Chapter 5 Cygnus
CYGNUS
Just beneath the Cygnus constellation, the Gods split open the sky, creating the Cygnus Rift, and placed one glittering stone in the dirt of the Realm of Knowledge. The stone cracked and spilled over the ground, rising up and up into a cathedral that clawed the stars.
It’s not winter at Cygnus—it’s a crisp, vibrant autumn.
The sinking golden sun spills between impossibly tall trees, and the air smells like apples and woodsmoke.
Above her, waxy magnolia leaves flash their burgundy underbellies, and maple leaves are covered in orange bruises.
In the lake-blue sky, the clouds are pillowy and perfectly still.
It’s so peaceful that it’s almost uncanny.
Claudia is used to city sounds—mechanical whirs and rickety wheels and throngs of people gossiping about anyone’s problems but their own.
Here, it is quiet enough to hear the symphony of the natural world—the gentle wind, the running water, the hushed whispers of leaves.
She turns to see the university stretching up into the sky.
There it is.
Cygnus University, as real as the bones beneath her skin.
Its beauty washes over the image in her mind of her father’s death.
She can only focus on the majesty before her.
The university is closer to a cathedral than anything else.
After all that she has learned about the school, she imagined nothing less.
It treats academia like a religion, in a way—gods to worship; answers to pray for.
In the center is a white building made of sharp stone that glitters in the syrupy yellow light.
Tall steeples flank either side, and to the right is a dome-shaped building made of glass—an observatory.
She watches the sunlight cut through the glass and gleam off the metal that holds the panels together.
It looks like the eye of Polyphemus, big enough to see the whole sky at once.
All the arched windows are made of stained glass—black, green, purple, red, yellow.
When she comes closer, Cygnus quickly becomes too large to fit into view.
The top of the observatory disappears into the deepening blue sky.
This place looks like Elysium, and she looks like a monster who shouldn’t be allowed inside.
Her once-blue dress is dripping in her father’s blood.
It splatters onto the white marble steps that lead to the arched doors of the school.
Bishop’s scales are stained red. She slides his tired body from her wrist and tucks him into her pocket, where he curls around her Roe timepiece.
Blood trails behind her while she walks up the stairs.
Here, she pauses, running her trembling hand over her face to swipe off as much blood as she can. Maybe she should change clothes. Maybe she should turn back. Maybe she should—
The door opens before she can make up her mind.
A stab of light blinds her. When she steps inside, her eyes adjust, and a room full of bustling students all clad in black robes comes to a complete halt.
Each robe has the Cygnus emblem in varying colors signifying their primary discipline—green for Scientia, violet for Musices, yellow for Mathematica, and red for Rhetoric.
Everyone goes silent and stares at her: the stranger, covered in blood, crazed and confused.
Bright light streams through the stained glass windows, illuminating Claudia’s gruesome form in vivid color.
Shame weighs her down and holds her still.
She wishes she could shrink into herself and disappear from this moment altogether.
“Who in the gods’ names is that?” a young man says, charging toward her.
He is a riptide in a sea of still bodies.
The red emblem over his heart indicates he’s also a Rhetoric student, and his shaggy hair is as dark as his black robes.
His prominent cheekbones match the sharpness of his jaw, but round blue eyes and full lips soften his face.
There’s a strange mark just below his left eye—it’s not a scar or a wound.
It’s only a few shades darker than his pale skin. It almost looks like a star.
“Hello,” Claudia says weakly. She clears her throat. “I, um”—she looks down at her dress—“I’m so sorry, I didn’t plan to arrive like this.”
He keeps his distance, looking her up and down with disgust. “What did you do?”
I killed my father. The thought loops in her mind. She can think of nothing else to say.
He raises his brows, waiting for a response. “Well?”
Shaking her head, she mumbles, “I need to go. I need to change. I need—” She tries to step around him, but he steps back into her path.
She glares up at him. “Move.”
“Not so fast. We cannot simply let in a blood-soaked stranger. Do you even know where you are?”
“Of course I do,” she bites out. “I’m a student here. Now move. You’re in my way and I am in no condition to be polite.” Again, she steps to the side, and he cuts her off.
“What’s your name?”
She shoulders past him, marking his chest with blood. “Claudia.”
