between her surprisingly-gorgeous song and her frantic style of playing was incomprehensible. With every hurried, wrathful note came the force of the same personal suns shattering upon him, bursting with such fervor that his skin just barely escaped every searing sting.

  Faith hardly needed to aim, for how incredible her range really was. Even from so far a distance, she could easily shower him with her explosive radiance, raining down on his position effortlessly. It would help if she could focus long enough to make sure he was still there. She was putting more focus into her song than her adversary.

  Logically, there was little he could do besides engage her in a war of attrition. It was hypothetically possible, given the effort it surely took to keep up such a vast quantity of light. Even now, he wasn’t sure if the aurora that fanned out beyond her body and lazily veiled the air was intentional, a possible byproduct of light she didn’t bother to control. It was still enough to leave him squinting, and every bit as annoying as a result. Faith was a star at risk of burning herself out, an explosive supernova of her own accord. Josiah couldn’t quite figure out why.

  His only option, then, primarily came in the form of circling. There was a certain amount of distance he’d deemed necessary, given how quickly the Heartful Maestra was capable of weaving new luminous little suns and boiling stars to life. He wasn’t arrogant--he knew this could end in disaster if he slipped up, unarmed as he was. To approach her headfirst would utterly annihilate his reaction time, if not erase it entirely. He’d be at the complete mercy of Faith’s light, wrathfully given at will. Loath as he was to admit, he really would have to stall for Octavia.

  Tearing his eyes from her raging brilliance was incredibly dangerous. Of that, Josiah was well aware. So, too, was stilling in his tracks a death sentence. It left running, and running left the usual problem. Keeping his eyes forward was a nightmare. This wasn’t the time. At least twice, he slipped up, and his attention fell over his shoulder. For as fast as he went and as loud as he scolded within, he caught next to nothing in his visual field to begin with. He recovered fast enough. It was still frustrating. There was an irony that came with pursuing deadly light rather than eluding strangling darkness, for once. The thought still didn’t stem the reflex.

  He knew it was possible to go up against a Harmonial Instrument empty-handed, and yet that risky manner of fighting had always come with exceptions. Octavia knew Madrigal’s heart, and the spirit of wind was a different kind of crisis to handle. Josiah had heard in passing that Harper had once taken the will of fire head-on without Royal Orleans. Dangerous as he could imagine such a brawl to be, Harper, too, had known the weaknesses of his opponent. Josiah knew nothing of Faith. He sometimes didn’t even remember she existed. Whatever she was capable of was as much of a mystery as her ire. He didn’t dare taunt her, for whatever ruthless brilliance that would curse him with.

  It wasn’t as though he had the chance to turn around and check as to whether or not Octavia had finished dealing with River. He’d done enough checking already, and with far less productive results. Faith’s hateful light was upon him again, mesmerizing and vicious as each blasting sparkle hailed down to the earth his feet had touched moments ago. She was getting quicker, and her accuracy was improving. When next she offered up her lustrous song, fast and deadly, every note brought much the same bursting brilliance hurtling forward instead.

  It was all he could do to dodge, practically leaping in an effort to sidestep her streaming stars as they burst one after another. The collateral damage was unavoidable, and he wasn’t immune to one or two scathingly-hot embers of her suns as they stung his skin. He gritted his teeth. A war of attrition might not have been the most effective decision. Anything more would be a colossal gamble.

  “Octavia, where are you?” Josiah called, never taking his eyes off Faith. It was more of a general inquiry than a cry for help, a way by which to gauge exactly what his next move should be. He wasn’t entirely sure if Octavia took it that way, given the panic in her voice.

  “I’m coming! Hang in there!” she cried.

  Still, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a slight relief. It left him with options, although ordering the Ambassador around felt almost sacrilegious.

  “You’re disgusting! You’re sick! You’re selfish! You’re evil! You’re a mistake! You were a mistake! You were a mistake!” Faith screamed, never stilling her radiant melody.

  Josiah raised an eyebrow.

  The sound of quick footsteps beating the earth at his back was all the confirmation of companionship he needed. If Octavia ran, she always knew he’d follow. It was her turn, and Josiah never slowed down as he continued to circle the Heartful Maestra. He adjusted his grip on his knife, squeezing tightly.

