Chapter 34 Starlake #2
This was such a mistake. She can’t say anything that she’s thinking—I miss you more; someone at this table is going to die and it’s all my fault; forget me if you can; forgive me even though I don’t deserve it.
Another tense, awkward silence stretches on for far too long. Everyone is visibly tense and uncomfortable. Claudia gets up to leave, but Cassius gently catches her hand and says, “Wait.”
“Please don’t go yet,” Alistair says. “Not until you hear our plan.”
She eyes all of them and sits back in her seat without a word.
Marcherie clears her throat and brightens her smile, flashing her white teeth at everyone until their facial expressions match hers.
She’s clearly the architect of this tableau.
Claudia can almost hear her harsh direction she no doubt gave before Claudia arrived: Don’t slouch.
Don’t snap. Smile big. Welcome her. Don’t push her away.
Understand? That girl was made to direct.
“We want to invite you to do something special with us. You know, perk you up a bit. Get you back into the rhythm of being a person. Get that big mouth of yours working again.”
“What is it?” she asks without looking up.
Cassius says, “One could call it a ritual.”
“Where we pretend to be gods,” adds Marcherie.
“We’ll get to taste their magic,” Alistair says with the same inflection one would talk about a sweet treat. He knows just how to tempt her.
Little does he know that Claudia knows the taste of a god’s magic all too well. She doesn’t need any more. The memory on her tongue makes her sick. She can still feel the heavy weight of Sidarphion’s blood swirling in her stomach, staining her insides black.
Marcherie waits for a crowd of students to pass by. She’s quieter when she says, “We’ve tried it before, but it didn’t work, and we think we know why. For one, we didn’t have a Mathematica major with us.”
“Now I will be Caedisterra,” Angel says, looking at her with pleading eyes.
“And we now believe we also need a Sidarphion,” Cassius finishes.
“Sidarphion?” Claudia asks, and immediately regrets it. The name is thick and sour in her mouth. “Why would you need him for this? He’s gone.”
Marcherie nods vehemently. “Right. But the rules for the ritual are clear. There must be someone for every god. My current theory is that so long as the black candle holds strong in the chapel, Sidarphion likely isn’t dead, but asleep.
That happens with idle gods, you know.” Those are Odette’s words.
Claudia stiffens. Marcherie continues with, “And thus, we need someone to represent him in the ritual.”
“You may be the one who wakes him. You could be the first to speak to him in a century.” Lighter than a feather, Cassius places his hand over hers beneath the table. “Don’t you wonder what he would say?”
She scowls and rips her hand away from him. How little they know. Claudia would love nothing more than to go the rest of her days without ever hearing from Sidarphion again.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Angel says, disrupting her thoughts. “It’s the closest to ascension as I’ll ever get.” He laughs, clearly hoping to dispel the tension, but it doesn’t work.
Alistair glares at Angel. “Now is not the time to joke.”
Angel’s jaw tenses and he leans away.
Claudia hates seeing tension brew between them, especially knowing it’s her fault. She wishes she had never come over here.
Alistair shifts awkwardly and looks at her. “Please, Claud. Come with us.”
“It’ll be deliciously fun,” Marcherie says, nearly purring like a cat.
“I want you there,” Cassius adds, leaning in close. “Desperately.” His voice quavers at the end of the word.
“Where?” she murmurs, though she’s not considering it.
“I have a secret,” Cassius says. “A family manor connected to Cygnus.”
“You mean Starlake?”
The rest of them shoot glances across the table at one another until Cassius says, “How did you know that?”
Shit. It was from Odette’s diary. “I—I’ve overheard you say the word before.”
“Well, I suppose we’re not as good at keeping secrets as we thought.
Yes, it’s Starlake. My ancestor used the last of the magic in his blood from the ascension to build it.
Starlake is our haven. Our universe of dreams and tragedies.
And I would love for you to see it.” Out of habit, he reaches for her hand but stops himself before their fingers touch. “Will you come?”
She looks at each of them, noting Marcherie’s peppy grin, Alistair’s steadfast sincerity, Angel’s hopeful eyes, and Cassius’s ever-growing concern because he knows her better than anyone and knows exactly what she’s going to say.
Shaking her head, she says, “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Alistair bites out. He’s so angry with her, as is his right.
She hasn’t offered any explanation as to why she’s changed so drastically.
All Alistair knows is that Claudia was a good friend, and now she’s not.
