Octavia woke up on a thin blanket with her body aching.

Each movement felt like a thousand hits, everything throbbing as she blurrily gauged her surroundings. She was in some sort of barn, straw thrown across the floor and wood creaking around her. Her horse was watching her from a stall as it chewed some grain. Octavia tilted her head, noticing wrappings on its shoulder and neck.

"You burned the holy hell out of him."

Octavia gasped, jerking back at the voice. The action sent a burst of pain through her, black spots dancing over her eyes. When she managed to pull herself together, she spied a hulking man in the corner with a pair of knitting needles in his hands and a ball of yarn to the side.

"Be calm," the stranger said, continuing his next stitch. "I'm not here to hurt you." His brows furrowed as he focused on the yarn, tongue poking out between his lips. Seeing such a large man with such a tiny pair of needles was comically bewildering, but Octavia was too tense to appreciate it. "My girl fixed up your horse, but it'll take a while before you can ride again. I'm surprised you didn't kill the damn thing."

Octavia was, too. While using fire magic, you became somewhat immune to burning. Somewhat. She knew the protection would have extended to whatever she was touching, in this case, the horse. But she had never known it to work to this extent. The fact that both she and the horse were alive... It seemed unreal.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to remember anything before the world turned black. She could only picture the dragon above her and the feeling of heat over her arms. She looked at her hands, startled to find them raw. Any words she might have said were snatched from her throat. The red and white lines on her palms were stitching themselves together. The man paused his knitting to grimace at her.

"I... looked at your hands, too," he added, voice growing more cautious. "I'm sorry." Sorry? Octavia looked at him, confused. Sorry for what? The man paused to count his stitches before continuing, though it may have been an excuse to avoid telling her whatever news this was. "Hands like that can't hold magic."

Octavia stared. Can't...hold.... magic? She looked back down at her palms. Sure, they were scarred. Whenever she used the last of the fire magic, it had clearly burned through her hands. But the skin healed. She would heal.

"For now, of course," she agreed. The man raised a brow. "I will use magic again." Silence met her declaration. "Who are you?"

The man shrugged. "Jacques," he answered. Octavia waited for more. None came. He was just Jacques, which was fine by her. She stood up, wincing a bit as her legs wobbled.

"What happened?" she asked again, walking to the horse. There was a snort in greeting as she approached, but the stallion didn't look thrilled to see her. She supposed that was fair. It wasn't like they previously had a joyous time together. She stepped away to give him more room.

"I don't know," Jacques said, pulling the yarn over the needle. "I was with my girl out in the fields, and suddenly, there was a fire about a mile away. A huge dragon was flying. Never seen a dragon quite like that," he added, somewhere between awed and horrified. "I went out, and all these men were going every which way. The dragon was trying to shield them from the fire."

Octavia nodded. That had been her hope. That the dragon would prioritize saving the Revolutionaries' lives over ending hers.

"Well, the fire was going down, and your horse was still running with you about to fall off. I took you in."

"And the men?" Octavia asked, looking around as if they might be hiding in the shadows. "Did you see two other girls on a horse?"

Octavia had faith that Nema and Antonia had been far enough away from the carnage, but it would be nice to have some confirmation. Jacques yawned, rolling his shoulders back before placing his yarn and needles to the side. Octavia tensed, but he didn't come near her. He stood, picked up a pail of water, and heaved it up.

"No. Those men were scattered and yelling. I'm not a huge fan of yelling. You were quiet.". Octavia raised a brow, a little taken aback by the logic that Jacques would only save quiet victims, but given how the pieces had fallen, she decided not to complain. "No other girls that I could see."

Right. Octavia bit her lip. It was only a matter of time before the Revolutionaries regrouped and came after her. She needed to leave before then. Surely someone must have seen Jacques, right?

"How long do you think my horse needs to heal?" she asked as she followed Jacques out of the barn. Now that they were outside, she could see him more clearly. He was even taller standing up, twice her size, with brown hair pulled into a bun and a long beard. His eyes were a warm brown, and his hands calloused.

"Eh," he said and kept walking.

Octavia scowled. "That's no answer," she called and, picking up her skirts, marched after him. "I need to leave soon!"

"Then leave."