  “Did you get River?”

  “Yeah!” he heard. As to why her voice wobbled somewhat as she said it, he had a feeling he knew. This was, unfortunately, the worst possible time to offer his comfort.

  “Then she’s the last one,” Josiah reminded. “We’re gonna have to get in close if you’re gonna guide her Muse.”

  “Do you think her toll is the same as the others?” Octavia asked.

  Josiah didn’t particularly want to consider it. “We’ll find out the hard way, I suppose.”

  He could hear the sound of Stradivaria rising into position, one soft and involuntary note escaping the violin as the bow came level with the strings. “What do you want me to do?”

  He battled a smirk. For every way she’d commanded them so far, their fearless leader as she was, it was an outright compliment that she was entrusting him with strategizing. He declined to point it out, still tickled by the irony. “I don’t know a lot about the legacy of the Heartful. You’re the only one I’ve ever seen fight. Still, I know how fast you can hit, and I’ve seen you damage physical objects. Can you try to cancel out her light?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whatever she attacks with, hit it back,” he explained. “Stop it from getting anywhere. I know you can play pretty fast. From what I’ve seen so far, I think you can play faster than Faith. You should be able to overwhelm her. If you can do that, and if you can keep her from hitting me, I know how to pin her down.”

  Josiah could hear the surprise in her voice. “You’re going to stop her?”

  “Long enough for you to perform the Witnessing. Like I said, we’re gonna have to get in close. If I get up there and she hits me point-blank, I’m screwed. I trust you. No pressure.”

  “R-Right!”

  In reality, he knew there was, in fact, pressure. He felt bad about it. The sentiment was the best he could do.

  “You weren’t meant for this! You weren’t cut out for this! You don’t even want this! You’re ungrateful! You’re unworthy! Why is it you? Why is it always you?” Faith shouted, her voice cracking with every word. Not a single tear escaped her, traded exclusively for what Josiah recognized as pure and raw hate. Still, he could only tilt his head.

  “What’s…going on?” Octavia murmured.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Josiah admitted. “Let’s go!”

  “Okay!”

  There wasn’t time to dwell on it, even if Faith’s sporadic outbursts continued to irk him somehow. Already, Josiah was pushing forward, entrusting his life to Octavia without hesitation yet again. With only a little knife to challenge a heart of light, he didn’t back down. He’d be lying if he said he held no fear at all, given how truly dangerous this entire situation was. Faith’s grotesque, agitated melodies of radiance were the only thing louder than his racing heartbeat. He steadied his breathing to the best of his ability.

  The moment the same enraged stars sought to explode before him once more, battling to hail him with white-hot rain of the worst kind, the impossibly-bright burst that followed practically scarred his eyes. Stradivaria’s song was far more familiar, if not far steadier and far more lovely--even in the heat of battle. It was a comfort. It was yet another difference between the two Heartful Maestras, and he added it to his mental list.

  The collision of Octavia’s beloved rays, dead-on and spearing, and Faith’s relentless stars was as blinding as it was spectacular. The aftermath of every explosive strike left sparkling debris drifting and fizzling in the wake of their collective supernovas. Josiah had to fight for his life to resist the urge to close his eyes. It was utterly gorgeous. It burned severely to look at directly, and he refused to do it twice.

  He gave all the attention he could to Faith instead, willing his gaze exclusively forward as he sprinted. His trust in Octavia was unshakable, and he tolerated every gentle boom of their all-too-different lights above his head--and his sides, and his back, and everywhere Faith sought to incinerate him with a legacy he’d once thought delicate. The Heartful Maestra who raged against them was anything but, and Josiah had half a mind to wonder how she’d ended up with a heart of light in the first place.

  “It shouldn’t have been you! It shouldn’t have been you! Why did they pick you?” Faith screamed even now. “You’re vile! You bring pain where you go and leave more everywhere you step! You don’t deserve it! You never deserved it! Why the hell are you alive?”

  Oh.

  It clicked.

  There was zero point in telling her. She’d figure it out the hard way, for how much vitriol was leaving Faith’s mouth by the second. At least one loathsome sentence was bound to carry her title.

  “Stay a bit further back from me!”

  “Why?”

  “Just trust me!”

