How Shadows Turn to Ash

Chapter 2: Octavia

Octavia's father had been fifteen when he ascended Romanov's throne. It had been after years of war and hunger, and despite being a child himself, Julius Thalestris put the country back together again.

And this was the thanks the people gave him? For his sacrifice? His youth?

It was disgraceful.

As the carriage jostled forward, Octavia tried to keep her mind sharp. The smell of smoke followed them through the winding dirt roads, lush greenery thinning as they rode by a river reflecting the red of the sky.

Something about it all felt lonely.

It made Octavia's hands tingle at the absence of her magic. She let her fingers trail over the lines of her palm, mourning its familiar warmth. Octavia's family had always paid for her to train with the most expensive magic. She wondered if the Revolutionaries had been watching her, waiting for the night she decided to lock her magic away to attack. She knew, logically, that she might not have been powerful enough to stop an army on her own with her magic, but she could have at least fought back.

And now here she was... surrounded by men with weapons and magic of their own who expected her family to beg for their lives.

"Abdicate, and you may live."

And Octavia would not beg.

The carriage had taken them to another castle. It belonged to Lord Savoy, an old family friend. Rumor had it that he was the first to turn against the crown. The thought left a bitter taste in Octavia's mouth as she stood by a large window, watching the smoke rising in the distance. Lord Savoy had always been easily irritated by her and her siblings, but he was something of a grandfather in her eyes. While he was old and obnoxious, he was also loyal to a fault. The idea that he would betray them in this fashion stung even more than the flames engulfing their palace.

From behind her, Octavia's father stood at a mahogany table, peering down at the stack of papers in front of him. He was still in gold and red, a drop of warmth among the Revolutionaries all dressed in black and blue.

"What of my wife? My children?" her father asked quietly. Octavia's eyes flicked to where her mother sat at the other end of the table, holding Trajan close as she smoothed his hair out of his eyes. Antonia was by the fire, hands still chained.

"Tell your remaining allies that you abdicate, and no harm will come to them." Friedrich tapped the paper on the table. Octavia's eyes narrowed. Her Uncle Friedrich wasn't related by blood. He had married her mother's sister, who had mysteriously died years ago.

Perhaps Friedrich had killed her himself... or maybe he just grieved through rebellion.

As a child, Octavia had always been intimidated by him. He was an older man with long, white hair pulled up into a knot at the back of his head, showcasing the scars littering his face. And while he still towered over her with bulking shoulders and layers of silver armor, he didn't scare her anymore. She couldn't feel fear when there was only anger at seeing the blue cape over his shoulders and an axe at his side.

Friedrich tapped the paper again and said, "tell them that the Thalestris rule is at an end."

The room waited with bated breath as her father picked up the paper. Octavia wasn't sure what she expected him to do - especially with them trapped in this room. Did they all die with their legacy? Did he sign the papers and live? Perhaps the Revolutionaries wanted him to sign and then kill them all anyway. There was no telling what would actually happen next.

Please, Octavia thought, though she wasn't sure what she was pleading for. Another roar echoed from the dragon outside, shaking the room.

Her father picked up the quill, dipping it into the inkwell. Octavia closed her eyes.

"A preference for death over poverty?"

Octavia looked up, confused, to find the whisper coming from a pillar beside her window. Honeyed eyes met her own. It was the dragonrider who had called for the end of their reign as her home burned. He was watching her with a lifted brow, lips twitching. "Don't worry," he said, leaning against a stone column. His voice was low enough that nobody else could hear. "I'm sure someone rich will take you as a wife, and you can live among your comforts."

Octavia let her lips part, head shaking slightly.

"My comforts," she repeated. The boy gave her a polite smile. He also had fire magic. His hands were that same chalky orange, but it didn't look like the same brand she used. "There will be no comfort to watch my people starve and my country fall into poverty."

This time, the boy threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed across the room, gaining the attention of everyone else. Her father's head snapped up, tensing as he looked around.

Octavia's jaw clenched. Typical. Even in these solemn moments, a Revolutionary couldn't find the decency to be respectful.

"Funny," the dragonrider commented, ignoring the prying stares. "I'm pretty sure hunger and poverty are what brought us here."

Octavia wondered if this stranger believed in the propaganda he had been fed or if he was the one making it up. She turned back to look out across the skyline out the window, lifting her chin. "Well, I am soon to be amused as well," she said, eying the purple wings of the dragon weaving between clouds high above them. "I can only imagine the excitement I'll feel watching that beast tear you limb from limb." The boy snorted. "They are not pets. You are foolish to deny it free will."

"A royal speaks of free will?"

"Enough," Octavia's father called. His expression was tight as he watched them. He picked up the quill, and Octavia flinched as it scraped the parchment. "It's done. I have abdicated."

Friedrich smiled and grabbed the papers, handing them to one of his lackeys. From the other side of the room, Antonia squeezed her eyes shut, reaching out to place a hand on her mother's shoulder. Trajan inched closer to their father.

"And that, my friends," Friedrich called, clapping his hands together. "Is the end of the Thalestris rule."

The room gave a low cheer as Octavia's father sat down, burying his face in his hands.

Friedrich paid him no mind, pouring himself a glass of wine and holding it up with a pleased smile. "So.... how shall we celebrate?"