"But I need my horse to do that," she said, walking through rows of wooden fencing to where a trough sat. Jacques poured the water in before moving toward a stone well a few feet away. "Maybe I can borrow of your-"

"Is this yours?" Jacques interrupted. He put his pail down beside the well and grabbed Friedrich's axe that had been propped up next to it. Octavia stared. A sour taste was settling in her mouth. She had taken the axe for self-defense or... perhaps as a jab to Friedrich. Whatever possessed her to do so had passed. Now, she was left to look at the metal glistening in the sunlight above, imagining it breaking through the skin of Lord Savoy's neck - of her father's.

"Does it matter?" she sighed. Jacques tilted his head. "I don't want it. If you give me another horse, you can keep it."

There was a low snort from either the farm animals or Jacques himself. Octavia hadn't been paying attention, to be sure. Jacques weighed the axe in either hand, humming.

"You can't use this," he said, turning to study her. "It's too heavy. Do you know how to use any weapon?"

Octavia pursed her lips. "Of course," she said, mainly because it seemed safer than to admit that the first time she had used a weapon was yesterday. "I am good with knives."

"Knives?"

"Knives." Jacques looked at her doubtfully. "Katars, specifically," she said, trying to make it more believable. Octavia couldn't remember exactly what katars were. She had once heard Lord Savoy say they were popular in a country within Cambria. Or was it Daulis? It didn't matter. She just needed to sound like she knew what she was talking about.

Jacques let out a low whistle. "A very difficult weapon," he said. Was it? Oh. Octavia kept her expression steady, refusing to give anything away. "I'll make you some."

Octavia played that back in her head again.

"What?" she asked. Jacques slung the axe over his shoulder and walked to another corral, this time filled with goats all grazing peacefully. "What do you mean?"

"You don't want the axe, but you can use katars," he said and shrugged. "I'll make you katars." What was happening? Octavia opened and closed her mouth a few times. "For the revolution, right? That's who you fight for?"

The confusion morphed into indignance. She looked at him, afraid anything she said might reveal her.

"You're Dualian," Jacques prompted. He had stopped walking to face her completely. "You have dark eyes and curly hair."

Ah. Octavia supposed she looked more Dualian than Romanovian. A strange thing to consider. Despite the fact her mother came from Dualis, Octavia had never considered herself Dualian. Sure, she was taught the language and a few cultural tidbits, but Octavia was a Romanovian princess. She was meant to serve Romanov. The idea anyone would look at her and think she belonged to Dualis was baffling, to say the least.

"And because I'm Dualian, you think I'm part of the revolution?" she clarified.

Jacques laughed. "I have never met a Dualian who preferred the royal family. Except for maybe the queen," he mused with a low chuckle and continued walking once more. Octavia said nothing as she followed. "But it must have been easier for her, giving up her country and sister for a life of riches. I suppose she's paying for it now."

Octavia tried not to think about all that could mean as she followed him across the field. "You're not Dualian, are you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding too clipped.

"Me?" Jacques asked and snorted. "No. I'm Romanovian."

"And yet you sound sympathetic to the Revolutionaries."

"Romanovians were who led the revolution," Jacques said. Octavia looked away. "You can't be surprised by that. For years, we starved and-"

"I just need a horse out of here," Octavia repeated. Jacques ignored her to walk off toward the barn they had exited earlier. Instead of going back inside, he went off to the side, where the ceiling extended over a barren patch of land with various tools and a roaring fire.

"To go where?"

Octavia almost tripped. Where would she go? In truth, there was no safety for her anywhere.

"To find my family." That was true, at least. She needed to find Antonia. Jacques hummed and brought out a pot, tossing the axe in and using several larger leather cloths to shield his hands as he shoved the pot into the fire. Octavia felt a stab of yearning as she watched, thinking of her fire magic. Her hands throbbed at the memory.

Jacques laughed as if she said something funny. "You want to find your family," he repeated. "And you need a horse but not a weapon?" He clicked his tongue. "You don't leave the castle very much, do you?"

More indignance shot through her, but it was gone the second Jacques's words processed. Fear crept into her throat as she stepped back. Be calm, she told herself. He could think you're a servant or-

"Which one are you?" Octavia spun around to see another guest had joined them. A woman with her hair done back in a tight braid and covered in mud. She raised a hand, and a gold chain with an orange pendant hung from her finger. Octavia's hand flew to her throat, only now registering the missing necklace. "Antonia or Octavia?"

It was the same question Dainn had asked her about two weeks ago, but somehow, it felt more intimidating from this woman's mouth than any revolutionary.

"I stole that," Octavia said evenly. The woman raised an eyebrow. "I don't know anything about the royal family."