  For the slowing footsteps he heard, still well-paced and audible as they were, Josiah appreciated that Octavia obliged. He doubted it would amount to much, given their current strategy. Still, it was largely for his own peace of mind.

  “Faith, just give up! There’s no point anymore!” he heard distantly, just barely audible over the Heartful songs waging war in the open air. “They already got him!” Francisco shouted.

  “Stay out of it!” Faith snarled.

  “Faith, she already guided River’s Muse! It’s too late! It’s too late for all of us!” Briar called. “There’s no need to--”

  “Of course she did! That’s what she does, isn’t it? That’s what she’s supposed to do, isn’t it? Isn’t that right, Ambassador? Wonderful, wonderful Ambassador, beloved in every friggin’ way? Does it feel good? It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “What does she mean?” he heard Octavia murmur. She wasn’t the only one.

  “Faith, what the hell are you on about?” Francisco yelled. “Knock it off!”

  “Shut up!” she screeched once more.

  Again did her destructive light collide with Octavia’s own, bursting blindingly above Josiah’s head. It was a surprise he honestly should’ve expected, and he nearly stumbled. He thanked whatever God typically hated him that Octavia played as fast as she did, for how Faith’s vibrant stars swallowed oxygen quicker and quicker. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Octavia so much as he feared for the pressure he’d placed on her. It wouldn’t be her fault if she slipped up--not this close, and not one bit.

  On closer inspection, Josiah had been somewhat correct about the aurora that hung idly behind Faith like a luminescent curtain. Every stray note and wisp of poorly-guided light from the strings had coalesced into something uncontrollably gorgeous. It was brilliant to a fault, and it was surely only by Faith’s angle away from its intolerable glow that she was spared of its hurtful brightness.

  Josiah wouldn’t let her escape it. For how much of it he was offered, it didn’t take more than five seconds to find the angle he needed, twisting his knife sharply sideways as he leveled it with his eyes. Carefully, he stole the escaping radiance that shimmered down freely upon him. He adjusted his wrist with precision until the tell-tale shine that struck the blade gave him something to work with.

  From there, for how wide Faith's wrathful eyes were, it wasn’t difficult to give her a taste of her own medicine. She yelped, recoiling somewhat as she squeezed her eyes shut out of reflex. Given the way her luminous song briefly faltered, Josiah had his window. At this point, he truly did have to pray. It was his turn to be fast.

  He couldn’t kill her, unfortunately. That part would’ve been exceedingly simple--her throat was right there, her carotid artery more than vulnerable to one deep, well-placed slash. It was out of the question, given the need for a living Maestra in order for any of this to work. He’d never quite established whether or not guiding would work with an unconscious Maestro. There, too, went his fleeting idea of assaulting her pressure points. That left the hard way, by which Faith would be fully lucid and more than capable of struggling against the process. Incapacitation was going to be difficult. He had one idea.

  It wasn’t her skin that Josiah brought the tip of the knife down into, but the strings of the viola. With a sharp downward thrust of his wrist, he plunged the blade deep into the bridge, slotting the thin metal neatly between the copper strings that burned and sizzled far too close to his fingers for comfort. Where Faith had slashed her bow across much the same strings time and time again moments ago, every movement was now heavily impeded by the weapon that stood in its way--and his palm, and his arm, and, largely, all of him.

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  With his free hand, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the neck of the viola, just below where Faith's own rested. In truth, it was a reflex, and he’d temporarily forgotten about the heat. Josiah grunted in pain as he heard the soft sizzle of the superheated strings that gently scorched his skin. It wasn’t the worst way he’d ever hurt his hands. It certainly wasn’t enough to get him to let go.

  Faith’s song was absent, abruptly halted by his intervention. Even if he couldn’t see the brilliant little suns and dazzling stars that scattered to nothingness behind him, he was well aware of the way they were fading. The look of absolute, unfiltered rage that had settled onto Faith's face was permanent. The only thing more lethal than the furious eyes she sought to stab Josiah with were the ones she pinned to the Ambassador.

  “Josiah!” Octavia cried.

