Chapter 23 The Debate #2
“But I am not here to discuss the mortal spectrum of good and evil,” she says firmly, projecting her voice.
“The question here is not whether or not mortals should be able to punish gods. The question is: Should gods be able to act with impunity? Meaning, can the gods punish one another? And I argue that they can, they do, and they must.”
She looks around the room to see if her case, even now at this preliminary stage in her statement, is being accepted. Professor Olivier gives the slightest, softest nod, and a ghost of a smile dances across her face.
Claudia smiles. “As we are dealing with divine beings, we cannot view punishment through a stately lens. For the sake of this debate, I will define punishment as consequences designed to restore the necessary cosmic balance that was disturbed. We have seen this many times. Zeus punished Prometheus for stealing fire from the gods and giving it to mortals. Hades punished Sisyphus for cheating death. Hades condemned him to an endless loop of rolling a boulder up a steep hill, but once he neared the top, the boulder would fall, and he would have to start again.”
All around the room, other students are wide-eyed, leaning over their desks and listening closely to her argument the way kids become enthralled by bedtime stories.
“With the aid of Malevimus, I have learned that our gods have enacted divine punishments of their own. There were supposed to be six gods of Cygnus, and six disciplines. Dracoemagyl would have been the god of dreams and tragedies, and he would’ve led the discipline of Dramaturgy.
But Sidarphion destroyed him before he could ascend.
Now Sidarphion is gone, and while we can only theorize what happened to him, we can assume that his disappearance was an act of retributive punishment.
He destroyed a god—perhaps the gods destroyed him, and they were right to do so.
Even I, an initial Astrologia applicant who once longed to work with Sidarphion, can accept that.
Sidarphion did not deserve to be a god. His punishment was proportional to his wrongdoing, restorative to the cosmic balance, and absolutely necessary. ”
While she speaks, she gets a taste of something familiar—that sticky sweetness that flooded her mouth when she was on her knees in the chapel. This is the magic of Malevimus, and it tastes like even the god himself wants her to win.
“Punishment is a cure,” she says, lifting her chin. “It is a remedy to ignorance by way of consequence. It’s divine in itself. It is the cosmic balance.”
The rest of the debate is a relentless blur.
While Claudia dances through rebuttals with ease and grace, Cassius stumbles.
All of his argument hinges on the inapplicability of the mortal idea of good and evil to that of the gods.
Nothing he says does anything to subvert or challenge Claudia’s position.
He collects himself in his closing statement, but it’s simply not enough.
Her argument is stronger. Her conclusion is dazzling.
“When gods go unpunished, they become devils” is her last sentence, which hangs in the air like the echo of a guillotine.
At the end, Professor Olivier stands between the two of them and takes hold of both of their wrists. Claudia gasps as the professor raises her hand up, declaring her the winner. For a moment, the room remains still and quiet, as if the other students are debating between acceptance or mutiny.
But then, they clap. Everyone, including Cassius, applauds.
And Claudia Jolicoeur—the foolish, star-obsessed, silly girl who was rejected from Cygnus and laughed at by the entire school—becomes the first to beat the legacy student in a debate.
Claudia glides on air through the Treaty, high on victory.
Alistair is sitting at their table, staring out the large circular window and anxiously tapping his foot.
He has two plates of treats ready in front of him—one with lemon cake, Victoria sponge, and madeleines in case Claudia has won; the other, in case she lost, has chocolate cake, chocolate mousse, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a promise to smoke later.
She rushes through the sea of students and nearly collides with the back of her chair across from her friend.
Alistair’s anxious gaze snaps up to her.
“For you,” she says, beaming at Alistair as she slides her thank-you note for Bishop’s enclosure across the table.
“What’s this for?”
“Just to show my gratitude for all you’ve done for me. Now, I have big news.”
“Spill.” He sips his tea.
Plucking the madeleine from the winning plate, she takes a bite and swallows. She exhales slowly and settles into her smile. “I. Won. The. Debate.”
He spits his tea over the table. “You WHAT?”
She nods, throwing her hands up in victory. “I WON.”
“YOU WON?” He stands and rounds the table to her side.
“I WON.”
“YOU WON!”
“I WON!” She wraps her arms around him.
“OH MY GODS.”
“I KNOW.”
They jump up and down in sync, screaming and laughing like madmen for half a minute.
“I cannot believe you beat Cassius! I mean, I can, because you’re brilliant, but oh my gods—no one has ever done it before. No one until you. You’re the dragon slayer.”
“I can’t believe it, either. You should’ve seen it. Oh, it was so intense and”—she clenches her fists, smiling—“passionate”—she says it like a growl—“and raw and—”
Alistair slides back into his chair with a smirk. “You’re making it sound like you two were doing much more than debating.”
She bites her lip to hold back a smile. “Maybe we were.”
He looks up over Claudia’s shoulder and gasps. “Oh, don’t look. He’s coming. Act like we weren’t just celebrating his loss.”
Claudia can’t hide her grin—or her nerves. Earlier, they were whisked onto the stage as soon as their kiss broke. She didn’t have time to utter a single word to him before Olivier’s introduction began.
“Hello, you two.” Cassius pulls up a chair and takes a seat. Claudia’s eyes move straight to his lips, half hoping to see a bite mark she left behind.
