Chapter 26 The Man in the Mask
THE MAN IN THE MASK
Orteslux, I ask for this blessing: When I die, do not guide my soul beyond the veil. Leave me here and let me haunt.
Standing at the mouth of the grand staircase that descends into the ballroom, Claudia can tell that everyone below is high on their own heart.
All eyes are shiny and wide like big black buttons.
Red light spills from every corner as if weeping from fresh wounds.
Students rub arms as they fight through the packed crowd to get to the nectar—cherry wine, courtesy of the Scientia students who know how to take advantage of a lush greenhouse.
There are long tables flanking the walls, filled with bright fruits, crusty bread, marbled meats, and meticulously decorated cakes.
Claudia can no longer think in words. She can only feel in colors. Her brain is a big blur of vivid emotion. Right now, she is Green. Green is energetic and possessive and excited and new and weird and brIGHT.
She clings to Cassius as they stroll down the white marble steps, each like a row of teeth, into the belly of the room. Alistair and Angel are in the corner, whispering between kisses. Claudia’s glad to see their date going so well.
Her date is going well, too.
Cassius leads them to a table of refreshments and pours them each a silver chalice of wine.
Claudia shoves a small cake (or three) into her mouth and washes it down with the cherry nectar.
It tastes Purple. It makes her feel royal and powerful and maybe a little bitter.
When she looks around the room, it’s as if all those button-eyes are following her.
Why does everyone stare at her all the time?
“Feeling good?” Cassius asks, leaning down.
She takes another long sip of wine. On the cusp of her swallow, she says, “Good and high.”
He laughs. “Me, too.” They lean on each other.
She wants to tell him how she really feels—not just good, but perfect.
Not just happy, but elated. Not just lustful, but viscerally ravenous for touch.
She wants to tell him that if she could, she’d burrow into his skin like a parasite and live there forever.
But there’s no normal way to say that to another person without sounding completely mad.
Maybe she is mad.
Maybe he likes that about her.
Eventually, with her ear pressed to his chest so that his heartbeat adds percussion to the evening, she asks, “How long does it last?”
“A few hours.” His voice is Blue, each word a calming, cerulean cloud. She wants him to speak directly into her mouth so she can breathe it in. “It’ll still linger once the party is over,” he says.
“Good.” This will make for a very exciting evening once they return to his room.
A man in a white mask and black robes comes around holding an oenochoe filled with small scraps of paper. Following Cassius’s lead, Claudia picks one up and notices that it’s blank. She peers into the bowl—all of them, blank.
“What’s this for?” she asks the man in the mask, but he’s already turned his back.
“The game,” Cassius says. “We always play our own version of the opera. Keep an eye on the paper; our roles will appear there momentarily once Dolericym decides who should play what.”
Her eyes go wide. “We’re not going to be singing, right? I can’t sing.”
He laughs and squeezes her shoulder. “No singing. It’s a caricature of the performance—not a performance in itself.”
Once each reveler has a slip of paper in their hands, the man in the mask ascends the stairs and bellows, “Evening, Cygni!”
“Cygni!” the room shouts back, raising their chalices.
“Tonight, I am your game master. Welcome to the Deer and the Daughter. Soon, Dolericym will reveal the role that each of you will play in our little game of life and death.” His voice sounds familiar.
He must be another Rhetoric student. Benjamin, maybe.
From his sleeve, he pulls out four ribbons—red, green, gold, and white.
“Some of you will be Agamemnons. You’ll tie a red ribbon around your throat.
Others, Artemises—your ribbons will be green.
Sacred stags, your ribbons will be gold.
And there will be only one Iphigenia, with one white ribbon bowed around her neck.
Once you pull someone’s ribbon, you must immediately return it here before venturing back into the game.
If your ribbon is pulled, you are out. We’re all here to kill each other.
That is how this ends. But there are rules.
Agamemnons can kill Iphigenia and sacred stags, but they cannot kill one another, nor can they kill Artemises.
Artemises can kill Agamemnons and Iphigenia, but they cannot kill their stags or one another.
The stags can kill one another and Agamemnons, but they cannot harm their goddesses or Iphigenia.
