Chapter 29 Lament
LAMENT
To revoke magic is the greatest punishment a God can bestow. It is a fate worse than death that shall only be exacted on those who do not graduate and those who violate our cardinal rule: Thou shall not murder a fellow Cygni.
Things are not going well.
But right now, Claudia is in a bubble bath.
There are waxy white candles flickering and dripping all around her.
The whole bathroom smells like chamomile and lavender.
She’s eating a piece of chocolate cake. Her bedroom is, for once, clean.
Her nightdress is freshly pressed, hanging on the back of her door.
She’s caught up on homework. She’s caught up on her readings—yes, all of them, which is a miracle in itself.
Don’t ask her how she did it because she has no idea; all she knows is that one day, her to-be-read stack was only three books tall.
She’d panicked at first, thinking that some books had been stolen, but it turned out that, somehow, she’d finished almost everything and returned all the borrowed books back to their homes.
So, tonight, she is resting. She is warm. Cassius is alive, and he won’t face the threat of death for one whole month. Even then, Claudia is bound and determined to ensure he survives. She’s accomplished everything else she’s set her mind to since arriving here. This will be no different.
Dorian will fix it.
She just has to be smart enough to find her way back into his realm.
She finishes her cake. Sinking below the water, she scrubs her scalp with silky shampoo and blows bubbles up to the surface.
Ever since she was little, she’s always loved to be submerged in a bath.
It’s the one place where she feels completely, blessedly alone.
She can’t hear, see, or feel anything but the warmth of the water.
There are no expectations, no responsibilities.
It’s a brief moment of drowning—a glimpse at what’s waiting on the other side when there is finally nothing left to be done.
Now it reminds her of Dolericym’s melodic embrace.
Sometimes, taking a long bath can feel like an act of theft, like she’s stealing time and focus away from her purpose and ambitions. But tonight, it feels earned, and she’s going to soak in this bath until her skin shrivels up and the water turns ice cold.
Coming up from the water, she takes a deep breath and flips her hair over the edge of the claw-foot tub, letting her curls drip rhythmically onto the floor.
She hums “Iphigenia’s Lament” while she plays with the frothy bubbles resting on top of the water.
Since the opera, she hasn’t been able to get the song out of her head. It clings to her like a name.
My goodness is a wound. My prize is nothing but a scar.
Over and over, she sings the last line of the song, feeling the familiar emotional heightening that comes from any of Dolericym’s music.
“You’re flat.”
Claudia’s head whips around to the door where Marcherie is standing with her hands on her hips.
With a gasp, Claudia covers her chest with her arms and says, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” Panic rises in her throat.
The last time she saw Marcherie, the woman tried to murder her.
Here, with Claudia naked and trembling in a tub, Marcherie looms over her like the sword of Damocles held by a hair-thin string of sanity.
One wrong move and the blade could fall.
Marcherie pulls a gold key from her sleeve and lays it on the table below the mirror. “I still have a key from when Odette lived here.” Acting as though she owns this space, she pulls up a chair to the side of the tub and hangs her head.
Claudia laughs incredulously and points at the door. “Marcherie, get out of my bathroom.”
She acts like she doesn’t hear her. She doesn’t lift her head. With a sigh, she says, “I came here to apologize. Let me say my piece.”
Claudia stares at her, completely silent and still. Marcherie glances up, notices Claudia’s hard gaze, and looks back down.
“I’m sorry, Claudia. I’ve been awful to you since you arrived.
I’ve called you a killer. I’ve threatened you.
And all of that was before the opera. I can’t believe—” Her voice cracks.
She slaps her hand over her mouth until she regains her composure.
“I tried to kill you. I mean, I really wanted you dead. I wanted to slit your throat. I was going to—”
“I know.” Claudia runs her hand over the gash on her shoulder, still covering her chest with her tightly crossed arms. The water grows colder. “Your intentions were painfully clear.”
Her cheeks burn red. “You must know it was because of Dolericym. The music seized my mind.” Her eyes are wide, pleading. “I wish I was a Rhetoric student so I had the right words to explain myself. I’m truly sorry.”
“It’s fine, Marcherie,” Claudia says, not because she means it but because she’s naked and cold and she wants this woman to leave.
“It isn’t, though. I know now that you didn’t hurt Odette, and I need to make up for how I behaved when I thought you were her killer.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” With a hard swallow, she forces herself to say, “I forgive you. You can leave.”
