Octavia and the Winter Beast: Part II

It was covered in feathers and horns and stood at least ten feet tall. The music came to a wobbly, discordant halt as the thing shuffled, stretching its neck to the gilded ceiling. With a gape of its jaws, the white beast let out a roar and the ballroom exploded into motion.

Tavy grabbed Veloura’s hand and streaked out across the dance floor, heading straight for the exit at the far end of the room. The guests scampered like frantic birds in all their finery, their skirts and petticoats choking the exits.

“Octavia!” Tavy heard Darcianne’s shrill voice before she shoved the both of them into a curtained alcove. “What in the name of Kel is going on!” she shrieked. Darcianne was their third cousin twice removed, but Tavy had always thought of her as more of a nanny. She had practically raised her and Vel here in the manor.

Veloura’s lip trembled with dismay. “It’s not our fault!”

“Then where, pray tell, did that demon come from?” Darcianne’s pinched features were red with fury. But for once, Tavy knew this disaster wasn’t her doing.

“It was – ” Tavy slapped a hand over Veloura’s mouth.

“How should we know?” she asked, trying to seep innocence into her panicked voice. Darcianne’s crow-foot eyes narrowed. “Because, Octavia Garlet, it is seldom such egregious instances do not explicitly begin with the two of you.”

Behind them, the creature screeched, knocking over vases and shredding the curtains. Tavy felt bad for it. It had been a princeling only moments before, and was undoubtedly confused. Several witches cowered against the wall, grimoires flung open, mouthing what Tavy could only guess to be protection spells. Some of them were scribbling furiously, though it was doubtful they’d be able to work out the symbols for an entrapment charm in time, much less get close enough to draw a cirice around the thing. Ungracefully, the winged monster slammed into one of the windows and tumbled into the snowy night. Tavy heard the great swoop of its wings twice before the hall fell silent.

Darcianne wheeled on the two of them, her face feverish with rage. Tavy had seen her this angry only twice before: once when she’d broken her scrying mirror, and again when she’d broken it a second time.

She opened her mouth, fully prepared to give them the scolding of a lifetime. Tavy wasn’t paying attention, but was standing on her toes, peering past Darcianne’s rigid form. She winced and shook her curls.

“Oh, that was dreadful. I think it might have landed on the pear tree.” Tavy said. Darcianne stopped abruptly, her mouth contorting into a worried frown.

“Seven spirits. Are you quite serious?” she asked tightly. A hand flew nervously to her pinched lips.

“I heard the creaking of a branch, didn’t you, Vel?” Tavy went on. Darcianne gave them a withering look. If there was a thing she cared most about in the world, it was that damnable tree. She would not be able to resist checking up on it.

“You will remain standing exactly as I left you.” She said, pointing a rigid finger in their direction. “Exactly.” She took off without another word, shoes clicking noisily as she weaved around the murmuring guests that had reentered the ballroom. Tavy whirled to her cousin excitedly.

“Let’s go after it.”

Veloura gave her a baffled look. How she always got so roped into Tavy’s schemes, she did not know.

“Are you utterly deranged?” she asked, splaying her hands. Tavy furrowed her brow.

“What? Not in the least. How could you say such a thing?”

“Because Darcianne is as angry as I’ve ever seen her, and that demon is a prince of diplomatic importance. Can you imagine how ruined the Garlet coven would be if we were tied to it? Now, I don’t think anyone saw the prince change but I – ”

Tavy put a finger to Veloura’s lips, cutting her off. “That is precisely my point, Vel. For all your supposed intellect you really do lack imagination.”

Veloura scowled before smacking away her cousin’s finger. “Whatever you’re proposing, I’m not doing it this time.”

“Fine. I’ll be the only one who helps the Prince of the Western Noerds before he freezes his eyes out. I was willing to relent partial credit for his salvation to you, cousin, but never mind.” Tavy said haughtily. With a sniff, she stalked away, and Veloura sagged. There was no stopping her when she got like this. After a quick glance around to ensure Darcianne hadn’t returned, she hastened after her.

This capitulation was, as ever, inevitable. Veloura had a sordid history of being Octavia’s accomplice in nearly all of her schemes, the reason for which – as Vel told herself – was mainly because her cousin simply lacked a voice of reason. If she wasn’t involved, Tavy would undoubtedly be doomed by her own volition and end up dead in a ditch somewhere.

“Alright, alright,” Vel took a stride to fall in line with Tavy’s brisk pace. “I certainly can’t let him freeze.”

Tavy shot her a grateful look. “Oh, thank Kel. We’ll be needing your coach, and I haven’t a clue how to track him.”

“Why are you so set on helping him any ways?” Vel asked, ducking through a curtain and into a darkened hallway.

“I want to make a deal with him, of course. If he could get his family to hire me for a reasonable price, I’d rid him of his aliment.” Tavy tapped her chin. “Though I didn’t realize how serious it was. What could he have gotten into, do you think?”

If Veloura knew her at all, Tavy’s version of a “reasonable price” would not be considered reasonable in the least. “I have no idea. I’ve never heard of anything that can turn you into a demon.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it out.”

