Chapter 8 A Friend #2
“Not a fan of small talk, I take it?”
“It doesn’t come naturally to me. Pleasantries take a great deal of effort. And Scientia tells us we’re born with a set number of breaths that our lungs will take before they stop working. A breath is very precious. I don’t like to waste it.”
She laughs. “Well, that’s quite morbid and needlessly existential.”
“Existential dread is one of my many talents. Now, talk to me about something real. Tell me about your soul.”
She inhales sharply but stops herself from arguing further.
She’s supposed to make a new friend, and dammit, she’s going to do it.
Per Alistair’s instructions, she holds the breath in her mouth for a few seconds, savoring the air as a limited resource.
All right, she thinks, no small talk. Alistair wants to know about her soul, but unfortunately, the most interesting thing about it is the piece that’s missing.
The bite that Dorian took. When will she get to see him again?
Does she even want to? She’s made up of burning questions—about herself, her fate, and this strange new world.
“My soul feels like it’s on fire,” she finally says.
“In a good way?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He laughs. “What stokes the flames? Stress? Ambition? Love?”
“Certainly not love, but yes to everything else.”
“Perhaps that’s your problem,” he says. “Love is a balm for all of life’s suffering.” He sips his tea and shrugs. “So I’ve heard, anyway.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Not yet. I’m working on it. There are a few men around here who have caught my eye.” His mouth slants. “I have such little practice, though, being from a small village that was less than accepting of any love that strayed from tradition.”
“That’s how my home was, too. It’s different here, then?”
“Of course. Cygnus encourages any pursuits that fuel desire. Romance of any kind is welcome.”
She smirks. “So you’re a romantic, then.”
“I wish. I’m horrible at it. I don’t understand the song and dance of it all. I want to skip to the good part.”
“What’s the good part?”
“You know, the part where you know each other deeply, and there are no secrets between you. When you get to drop the masks. When you both are completely and entirely comfortable with each other, with no frills or pomp. That’s what I want.”
“I’m afraid all of that has to be earned.”
“How does one earn it?”
“Typically through the aforementioned frills and pomp.”
He rolls his eyes. “Great,” he grumbles.
Heads turn toward the front of the Treaty when High Sage Triche walks in and claps loudly. Silence slowly overtakes the chatter, and the High Sage smiles brightly.
“Hello, students. Forgive me for interrupting your meal, but I have an exciting announcement and I simply cannot wait. Will Angel Barerra, Desiree Thorn, and Cassius MacLeod please come join me?”
The three scholars glide across the room.
Cassius leads like a figurehead carved into the bow of a warship, settling at the High Sage’s side.
Claudia has only seen the two of them together once before, when they were close enough to still appear human.
Fleshy, blinking. But here, distant and in softer light, against a backdrop of common folk, they look like gods plucked from paintings, as do the other two scholars following close behind.
Angel Barerra—tall, tan, damn near perfect—makes eyes at Alistair. Claudia reaches across the table and taps her friend on the arm. “Alistair, do you see that? Angel is looking at you.”
“At me?” He looks over his shoulder, as if searching for the real object of Angel’s attention. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“That’s unlikely. People only stare at me when I do something odd or unintentionally offensive.”
“That’s not what’s happening here,” she says with a laugh. “I promise. He’s staring because he likes the way you look.”
Angel flashes a smile. Claudia nudges Alistair’s shoulder and whispers, “Smile back. Now.”
Alistair obeys, and though his smile is a bit unnatural, it’s no less charming.
And then, Angel blushes.
Claudia nudges Alistair’s shoulder again. “See?! I sense romance in your future, Alistair.”
“Hm,” Alistair hums, excited and entranced. After a sip of his tea, he says, “Maybe so. I wonder if Cassius would mind.”
“Why would he?”
“Well, they were involved once. A few months ago, and only for a night. They’re nothing more than good friends now.”
Claudia swallows her tea down the wrong pipe and coughs. “Oh, I didn’t realize Cassius was—”
“I often joke that he’s a sort of sapiosexual,” he interjects.
“I don’t know how he would define himself, but by my observation, he’s attracted to brains above all else.
Man, woman, neither, both—it doesn’t seem to matter for him so long as they’re undeniably brilliant.
And Angel, well… he’s nothing short of a genius. Just like Cas.”
Claudia tilts her head. She’s long been aware of her attraction to both men and women. She didn’t realize it could be more complicated than that.
Triche puts his arms around their shoulders—Angel and Desiree to the left, Cassius to the right.
“Many of you submitted work for publication at the end of last term, and I am thrilled to announce that these three have been accepted into the next edition of top journals in their fields. Mr. Angel Barerra’s thesis, ‘On the Nature and Properties of Curves Described by the Motion of a Point,’ will be published in Mathematical Findings of Modern Society.
Miss Desiree Thorn’s study on a new method of healing by the application of botanical extracts will be published in Medical Marvels. ”
“Dammit,” Alistair murmurs. “I’m always losing to her.”
“And Mr. Cassius MacLeod, my apprentice, without whom I’d lose my head and my spectacles”—the High Sage pauses for the light laughter rolling through the room—“is publishing his piece ‘De Veritate Orationis: On the Truth and Beauty of Discourse’ in the London Rhetorical Review.”
The entire crowd erupts in cheers and applause.
High Sage Triche smiles, and his tired eyes shine. “Seeing you all blossom and thrive is my life’s purpose. I’m honored and humbled to be your High Sage.” He lifts the hands of the debut authors and says, “Three cheers for your peers!”
The crowd cheers again. Cassius makes eye contact with Claudia and winks.
Snarky bastard.
Snarky published bastard.
Admiration, celebration, applause—he has everything a scholar dreams of. Is there anything worse than seeing the person you hate the most getting everything they want?
Actually, yes. There is. The worst thing in the world is seeing the person you hate the most getting everything you want.
“Gods, I want to best him if only to wipe that damned smirk off his face,” she mumbles.
Alistair chuckles. “You and every other Rhetoric scholar. Now that Odette’s gone, Cassius will certainly receive the valedictorian’s blessing.”
“Blessing?”
“You don’t know? At graduation, the top scholar from each discipline gets a blessing from their patron god. It can be anything you want.”
Her eyes widen. Cassius neglected to tell her about this on their tour—on purpose, no doubt.
“Anything at all?” she asks.
He nods. “It’s essentially limitless. A once-in-a-lifetime wish.”
Excitement builds in her chest. She could have anything she wanted. She could restore her fortune that her father gambled away—no, that’s too small. She could master the stars in one single second. She could—
She could speak to her mother one last time.
For a second, the whole room stills.
This could be everything. She’ll ask her mother all the questions that have been burning in her mind for so long. She’ll get one last hug. One last whisper where her mother calls her “my Starling girl.”
All she has to do is win.
“Alistair, I need your help. If you will be my friend and help me best Cassius, I will help you win Angel’s heart.” She offers her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
“Is this how you establish all your relationships? Bargaining?”
“This isn’t a bargain.” That comes out harsher than intended. She smiles. “It’s a friendship.”
He ponders for a few seconds, glancing over at Angel one more time before taking her hand. “Deal.”