  For the briefest moment, Faith relinquished her grip on the neck of the viola. It returned with a vengeance, her fingernails spearing deep into the back of Josiah’s hand. Again did he grunt in pain, far sharper and enough to draw a fierce wince. Still, he didn’t budge, even as she pushed down harder and harder. He wondered if she’d draw blood, for how he could feel his skin bending further beneath her pressure.

  “I’ve got her!” Josiah affirmed through gritted teeth. “Do it!”

  “You’re nothing! You’re replaceable!” Faith spat, her irate gaze locked onto Octavia instead. “They don’t want you! They don’t need you! You’re a coincidence! You didn’t have to work for a damn thing! You barely had to try! Was it nice to have everything handed to you? Was it nice to drown in their praise and bury yourself in pride? You’re not special!”

  “Faith, what are you talking about?” Octavia asked desperately. Already, her hands had settled close to the viola.

  For how hard Faith was flailing, it was all Josiah could do to keep her in place. Her right hand was strong. Even filled with a bow, she beat against his wrist with one closed fist again and again. It hurt, for how his grip on the knife left his own hand jerking sharply at a painful angle each and every time. In truth, he was extremely concerned his grasp might slip altogether, should she continue.

  “You’re not worthy!” Faith growled. “You will never be worthy! You take it for granted! You show disdain, and you reject, and you hate, and you hate, and you hate! That’s all you’re good for! That’s the kind of Ambassador you are! You weren’t meant to be the Ambassador! You weren’t meant to be anything! You’re inhumane! You’re a disgrace to your legacy! You’re awful, awful, awful!”

  Octavia’s eyes widened. “Faith, where is this coming from?”

  “Worry about this later!” Josiah hissed. His hold around the knife was most definitely loosening, and his ability to reclaim it was absent in the face of Faith’s close-fisted blows.

  It was enough to draw Octavia’s attention at last, and her eyes went skyward. The Muse who greeted her, ivories and golds bursting to life spectacularly, was far calmer by comparison to her Maestra. With the crowning backdrop of the veiling aurora that Faith still held so near, she was more resplendent than ever, a powerful angel that met the Ambassador with crossed arms.

  They were wordless. That was new.

  Josiah was so used to Octavia’s general hospitality towards the Muses that the absence of it was downright unsettling. The Ambassador’s eyes were far, far sharper than anything he’d ever seen her fix a Muse with. It surpassed disrespectful, if that was what Octavia would consider it. It was downright threatening. Her shoulders rose and fell just the slightest bit more heavily, and her breath was equally weighted. He could hear it, particularly as she inhaled much too deeply.

  “Say it,” Octavia demanded, her voice low.

  It was almost hostile. It was enough to give Josiah chills. She hadn’t acted this way in the slightest around any of the other four, as frantic as the situation had been. Something wasn’t right.

  Jasse didn’t argue. Initially, she didn’t even answer. She paused, her silence only interrupted by Faith’s continued grunting as she squirmed and flailed. Josiah needed this to go quicker. He prayed desperately for this to go quicker. He was 100% certain his fingers were slipping. He held his breath.

  “Faith Rafay,” Jasse finally spoke, “your toll has been paid twenty-six times over.”

  Josiah recoiled so fiercely that he nearly dropped the knife altogether. It was all he could do to stay still, double down, and grip the viola harder with everything he had. Octavia’s gasp at his side summed up his feelings perfectly, albeit with far more room for expression.

  “Twenty…six?”

  That wasn’t her voice. Frankly, it was the first time he’d heard River speak in quite awhile, just barely audible from his current position. Josiah didn’t dare try to pin down whatever broken emotions were painting his tone. That was a future problem. He could hardly turn his head at the moment.

  “Twenty-six?” he heard Briar cry with disbelief, much the same. “Did she say twenty-six? That…can’t be right! It should only be--”

  “Faith, what the hell did you do?” Francisco shouted, his voice shaking.

  The Maestra in question was unblinking, unfazed, and uncaring as she glared daggers into the Willful boy. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted this! You asked for this! I gave it to you! Are you proud of me?”

  “We only needed one!” Francisco growled. “You’re…you’re not serious, are you? Please tell me you’re joking!”

  Josiah’s stomach lurched. If he was this uncomfortable, struggling to cope with the onslaught of chills that raced up and down his spine, then he couldn’t begin to imagine how Octavia felt.