Marcherie stands, bracing her hands on the lip of the tub and looming over Claudia. “No, you don’t. I can hear it in your voice. Even now, you’re looking at me like you’re scared I could try to hurt you again.”
With one arm clasped over her breasts, Claudia uses her other hand to gesture to Marcherie’s intense stance. “Well, maybe look at yourself right now. You broke into my room and—”
“I did not break in,” Marcherie snaps, head tilted in confusion. “I told you. I have a key.”
“I wasn’t the one who gave it to you, which means I never gave you permission to use it. So, at best, you’re here uninvited, staring at me while I’m naked in a bath, and you’re refusing to leave. Do you see why I don’t want to talk to you right now? Or at all?”
“Fine.” She turns sharply, nearly knocking over her chair. From the doorway, she looks back with a cutting glare. “Finish your bath. We’ll talk later.”
Claudia groans, bringing her knees to her chest. “Fine.”
Marcherie leaves, closing the bathroom door behind her.
That woman is a bully, an attempted-murderer, and now, worst of all, she’s a bath-ruiner.
The water has gone completely cold and the bubbles are all popped.
The last of the soap sits like frothy globs of spit on the surface.
Claudia, shivering, steps out of the tub and towels off, muttering, “Bitch,” over and over.
She pulls on her nightdress and walks out to her room, only to find Marcherie sitting on her bed.
The singer smiles brightly, patting a place on the bed, signaling for Claudia to sit next to her. “Now, where were we?”
Claudia looks at Bishop in his enclosure. He may be a snake with a brain the size of a mayfly, but he’s looking up at Claudia with eyes that scream, Mother, this woman is fucked in the head.
“You said you were leaving.”
“No. I said we’d talk later.” She raises her brows and pats the bed again. “It’s later. Let’s talk.”
“What more is there to say? You called me a murderer and tried to kill me, but now you feel bad. Fine.” Claudia throws her hands up, surrendering. “I accept your apology. Let’s move on.”
“But you didn’t accept it—not in your heart of hearts. I want you to mean it. What can I do to make you truly forgive me?”
“You could leave me alone.”
She tsks and shrugs. “Can’t do that.”
A drop of water from Claudia’s hair slides down her forehead. “Why not?”
“Because your friends are my friends and my friends are your friends, so we need to be friends, too.”
She laughs. “I do not see that happening.”
“Why?” Marcherie places her hand on her heart. She looks genuinely confused. “I’m a very fun friend.”
Claudia waves her toward the door. “Then go be other people’s friend.”
“But I need to be your friend.”
“No, you really don’t.”
Marcherie lets out a grunt. “Why are you making this so difficult?”
“Because I’m in a bad mood and you tried to kill me.”
Breezing over the last half of Claudia’s sentence, Marcherie asks, “Why are you in a bad mood?”
Claudia rubs her temples and closes her eyes. “I’m stressed.”
“Why?”
Her eyes snap open wide. “Because you tried to kill me.”
“I told you I’m sorry! Stop going in circles and let the conversation move forward! That’s probably why you’re so stressed, you know.” She relaxes back on Claudia’s bed, leaning against the headboard. “You’re dwelling on the past. You’re a dweller.”
“It happened five days ago. Not exactly enough time to forgive and forget.”
“But things are different now. I know now I can trust you. And you know you can trust me, too. I’ve already proven that.”
Claudia scoffs. “You have not—”
“I never told the High Sage about your snake,” Marcherie interjects, “and I didn’t tell a soul about your secret meetings with Lamour in the observatory.”
She freezes. “How did you know about that?”
Marcherie smirks. “I saw you.”
“You were following me?”
“I didn’t know who I was following. I just saw a light coming from the observatory while I was visiting Odette’s grave one night, so I waited at the edge of the wing to see who came out. And there you were.”
Looking at the plush rug beneath her feet, Claudia mumbles, “Yes, well, he’s been helping me get caught up on rhetorical theory.”
“In the forbidden wing of the discipline you initially applied for?”
She swallows hard. “Yes.”
“And then you brought Cassius up there, too? Are you going to try to tell me you two were ‘practicing rhetorical theory’ as well?”
Claudia fumbles for an excuse.
With a slanted smile, Marcherie says, “Since we’re friends, I won’t tell a soul. We are friends, right?”
Is this blackmail or sincerity? She clenches her jaw. “Right,” Claudia says, unsure.
“So, tell me. What happened between you and Cas? Are you stressed because he’s so angry with you?”