And Iphigenia, our dear daughter—not to be confused with deer daughter”—he mimics antlers with his hands and pauses for the laughs—“can kill anyone she wants, so long as they do not kill her first. The game can end in three ways: when Iphigenia is slain, when one of the three groups is entirely slain, or when Iphigenia has slaughtered a king, a stag, and a goddess.”
“Poor Iphigenia,” Claudia whispers. “There’s only one of her and everyone wants her dead.”
“Actually, her role bears the easiest route to victory,” Cassius says. “She can run and hide out there while the others will slaughter themselves trying to reach her. They’ll be so tired from fighting one another that they’ll be no match for her.”
“I think it’ll prove to be harder than that. These are the best and brightest minds of the whole world. They won’t be bested by a girl playing hide-and-seek. She’ll have to be cleverer than that.”
“I’m sure she will be.”
“You speak as if you’ve played this exact game before.”
“Marcherie may have given me a warning of what it would be.”
She feigns a gasp, looking up at him with a smirk. “That’s cheating, MacLeod. You want to win so badly that you’d betray your honor?”
He smiles strangely, his eyes darting around the room like he’s looking for someone. Claudia opens her mouth to speak, but the game master cuts her off.
“For safety,” the man in the mask continues, “there will be no unnecessary violence. We’re taking ribbons here—not lives. There will be no blood tonight.” He raises a glass. “Yes?”
“Yes,” the room barks back.
“Good. Let’s begin.”
The room fills with the sound of rustling paper, followed by shrieks of excitement and low moans of disappointment. Claudia nervously unfurls her paper without looking down. She’s crossing her fingers to share a role with Cassius so that they aren’t parted during the game.
“I’m an Artemis,” Cassius says, showing her his paper.
Claudia reads her own role and gasps. Fuck. “I’m Iphigenia.”
Cassius fights a smirk. His hands brush her face. “You do look the part.”
Groaning, she says, “This is the last thing I wanted. I don’t want to be apart from you.”
“But you want to win. That’s who you are.”
Fear stings her throat. “I’m not so sure about that. I hate the idea of everyone here chasing me. I may just let them win.” Smiling up at him through her lashes, she says, “It’ll get us back to your room faster.”
His gaze is dark and stern. “You need to at least try to win.”
Her brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because the winner gets to commune with Dolericym.”
Lips parted in surprise, she says, “I have no idea what to say to her.”
He pauses, reluctant to share the sentence on his tongue. “I do.”
“But you can’t talk to—” The realization stops her. It seeps into her skin like a slow poison. She looks down at her white dress—the one Cassius told her to wear.
A flurry of realization storms in her mind. It wasn’t about his preference. He wanted her in white for a reason. She reaches up, touching her hair. He wanted it up. He wanted it up so that it won’t be in her way while she’s running.
“You set me up.” She says it like it’s a question. Her brain turns Red.
Cassius doesn’t respond. He gives her that same hesitant and curious look as when he gave her the order about what to wear. Testing their boundaries. Waiting for her reaction before he makes his next move.
“You want me to win because you want me to be your bridge again,” she says as the truth becomes so painfully, embarrassingly obvious.
“You need me to speak to Dolericym for you.” A combination of shame and anger floods her blood.
Her hands curl into fists at her side. The lingering high from the recital is heightening every emotion in her body, as if every feeling has turned into a hungry parasite, gnawing its way through her juicy, rage-filled guts.
Red. Everything is so fucking Red. “Is that the only reason you brought me here tonight?”
His face looks freshly slapped. “Of course not.”
“But it was certainly part of your motivation for asking me.”
He shakes his head, reaching for her hands. “It wasn’t like that.”
She steps out of his reach. “It clearly was, Cassius. Don’t lie to me.” Don’t be like Dorian, she thinks. Don’t lie to her and leave with a piece of her soul; or worse, her heart.
“Two things can be true, Claudia. I can want you by my side and also hope that you’ll continue to help me contend with a curse that has brought nothing but pain and misery for generations. All I need from you—”
“See? Right there. It’s all you need. All I’m good for. All you need is a few more prayer sessions from me on your behalf, and then you’re done, right?”