Calling after her, he shouts, “Claudia, as in Claudia Jolicoeur?”
Pausing her stride, she turns back slowly on her heels and gives him a wary look. Murmurs rumble on the air until everyone goes perfectly silent, waiting for her to answer.
“Yes?”
He barks out a vicious laugh. “You’re the star girl. The one who applied for Astrologia a century after it was denounced.”
A low hum of students’ laughter fills the room, and Claudia wishes that the floor would open up and swallow her whole just so she could escape the crushing weight of their glares, the hot breeze of their whispered taunts.
The smug scholar steps forward. “Tell me, are you choosing to ignore the countless essays and treatises denouncing the subject? Or were they too advanced for you to grasp? Or perhaps you have not read them at all.” Gesturing to the gathering crowd, he says, “We all have theories. Enlighten us, please.”
She can’t process what he’s saying to her.
Her thoughts are screaming at one another: grief, pain, disgust, humiliation.
She needs to get out of here. She needs Dorian.
She needs to undo all this, snatch back the pieces of her soul she gave away, and go back to her quiet, terrible life.
At least she knew what to expect. Never, in her wildest dreams or most vivid nightmares, did she anticipate that her greeting at Cygnus would be like this.
“Cassius MacLeod, stop this at once,” a hollow, harsh voice booms. From around the corner, an old man rushes toward her, his black robes trailing like thick smoke behind him.
He’s short and frail with sparse hair that’s lost all color, and smile lines deep enough to be scars.
He must be even older than Lord Fournier.
Cassius steps out of the way and turns his back to Claudia.
“My dear, are you well? Do you need medical attention?” the older man asks, sincere and concerned.
“What? Oh, no. No, this”—she gestures to herself—“this is not my blood.”
He raises his brow. “Whose blood is it?”
She clears her wet throat. What’s the right thing to say here? “Um… s-someone else tried to enter the Doorway, but they were—”
“Unworthy,” he says knowingly. “I created those protective wards myself. No one can come here without an acceptance. It keeps us all safe.”
She almost laughs. Safe? Is this what safety looks like? “I see,” she says.
“I’m sorry you had to endure that. Was it someone you loved?”
“No,” she bites out. “It wasn’t.”
He nods and gives a soft smile. “Well, well, Miss Jolicoeur, you certainly know how to make an entrance.” He turns to face the crowd of students.
“Everyone, please welcome Claudia, our new Rhetoric student. She’s taking the place of Miss Dufort, who tragically passed away before returning for her second term.
May her memory be a blessing.” He smiles down at her.
“I’m High Sage Triche. Welcome to Cygnus University. ”
She swallows hard and tucks her wet hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”
He places a strong hand on her shoulder, despite the blood. “Come with me, dear. I’ll show you to your room. And your bathing chamber.”
Feeling everyone’s eyes on her, Claudia tosses a final glare at Cassius and follows the High Sage down the hall.
Claudia keeps her head down through the entire walk to her room, careful not to make eye contact with any passing students.
High Sage Triche excitedly explains her schedule—Rhetorical Mastery with Professor Olivier on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and Rhetorical Theory with Professor Lamour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
She’s lucky, he says, for Olivier and Lamour are the best of the best. Olivier in particular is one of the longest-standing instructors here.
The other Rhetoric professors are much younger, and while remarkably gifted, they are still sharpening their curriculum.
“When do I study magic?”
He pauses his stride. “Would you like me to explain your schedule again?”
“You only mentioned Rhetorical Mastery and Rhetorical Theory. What about magic?”
“Your discipline is your medium for studying magic.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I see.” He clasps his hands together in front of him and clears his throat. “Think of something you want. Picture it firmly in your mind.”
Claudia closes her eyes, and the first thing she sees is her mother’s face. More than anything, she wants to see her mother again. She wants it so bad it hurts.
When Claudia opens her eyes, High Sage Triche asks, “Do you feel the desire building inside you? For some, it feels like a spark in their chest. Others, a tingle in their limbs. And for some, it is simply pain, everywhere. Learn to recognize desire however it appears in you. Then, channel it through your scholarship to create magic. Yearn for answers, for knowledge, for undiscovered truths. In the simplest of terms, you must want, want, and want more.”