  “I’m strong now! I’m willing to do what others won’t now! I’m able to make hard decisions now! That’s perfect, right? That’s everything you need, right? This is the kind of Ambassador you want, right?”

  “Faith, we weren’t trying to test you, we were--”

  “This is enough, right? This is good enough? You asked for this! You wanted this! This is your fault! Your fault!”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Francisco asked aloud, his voice somewhat tinted with terror.

  “Faith, please, stop!” Briar pleaded.

  It was too much. Already, one of Josiah’s fingers had come loose from the handle of the knife entirely. Faith was still hitting him, the handle of her own bow bashing painfully against his knuckles each and every time.

  “Octavia, do it now!” he snapped desperately.

  The moment Octavia thrust her hands downwards onto the viola, it finally slipped. The window he had to reclaim his grip on the handle of the knife in full wasn’t quick enough to beat Faith to the strings. His eyes widened. The world slowed as she brought down her wrist once more, the bow of the viola slamming right back into place unhindered.

  Josiah thought carefully--as carefully as he could, knowing what was to come.

  He’d counted quite a long time ago, as far back as the first time Octavia had laid her hands on Silver Brevada. It took her almost precisely half a second, from his perception, to witness a toll in full. Josiah knew with absolutely certainty that the experience was far, far longer for her. He’d done the math in Velpyre, and their extreme circumstances had taken roughly two full hours to see through to the end.

  It would take thirteen seconds, if he was counting correctly. It was going to be a nightmare. It was to say nothing of the guiding process, by which he was unsure whether or not Faith would be able to continue. He could only pray that he alone invoked her ire, for how he was the one still stealing her ability to play in full.

  Thirteen seconds. Josiah wasn’t sure whether counting them down would be better or worse. He was terrified. This was going to suck.

  In the small window of opportunity he had before Faith could slash the bow across the strings entirely, Josiah swung the newly-gripped knife down as hard as was possible. It didn’t matter if he hit the center of the bridge, for how he’d already accepted his fate. Instead, he was more than satisfied when the blade dug cleanly into Faith's flesh, spearing into the back of her hand. She screamed, her skin erupting with scarlet almost immediately as it splattered along the strings. He didn’t feel bad in the slightest, and he twisted sharply as he pushed down ever harder.

  Josiah wasn’t sure how deep he could go from this angle. Even so, the resistance he met with was promising. He hoped he was hitting her muscles, if nothing else. He didn’t know why he wasn’t more shocked that she continued to resist, dragging his hand along as she struggled to pull the bow back and forth across the strings regardless. For as slow as the motion was, she was successful. He’d hoped his assault would do something to blunt her--and, hypothetically, maybe it did. It definitely didn’t seem that way. He thought to close his eyes. He ultimately refused.

  It was for the better. Faith’s own, boiling over with wrath, flickered to Octavia. Josiah’s blood turned to lead, and he feared a different fear entirely. It was the one thing he’d dreaded most. He had a singular idea, and it would still generate the same outcome. It was necessary, in the end. Every word out of his mouth was as frantic as it was calculated.

  “How does it feel?”

  The Maestra’s hateful glare snapped back to him instead. He knew he radiated terror. It was all he could do to bury it with what false venom he could muster.

  “What’s it like to not be the one they wanted?” Josiah said, his smirk fake and his voice low.

  Faith flinched. She never ceased her struggle against his sharp restraint, a blade still lodged squarely in the depths of her skin. Her eyes, in turn, were razor-edged much the same.

  “You don’t know anything about them. You don’t know how far this all goes. You know nothing, and that’s how they want it to be. Right here, right up until the end, they never trusted you with a damn thing.”

  Where her light couldn’t reach, her aimless screams filled the gaps.

  “Maybe the Ambassador is replaceable,” Josiah pushed, “but you’re just as disposable as the others. You’re every bit as useless. They don’t need you. You’re about to go back to having none of this. You’re about to lose what makes you special. What does that feel like?”

  What obscenities Octavia had earned, he found dozens of times over, lined with every flavor of poison in the world.

  At the worst of times, his dark grin felt justified. For what was to come, it was a compensation prize. “I didn’t want to touch that world, and I’m still here. I know about them. I know what happened. I know more than you ever will.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Faith screeched. “Shut your mouth! Shut up! Shut up! You’re not even a Maestro! You’re less than worthless!”

