How Shadows Turn to Ash

Chapter 3: Octavia

The revolution started when Octavia was fourteen.

Perhaps even before that. It was harder for whispers of treason to reach inside the palace walls. As it was, Octavia remembered seeing the first signs of unrest when visiting a village a few miles away. The people had come to welcome her, trying to peer around the guards to wave brightly at her as she handed out the gifts she had brought for them.

Nothing had seemed amiss. Trajan and Antonia hadn't been with her. Neither was old enough then, but her father had joined, waving at the people and shaking everyone's hands with warm smiles and welcoming words.

As Octavia greeted the people, a bit of yellow caught her eye behind a large blanket. Curiously, she walked over to get a closer look as the crowd was distracted by her father.

"Princess," one of the guards whispered as she roamed further away. Octavia acknowledged him with a reassuring smile and drifted closer. She could make out a crown from behind the corner of the blanket. Reaching out, she gripped the frayed edge and yanked. The blanket tumbled down from the wall, revealing a portrait of her family underneath.

Portrait wasn't the right word. Octavia's hand flew to her mouth, horror settling in as a few other soldiers quickly came over, pulling her away.

"Your majesty!" one yelled to her father, gesturing to the wall. Her father turned, confusion morphing into concern as he saw the clumsily painted image of their family all posing quaintly on top of a pile of corpses. Bloodied axes sat in her parents' hands while blindfolds were painted over Antonia and Trajan's eyes.

The visit was cut short after that. Octavia hadn't understood. Why would anyone paint something so horrible? It was then that her father explained there was still some unrest about the Dualian War.

It was nothing, he assured her. Silliness that will pass.

It didn't pass.

Pamphlets were brought to the palace from outlying villages. They were always slid away from Octavia's view, but she caught glimpses of some of the images, each growing more grotesque with time. Some showed her parents' mangled bodies. Some showed Octavia herself, depicted in startling ways that she didn't dare describe out loud.

"I don't want Antonia to come," she had said over dinner one evening. Antonia had just turned fourteen and was now old enough to visit the people herself. "She still doesn't know how to hold a conversation. She'll make a mess of things."

Antonia fixed her with a wounded look, slamming her fork down so their porcelain plates clattered. Her father half-argued with her, scolding Octavia to be kinder, but Octavia remained resilient in her attempt to keep Antonia from leaving the castle walls.

"You hate me," Antonia told her that night, lip trembling. Octavia sighed, trying instead to focus on her fire magic. She waved her hand and lit the candles in her room. "Why do you hate me?" Octavia waved her hand again, and the candles dimmed.

"The people need to see us as strong and competent," Octavia said. Antonia flinched, and Octavia's stomach twisted uncomfortably. Still, hurting her sister's feelings was better than her being afraid. "You floundering around and stuttering every other sentence isn't helpful."

Antonia's lack of grace wasn't even a lie... but it also wasn't the real reason Octavia was trying to keep her hidden either. Octavia's mind always thought of those drawn pamphlets. Antonia was rarely depicted, but the images of Octavia were growing more frequent. If she could keep Antonia and Trajan from the public eye, they might not be subjected to the same treatment.

But she couldn't say that. Octavia wasn't supposed to have seen those images. It seemed silly to scare her siblings by telling them the truth. This, somehow, was easier.

"You just don't want people to know the truth about me!" Antonia hissed at her. Octavia's hand froze, the fire faltering along with her. "My secret is not a shame!"

Antonia knocked the candles to the ground, eyes burning with rage. The fire left the wax, spreading over the woven rug in Octavia's room.

"No," Octavia said evenly. "But it is a secret." She waved her hand, and the spreading fire fizzled out. Antonia's fingers twitched. "There are guards outside. Do not speak so loudly."

Antonia looked at her, expression torn between hatred and hurt. Octavia tried to temper her own emotions. Antonia's secret was not often spoken out loud, only in whispers of dimly lit rooms among the closest confidants. Not even Uncle Friedrich knew the truth about her.

"Sometimes I wonder why I even speak to you," Antonia said and stormed out of the room. Octavia closed her eyes. It would be a year before they reconciled again, when the revolution grew from pamphlets to battles they could no longer ignore.

Battles that eventually turned into imprisonment.

"I could get us out."

Antonia's voice was a whisper. She and Octavia were hidden in one of Lord Savoy's bedrooms. Moonlight trickled in, illuminating her sister's face. Antonia had always been the softer of the two. Her face was rounder, eyes wider, and lips fuller. She looked younger than seventeen. "You know I can-"

"No," Octavia cut in. It had been three weeks since they were brought to Lord Savoy's castle. Octavia felt as if she might lose her mind, pacing stone floors and waiting. Waiting. Still waiting. For something. A rescue party, an execution, or someone to wake her up from whatever hell they were in.

But Antonia's secret was not the solution. The chains were off them, but it was only the illusion of freedom. Guards stood outside every door, and spies lurked in all crevices of the castle. Even now, Octavia worried that eyes could be watching. She grabbed her sister's hands. "You cannot-"

"So I do nothing?" Antonia asked. Octavia closed her eyes. "This fear is-"

"I am not afraid," Octavia said, struggling to keep her voice even. The wind blew into the room, fluttering the canopy around the bed. "We need to be smart. Patient."

Antonia yanked her hands away, jaw clenching. "I can win back our father's throne." Her voice was bitter. Octavia didn't blame her.

"Be patient," she repeated. Antonia looked at her, the frustration rising before it seemingly flittered out. She let her head fall against Octavia's shoulder. Octavia gripped her back, relishing what little comfort they could have in the shadows of night.

They just needed patience... and maybe some prayers.