“And what if we can’t? I’ve got a terrible feeling about all this. I mean, it’s true that things tend to go sideways during these sorts of celebrations, but this seems particularly unconventional.”

“We’re the only ones who saw him, and unless you’d like to announce it to everyone, we’re the only ones who can help him.” Tavy said definitively. “Our actions are merely to preserve Garlet’s esteemed reputation. And, it’ll be an adventure.” She said, smirking nefariously. Veloura gulped and followed her down the corridor. Tavy was right. As much as she hated getting into mischief, it was usually worth the entertainment, and it was certainty worth Garlet’s reputation. Or so she hoped.

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Octavia met Veloura in the foyer, each bundled beneath a downy frock and with grimoire in hand. Both girls had moved as quickly as they could. Darcianne would be looking for them by now, livid as ever.

Plunging out into the cold, the two of them trotted around the manor to the line of family coaches. Each was elaborately painted and arranged into several neat rows, snow swept between them like rumpled linens. They’d always remined Tavy of music boxes, with their plush interiors and stout wooden legs that ran smoother than any wheel. Every member of the family was commissioned one, though after a short sprint into a ravine, Tavy’s was in a state of disrepair.

The girls slipped into Veloura’s coach, a portly green box with scarlet-hued insides.

“Suppose if he hasn’t changed back yet, we can strap him to the outside?” Tavy asked, eyeing the ceiling. Veloura gave her a withering look.

“Don’t be absurd. The only reason I’m helping you is to ensure the Garlet name remains as uninvolved as possible in this affair.”

“Veloura, he became a monster in our ballroom. I think it’s reasonable to assume our family is well past the point of involvement. Best to let Abagaitha spin the whole ordeal as a bit of magical entertainment.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll just adore that.” Vel muttered as she dug out her grimoire. Pushing her skirt aside, she bent over and began to draw a circle on the floor of the cabin with a bit of coal.

“How long do you think it will take you to work it out?” Tavy asked.

“I’ve just got to do some baseline runic derivations to add to the cirice.” She turned back to her grimoire, flipping the pages this way and that. Tavy rolled her head back. It had always bothered her how painstaking magic could be.

“There. Let’s do the incantation together.” Veloura pointed the words out with a dusty black finger. Tavy squeezed on to the floor beside her and laid a hand on the cirice. In barely a whisper, the words of the Unspoken Tongue hissed between their lips like a dying flame as cabin darkened. The markings began to glow a sultry orange, and Tavy swelled with the familiar power of her lineage. Without warning, the coach sprung to life, and they hauled themselves back into the seat as they rushed down the road to Aerdelle.

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“Seven spirits.” Tavy gazed down on the pale face of the princeling, shivering beneath a potato sack. They had found him squeezed between two barrels down a little stone alleyway in the Medicinal District, with clumps of feathers strewn around him. Veloura plucked one of up them up curiously before stuffing it in her pocket. Killian hadn’t been there too long, thankfully, but seemed completely disoriented. Tavy shucked of her coat and handed it to him.

“Come on, let’s get you back.” Tavy tried not to grunt as he leaned nearly his whole weight onto her. Veloura helped him into the coach, each girl heaving one of his arms through the door.

“This seems – a bit – dramatic. He only turned into a demon – there are worse – curses.” Tavy complained between breaths as she shoved him up the stairs.

“Just push harder!” Vel shouted. With a final tug, the boy collapsed into the cabin, Veloura just managing to push him onto the seat as he fell.

Tavy brushed her hands. “There.”

As the coach set off again into the night, Veloura pulled out the feather and held it up to the light for examination.

“What sort of demon exactly is this?”

“Born of night and cold no doubt. I’m not sure of its manifestation. It’s possible it isn’t a demon at all, but an extremely elaborate enchantment.” Tavy answered. Despite Darcianne’s exceptionally boring lectures, she had managed to excel in daemonology.

“How though? How do you manage to get such a curse set upon you?”

“I think the question, cousin, is how angry you have to make a witch before she casts a daemon curse.”

Veloura stiffened. “Surely you aren’t suggesting one of our own?” She whispered.

“No. But perhaps one of the other covens. Vandergale has always hated the north for the strict tariffs on their machines and Isenfeld – ”

Tavy bit back the rest of her sentence as the boy stirred and sat. He looked like a lost bird, hair mussed and legs like pale stalks beneath Tavy’s frock.

“Where am I?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his runny nose.

“You’re safe now,” Veloura began gently.

“Not before he managed to tear our ballroom to shreds!” Tavy interjected, glaring. “I hope you have an explanation for being such a perfectly horrible guest.”

“Don’t frighten him! He’s had it hard enough as it is.” Veloura scolded, smacking her arm.

Killian blinked. “Oh. Oh no. It happened, didn’t it? I changed?”

The pair nodded.

“Please. It’s gotten harder to control and – and you have to help me.” Killian had a northern accent that seemed to slur words together in his desperation.

“How did this happen?” Veloura asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know. Everything was normal, and then I can’t remember I- I just woke up and – ”

“Someone did do this to you, then. Why? Which of the covens did you anger?”

Killian frowned, shaking his snowy hair. “It’s not about the covens. It's about the war.”