  Maybe it was the adrenaline. It didn’t matter anymore. The words were cryptic enough, and they felt beautiful on the way out.

  “And you can choke to death on that damn spider web, for all I care.”

  Faith didn’t need to make more. She had residual light, haphazardly generated as it had been and still ambling uselessly as it was. Discarded and unnecessary, her aurora found a home in the form of rays Josiah recognized from somewhere else. Ultimately, the two Heartful Maestras did, in fact, have one thing in common. It should’ve been the last thing on his mind. The veil of radiance that had blighted his vision seemed to split neatly, coalescing into something far sharper and far more piercing. From what he knew of a heart of light, it was a legacy that would halt at tangible matter. It wouldn’t run him through. He supposed he should be grateful.

  Thirteen seconds. That was all it would take. Josiah repeated the words to himself again and again.

  It took effort for Faith to send them crashing down, the audible sizzle that accompanied their sailing descent to earth in stark contrast to the laborious growling she emitted. One hand, upon the neck of the viola, was still occupied with digging her fingernails sharply into his skin. He could definitely feel blood seeping out, the wet sensation trailing down his wrist more than an indicator. Still, she was powerless to engage with the frets at all, and her options were limited.

  Thirteen seconds. Thirteen seconds. Thirteen seconds.

  With a knife in the back of her hand, the movements of her bow were slow, and Josiah battled to pull hard against Faith’s muscles from the inside with every motion. It was enough to impede her, somewhat. It wasn’t even slightly enough to stop her in full, and the first note he heard was enough to make his blood nearly burst from his veins.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Thirteen seconds.

  She went for his heart.

  At least, that was his assumption, given the way every ounce of light that careened agonizingly into his chest blighted the same spot again and again. No amount of gritting his teeth was stifling his screams--not that he figured they’d be audible, given how painfully close her song was. Josiah wasn’t sure why he’d bothered trying to keep his eyes open, and the instinct to close them was impossible to resist. From so near, the blinding light was undoubtedly enough to steal his sight for life if he decided otherwise. He couldn’t breathe, for how Faith’s searing radiance was soaking up every last ounce of oxygen in the air as fuel for her deadly assault.

  The burning was intolerable. Never in his life had he dared to imagine how much something could hurt. For a moment, Josiah could’ve sworn his soul was outright leaving his body. Clothing was 100% irrelevant. He knew the moment Faith stopped, what fabric clung to him below the radiant rays that beat upon him over and over would likely be decimated.

  Really, in such close range to one another, every beam was practically in tandem, twisted and coagulated in such a way that they surged like a luminescent tide. In that way, there was no reprieve, no matter how slight. Her assault was eternal, pressing, hellish. It was Hell. He’d been to Hell. He’d been raised in Hell, he’d outrun Hell, and he’d run back into Hell all the same. This was a Hell far, far opposite to the dark.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Had it been thirteen seconds yet? Had it been a single second yet?

  “Agony” didn’t do it justice. He sincerely wondered if he was going to faint. Clinging to the viola for dear life was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and that was saying something. His life had been an absolute nightmare. If he died here, this was not at all how he’d expected to go. It would, at least, be for something useful.

  Josiah’s entire body was shaking more or less uncontrollably, and he knew fighting to regain a semblance of composure would be nigh impossible. He was lucky he was standing at all. Every ounce of strength he could muster rested solely in his hands and his soul alone. Closing his eyes really had been worse, for how little he had to focus on as a distraction. The horrifically scorching pain that sought to incinerate him alive was front and center in his thoughts, and the blinding brilliance that forced his eyes shut even now only cemented his suffering. He couldn’t think straight.

  Thirteen seconds.

  Truthfully, Josiah didn’t even remember why he was doing this.

  If he was still strangling his unrestrainable screams, he’d have no way of knowing. His senses were fading, and he knew that to be a bad thing. Staying conscious in the wake of Faith’s blazing assault, so vividly felt rather than witnessed, was a trial he could hardly think to conquer. He couldn’t tell if he was still holding her back, although he was vaguely aware of the way his hands were occupied and his grip met with fierce resistance. It had to count for something. She was shouting, perhaps screaming even louder than him. Faith’s words were lost on Josiah, and it had nothing to do with the incredible volume of her lethal song.

