Chapter 28 Dolericym
DOLERICYM
Dolericym, bless me with the muse of constant suffering, for it is the root of all art.
Claudia walks to the chapel alone. She’s proud to have won, pissed at how she was tricked into it, and pondering whether or not she’s still interested in going back to Cassius’s room and finishing what they started all those nights ago.
She still wants him. She knows she does. But now she fears she shouldn’t.
It’s not so much that she’s angry at what he’s done—though that’s part of it.
It’s more that she fears what he could do next.
If he’ll lie and manipulate her once, even for something as arguably justifiable as this, he’ll do it again, and for worse reasons.
She hates that he broke their trust that was already so new and fragile.
It makes it hard to believe that anything is genuine.
But he did a damn good job at begging for forgiveness. She could do with a bit more groveling from him.
It’s impossible to fully understand her feelings right now because they’re not coupled with rational thought. She’s still too high to think through her emotions—all she can do is trudge through the clouds of emotional color until she descends into clarity.
Right now, she is Gray. Gray is exhausted, confused, sad, and unsure.
When she rounds the corner, someone is standing in front of the chapel doors.
The game master. The man in the mask.
He’s staring right at her, green eyes glowing like twin flames.
“How? How are you here?” she bites out. Charging forward, she stands toe to toe with him, shoulders back, teeth bared.
He tilts his head without speaking, pushing open the doors behind him. He gestures for her to go inside.
She peers in, staring at the purple candle pulsing on the pulpit.
“Show your face,” she says when she turns back to him, but the hall is now empty. The game master is gone, and Claudia is left wondering if he was really there at all or if she’s truly starting to go mad.
“What’s wrong with me?” she mumbles to herself, blinking tightly.
Alone, she walks inside, and the doors close behind her. There is no light other than the candle at the end of the room, and the soft gold seam at the bottom of the door. It smells like salt and citrus, like summer and lemonade.
She walks to the pulpit and kneels. “Dolericym,” she says. Her voice is much more confident than the last time she was in the chapel.
Suddenly, the warm scent in the air disappears, as does the citrusy taste on her tongue.
“Beautiful Iphigenia. How well you play your part. How close you are to your character.” While she speaks, the candle doesn’t flicker—it dances. It remains a smooth, strong stream of light, an unbroken phrase akin to a singer managing an entire aria without a second breath. “I knew you would win.”
This is where the room goes dark. Did the candle go out?
Claudia reaches forward, feeling for heat.
It’s there. It’s still burning. She turns, but there is no light pouring in from beneath the door.
She’s not even sure if she’s looking in the direction of the door.
It’s as if her sight has been snatched away.
What the fuck is happening?
“Hm,” the god hums. “What to take next…?”
Claudia can no longer feel the heat of the candle. She can’t feel the floor beneath her knees or the pulpit in front of her. She can’t feel anything.
She can’t feel.
“You’re taking my senses,” she whispers as even her voice starts to fade.
“You need nothing but my song,” Dolericym says.
“I’m here for Cassius.” That’s the last thing she’s able to say before her tongue grows too thick and heavy to move. She cannot see, taste, touch, or talk. It’s as though her soul has slipped out of her mortal self and it’s drifting, floating, falling through a black sea of deprivation.
Here, all she can do is listen.
The song starts with one note.
It’s both unmooring and unburdening, frightening and freeing.
She follows the sound. It’s not a voice or an instrument or anything Claudia recognizes.
It’s… oh gods, what is that? It’s horrific.
It’s euphoric. It’s not a taste or a feeling or anything familiar.
She wants more. Needs more. This perfect music is teething and tonguing through velvety silence. It’s a collision of sound against soul.
That’s it. Her soul. The music is inside her soul, like blood in a body. The notes slide through her missing pieces. They lick the shredded edges of the bite mark Dorian left.
The sound takes root in her essence and blossoms like a flower, petaling around a bright Ionian melody. Claudia is the nectar—the sex in the center of the blooming song. She’s the light, glittering, syrupy sweetness pooling at the heart of an incomprehensible symphony.
She’s so fucking high.
Then comes Dolericym’s voice, clearer and hungrier than it was before. The god takes a deep breath, sucking up the sustained resonance from the air, and she sings.
I see all that you wonder,
Your nightmare and your lover.