"Of course not," the woman said and pocketed the necklace. Octavia tried not to twitch at that. "I'm Staël. It looks like you've met my husband." Jacques waved a hand over his shoulder. He grabbed a piece of leather and walked over to grasp Octavia's wrist, gently lifting it so he could see if the leather wrapped around it. "Your mother and brother came by not too long ago."

Trap. This was a trap. Octavia knew that, logically, but the words still left her floundering. She had been so focused on finding Antonia... but it hadn't escaped her that her mother and brother were in the world somewhere, too. Possibly dead. Hopefully alive.

"The queen and prince?" she asked, trying to stick to her story despite the need to ask more. "I didn't realize they were alive."

Staël rolled her eyes, shrugging off a knitted shawl and warming herself next to the fire. Octavia inched closer, waiting for more details. When Staël remained silent, she looked around, trying to find signs of her family.

"You didn't hurt them, did you?" she finally broke. Staël looked over her shoulder, then shook her head. "Good." It was silly to be relieved by something that could easily be a lie. "Not that I'm a royalist or anything," she added, just in case.

"Do you think we're Revolutionaries?" Staël asked. Octavia didn't answer. She didn't know much of anything at this point. The entire country felt like it had turned on her family within minutes. One moment, she was asleep in her bed; the next, her world completely changed. "Oh, sit down," Staël sighed and took three long strides to the other end of the covered area and returned with a bowl.

Octavia accepted the food warily. Her hands ached even at the pressure of the bowl, but her hunger demanded more attention. She stared down at the mush, unsure what it was, before accepting the spoon Staël held out.

"It isn't poisoned," she said, which, admittedly, had been Octavia's other concern.

"I'll take your word for it," Octavia sighed and took a tentative bite. It tasted a bit like wood rotted in the rain, but all she could do was choke it down, shoveling more into her face so she could at least get it over with.

Jacques pulled Fredrich's axe out of the fire, revealing it had instead turned to a puddle of silver.

"Water?" Staël asked, and Octavia dropped the bowl, chugging the water down so disgracefully that her tutors and governess would have gawked at seeing something so unladylike. Once Octavia was done, she returned the bowl of water she had been handed, another wave of fatigue hitting her.

Had she been poisoned after all? She gave Staël one last look of desperation before trying to get up and feeling her knees buckle beneath her before the world faded away.

The next time Octavia awoke, it was to the smell of fire and wool.

"Good morning," Staël greeted. She was sitting on the ground, petting the head of the goat that was chewing on something in her lap. Octavia blinked a few times, head throbbing. "Afternoon, really." Staël peered up through the rafters at the sun and shrugged. "Jacques is almost finished with your katars."

"My-?" Octavia repeated. She had hoped it had all been a dream. "Oh." A long pause followed. Octavia sat up, head still spinning slightly. "Why is your husband making me katars?" she asked, still struggling to remember what they were.

"Because you need a weapon to defend yourself, and apparently, that's all you can use."

"I'm not even sure I need a weapon," Octavia said, stretching. "Just magic and a disguise."

Staël got up, gently patting the goat as she fixed Octavia with an exasperated look. "That's the problem with you royals," she said, tossing Octavia's necklace. Relief flooded her as she placed the chain around her neck once more. "You think everything is about you. The world isn't suddenly safe just because nobody knows you're a runaway princess."

Octavia's mouth snapped shut before looking at the farmland around her. "My family did everything to ensure his people's safety. It was why we invaded Dualis at all," she said quietly. Staël tilted her head. "My parents and grandparents made an enemy of an entire country to protect you. Does that not matter at all?"

The stickiness of the air seemed to catch in her throat as she said the word, defeat laced into her voice. Staël stared for a moment - expression blank - before giving a slow nod.

"No. Your parents made an enemy of two countries to protect you," she said. Octavia frowned. "But something tells me you're not ready to hear about that."

What did that mean?

Part of Octavia wanted to argue... another part of her wondered... No. She didn't ask for clarification as she followed Staël to where Jacques was working.

"....why are you helping me?" she asked instead. Staël didn't seem like the biggest fan of her family, and yet she supposedly helped her mother and Trajan. She was making sure Octavia could defend herself. Why?

Staël walked to where two strips of leather sat and tossed them to Octavia. "You aren't your father," she said. Octavia bristled, but before she could respond, Jacques held out two glittering blades. "Now let's see how well you can really use these."