  “You’re disgusting! How could you do that?”

  “Shut up!”

  And the moment he heard Octavia’s repulsed voice, he could at least find the drive to crack his eyes open. He hadn’t even known he’d had the energy left. He didn’t dare look down. He couldn’t let her look to the right, not for what she’d see upon him. It didn’t matter that Faith’s wide, furious eyes had settled onto the Ambassador instead, nor that her song was cut short by Octavia’s sickened outburst. The breath Josiah found in the wake of Faith’s rage wasn’t much. It was enough for him to practically plead before she could blight him once more.

  “Do it!” he screamed hard, well aware of the way his voice cracked viciously.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” Faith growled again and again, writhing in his faltering grasp. “Get away from me! Get away! You’re worthless! You’re nothing! Stay away from me!”

  Octavia’s touch was unhesitant, her razor-edged gaze offered to the Heartful Maestra alone rather than the Muse who watched from high above. With steady, unyielding fingers, she threw her hands atop the viola with such force that it jerked in Josiah’s grip. She more or less shouted, her words still paced and steady despite the desperate race to beat Faith to another relentless melody. Already, the impaled hand Josiah struggled to restrain was fighting to drag the bow back into position. There was no way he could stop her twice. He prayed.

  “I have borne witness to your pain, and my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart!” Octavia cried harshly.

  As it turned out, it really was a deterrent. It had only taken roughly eighty-nine guidances to confirm Josiah’s vague suspicions. With the advent of the disintegration he’d grown used to seeing came the confiscation of her light, for how the bow Faith clung to so tightly began to fizzle from the tip downwards. No amount of striking strings that had started to twinkle and fade beneath the Ambassador’s blessing would offer her another hateful song, and not one single note was born of a viola slowly stolen from the world.

  Given the ire that bled into her flailing and wrathful cries, obscenities and empty threats hurtling from her mouth one after another, his eyes and Octavia’s alike were on Faith alone. Josiah was actively aware of the Muse who departed the earth high above, surely watching in silence--although, frankly, her lack of parting words or gratitude for the Ambassador was still fiercely unsettling. Octavia made no mention nor acknowledgement of it, her shoulders heaving with labored breaths as she carried out her task. Josiah doubted it was from effort.

  The moment his hands gripped nothing, with Faith’s much the same, he yanked one wrist back swiftly. He heard the girl cry out, the slick sound of steel claiming her skin as a souvenir utterly disgusting. Josiah didn’t feel the slightest bit bad. The look on her face, hateful and helpless, was satisfying. Maybe he was being sadistic. He deserved the right, he rationalized. He couldn’t fight the sickest, weakest smirk he’d ever worn from gracing his lips. In reality, she’d cursed him with far, far worse, and he felt every inch of it. It was indescribable. It was too much to bear.

  He wouldn’t look down. He swore, if nothing else, he wouldn’t look down, lest the suffering to come hit him in full. The urge was there, and it was overwhelming. It hardly mattered. Josiah wasn’t sure exactly when his fingers had uncurled, nor when he’d surrendered his singular weapon to gravity. He wasn’t sure at what point the world began to blur, his adrenaline giving way to heartbeats he couldn’t spur to pump faster. He wasn’t sure at what point his head bashed hard against something solid, although he’d largely expected it to hurt far worse.

  It would’ve been so, so easy to look down. It was easier to enjoy the darkness that followed, for how often he complained about it. He’d had enough of light for one day, if not for a lifetime.

  Octavia was loud. Josiah couldn’t make out a single word she said, muffled as every syllable that left her mouth was. Her volume made his head hurt. He wished he could ask her to be quieter. He wished he could ask her to be silent altogether. When he found that, at last, he was relieved. It was peaceful.

  In a way, it was a shame. The irony was almost amusing, sick as he knew it to be. It had taken long enough to find a reason to stay. Finding five of them was a plus. Still, for what he’d be protecting in his wake, maybe this was worth it, too.

  I miss you.

  Josiah hadn’t quite decided if that was where he was going. If it was, he didn’t fear a thing.