“Well, hello, dear also-ran,” Alistair teases. Claudia kicks him under the table, though she can’t help but laugh. Cassius, ever a good sport, laughs in concession, flashing his sharp canines as he throws his head back.
“I was bested. I accept it,” he says, flashing his palms before stretching his back against the chair.
He runs his strong hand through his hair.
Smiling at Alistair, he takes hold of Claudia’s shoulder and squeezes.
“You should’ve seen her, Bones. Claudia was very, very good.
” His thumb makes small circles over her skin.
On instinct, she leans into his touch, and her face blooms with heat.
A tense silence lays heavy on the table. Alistair’s eyes move rapidly between them. He slurps the last of his tea. It bubbles through the quiet.
“Bones, can I have a moment with the victor?” Cassius asks.
Alistair all but leaps from his seat. “Of course. I need to pour myself another cup anyway.” He tosses a wink over his shoulder at Claudia and walks up to the tea table with Angel.
Seeing them side by side, Claudia realizes just how short Alistair is.
He’s taller than her, but that’s no feat.
He’s nearly two heads shorter than Angel, and he has half the bulk.
Angel is probably the most muscular Mathematica student to ever live.
Once they’re alone, Cassius says, “Congratulations.”
Claudia takes a bite of lemon cake and barely chews it before saying, “Thank you very much.” Victors have no need for manners.
“I must say, you’re being a surprisingly good sport about losing a debate for the first time.
” She swallows hard, wiping icing from the corners of her mouth.
“And losing to the silly star girl, no less.”
“There are more important things than winning.”
“Oh, are there? I suppose I wouldn’t know,” she taunts. “Like what?”
“Like your reward.”
Her playfulness is replaced by a suddenly serious gaze.
Cassius smiles. Beneath the table, his fingers curl around her knee. “Are you free this evening?”
She leans into her victory. Teasing him, she says, “For what, exactly? What all does my reward entail?”
His hand tightens on her knee, sliding up ever so slowly. “Well, there is a Musices recital tonight, so I’d like to start there. You’ll accompany me, and you’ll wear something white.”
“Is that the theme?”
“No. But it’s what I want to see.” He pauses for a second, softening his eyes, waiting to see how she takes this command—if she enjoys being tasked, or if it makes her want to slap him. Again.
Luckily for him, she likes it. She needs it. She wants to know more. What should she have on underneath? What perfume does he want to smell on her skin? She wants to meet every demand with acute precision so that she can reap the most delicious rewards.
Though, at the same time, and in complete contradiction, there’s a side of her bristling against the orders.
Part of her wants to cross her arms and say no just to see what he’ll do.
That same part of her—dark and lustful and buried so deep that it almost hurts to uproot and acknowledge—needs him to punish her when she disobeys.
“I’ll wear something white,” she says.
She’ll be good. For now.
“And you’ll wear your hair up.”
“And I’ll wear my hair up,” she echoes, her voice low and smooth.
He swallows and lets out a breath. With a tight nod, he says, “Afterward, there is a party that will no doubt be the best and strangest revelry you’ve ever seen. We’ll attend that together as well.”
The corner of her mouth raises in a half smile. “And then what?”
His smile matches hers. “You want more?”
She nods with a tiny whimper of “yes” caught behind her lips.
“Use your words,” Cassius says, leaning close and squeezing her knee.
Air gets caught in her throat. She might explode. She might melt into a puddle of hot, sticky goop onto the floor right now. Can he feel her leg trembling in his grip?
“I want more,” she says. “I want to go back to your room and finish what we started.”
His gaze flicks down to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.” He stands up, taking his hand off her knee. “I’ll be at your door tonight at eight.”
She picks up her tea and raises it with a slight nod. “I’ll be the one in white.”
He gives her a real smile—not a smirk or a devilish grin.
It’s pure and honest. It’s the most beautiful she’s ever seen him look.
When he turns, the air around her grows significantly colder, and she’s suddenly overwhelmed with this horrible, dread-soaked feeling that she shouldn’t let him leave, shouldn’t let him out of her sight.
She should jump up and grab his wrist and say, Don’t you dare go one single second without thinking of me.
But that would be deranged.
Instead, she stays seated like a normal, sane person and stuffs her face with victory cake in an effort to calm down.
A few minutes later, Alistair returns, lacing his fingers and using his hands as a prop for his chin. “Once again, spill.”
Claudia blushes. “We’re going to the recital and the afterparty together.”
With an open-mouthed smile, he says, “I knew there was something between you two. I saw it from the first week you arrived.”
“The first week?” She laughs. “Cassius hated me then.”
“He didn’t hate you at all. He just didn’t trust you.”
She finishes her sweets. “He said that?”
Alistair nods, smirking. “Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Ask him on your date tonight. Angel and I will be in attendance as well.”
She claps excitedly. “I cannot wait.”
“Neither can I,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Oh, also”—he pulls out Claudia’s thank-you note—“I thought this would be a thanks for being my friend card.” He slides it across the table toward her. “I didn’t get Bishop an enclosure.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Then who—”
Cassius catches her eye while he pours himself a cup of Earl Grey at the tea table.
He smiles.