How ever will you choose?
Truth lies in Cassius’s stars.
Read and see where fate is scarred.
Either way, you will lose.
Falling too fast, Claudia crashes back into herself, suddenly sickened with the burden of her corporeal form. She was so light, so free, and now she is back to flesh and meat. It’s crushing. Suffocating. She would give anything to get back to that feeling of utter weightlessness.
Is that what ascension feels like? Do gods feel that way all the time?
When she opens her eyes, she gets one look at the purple candle before it snuffs itself out. Dolericym’s presence leaves the room.
Claudia sits in lonesome darkness for a moment, dazed. Her body doesn’t feel like her own. It doesn’t feel like she should have a body at all.
Hands pressed to her chest, she counts her heartbeats and takes slow, steadying breaths. Sinking back into herself, she wiggles her fingers and toes just to remind herself how to move. How to feel. How to be a human.
Centered, she processes what she needs to do next.
Dolericym wants her to read Cassius’s stars, but how can she do so safely?
Her celestial magic and her lessons are meant to be a secret.
Besides, Cassius doesn’t believe in Astrologia at all—not even as an academic discipline, and much less a magical one.
How can she convince him to let her cast a spell on him? Does she even want to?
She stands, groaning, knowing she’ll have to do this whether she wants to or not. Whether it’s safe or not. Whether it’s truly, deeply, maddeningly foolish or not.
Dolericym tempts her. Curiosity compels her. She has to know the truth.
The door creaks open behind her, signaling that it is time to leave. She walks out of the chapel to find Cassius leaning against the wall, waiting for her. As soon as he sees her, he takes her into his arms.
“What did she say?”
Claudia is still disoriented from everything. She sighs, hating the taste of her breath on her tongue. Hating the ability to taste at all. She misses the freedom of nothingness.
But she loves Cassius’s touch. Instinct pulls her closer, and she revels in his warmth. “She told me how to find the answers you seek, but…”
“But what?”
She looks down at the floor. “If I say it, you’ll think I’m a fool again.”
He hooks her chin and lifts her gaze to his. “I promise I won’t, Claudia. I never truly did.”
With a hard swallow, she says, “She wants me to read your stars. And I know what you’re going to say. I know how you feel about Astrologia and I simply don’t want to hear it, so please don’t—”
“Let’s do it,” he says quickly.
She pauses. “But you don’t believe in the stars.”
He leans down, touching his forehead to hers. “I believe in you.”
His words send shivers all down her body. He believes in her. He trusts her. He’s willing to put his pride aside and listen to what she has to say. She could melt into his arms right now.
She’s decided she’ll do it, but now she needs to decide how and, more importantly, where.
She tries to picture Corvus, Horologium in her mind, but she can’t. She’s too high, and she didn’t write any of the spells down for fear that someone would see them.
She needs the grimoire, but it’s enchanted. She can’t take it out of the observatory, and it’s an absolutely terrible idea to bring Cassius up there.
But it is the case that Malevimus already confirmed that Odette wasn’t killed, and Cassius had nothing to do with it.
She knows he is no danger to her or Lamour.
As long as Cassius promises he won’t tell anyone what he sees, is there any true harm?
The observatory is just another part of the school. It’s not inherently wrong or revealing.
Besides, Claudia knows Cassius’s magical secrets—he told her all about his curse. Perhaps she’d like to tell him about hers.
“All right. I’ll do it under three conditions. One, you do not ask any questions. I won’t be able to answer them. I just need you to trust me and stay quiet.”
He smirks. “Done. Continue.”
“Two, you tell absolutely no one. I mean it, Cassius. If anyone finds out what I’m about to do, it would be very bad.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Good.”
“What’s the third condition?”
She looks deep into his eyes. “Never, ever lie to me again. No matter what it’s for, no matter the cost. To me, you will never speak anything but the truth.”
“I promise.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and she smiles.
Either they’re secure in his promise, or it is a lie in itself.
They come to the locked gate of the Astrologia wing. Claudia pulls her key out of her bag and looks over her shoulder at Cassius.
“This is where the secret starts, all right? Anything you see from here on out must stay between us.”
His gaze dips to her hand. “How did you get that key?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” She shrugs her shoulder, letting the strap of her dress fall down. “It’s a secret.”