Angel moves to comfort him, but Alistair shoots him a warning glare. He clearly doesn’t want to be touched.
Pushing herself up from the table, she growls, “Because I don’t have time for games.
I’m not like the rest of you. I was rejected.
I’m not supposed to be here. I can’t run off and break the rules like that.
Don’t ask me again.” She gathers the last of her lunch and turns to leave.
The real truth is that she doesn’t trust herself to be with Cassius if they’re both in some half-mad, god-touched state.
Her sanity is already depleting—something like an ancient ritual could be the thing that makes her lose control.
She would snap. She would kill him.
Over her shoulder, she says, “I’m going through something that none of you will understand, so don’t try to. Just leave me alone.”
As she’s walking away, she hears Alistair say, “See? This is why I’m worried. She’s starting to sound just like—”
“Don’t,” Cassius says, cutting him off.
“It’s not the same as Odette,” Marcherie says.
Alistair has the final words. “Not yet.”
She wallows in her room, pacing to keep herself awake, until she has an idea.
If all three of them are gone, that means all their rooms are empty—including Cassius’s.
He’s got so much history hidden in there.
He lent her those papers about Dracoemagyl in the first place.
Maybe she can find something else that can help her now.
Perhaps something else about Dracoemagyl’s stars, or ascension rituals, or some secret miracle that could absolve a foolish girl from a devil’s bargain.
When night falls and she’s certain they’ve gone to Starlake—wherever it is—she steps out of her room.
It’s the first time she’s felt alert and aware in days.
The halls feel changed and unfamiliar. She barely remembers the walk to Cassius’s door, despite it being directly below hers.
Confused, she accidentally walks in the wrong direction, toward the Scientia wing.
It takes her an embarrassingly long time to correct her course.
Just before reaching Cassius’s hall, she runs into High Sage Triche, nearly colliding with his chest.
“Oh, hello there, Miss Jolicoeur,” he says, his old voice jovial until she looks up and he sees her sad, swollen eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she says, but her voice cracks.
He releases a heavy sigh and looks at her with sad eyes. “Well, that’s not true, is it?”
Her lips quiver.
Don’t cry. For gods’ sake, do not sob in front of the High Sage who hates you.
“I’m f-fine.”
“Oh, dear, come here.” He pulls out a soft handkerchief and dots her face.
After tucking it away, he rests his hand over his heart and places the other on her shoulder.
“I have something I must say to you. Cassius told me that you’ve taken my threats of expulsion quite seriously, and I fear I was much too harsh.
Cygnus is rigorous, but it should be fun.
You shouldn’t forgo your friendships for your academic pursuits. ”
She sucks in a breath and swallows down a hot swell of heartbreak.
“I’m very impressed with you, Miss Jolicoeur,” he continues.
“Cassius has also shared with me that you pushed him toward the path of godhood, which was a selfless and wise decision on your part. Further, your professors have nothing but wonderful things to say about you. Professor Lamour in particular adores you. He says you are the brightest pupil he’s ever taught. ”
She can’t hold back tears now. Silently, she nods and wipes her face with the backs of her hands.
“Thank you, High Sage,” she manages to say.
This is all she’s ever wanted. To prove herself.
To earn her place based on merit alone. To truly belong.
It sets her soul on fire in a good way. This is everything she’s been working toward for so, so long, and she’s close to losing it all.
“I once feared you posed a threat to my apprentice, and I behaved horrifically because of it. I recognize I can be overly protective of him, but it’s because—”
“I know why,” she interjects. “And I understand. I would feel the same way if I were you.”
His smile grows. “Be that as it may, I should have never spoken to you that way in the observatory. It was inappropriate, and worse, it was cruel. Is there any way I can make it up to you? Anything you need?”
The words are on the tip of her tongue: I need help.
But something in the back of her mind tells her not to ask. Perhaps she’s hesitant to risk ruining his newly positive view of her. Perhaps it’s something deeper. Something, somewhere deep inside her, tells her to keep her big mouth shut.
“No. The apology is enough.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I really appreciate it.”
“I sincerely mean it, Miss Jolicoeur.” Triche squeezes her shoulder once and drops his hand.
“I regret my threats to you, and I regret your initial rejection. I was wrong. You belong here just as much as the others. I have absolutely no intentions of expelling you. This is your home now, and we’re happy to have you. ”
Claudia continues toward Cassius’s room with a hint of a smile on her face.
She may have lost faith in herself, but High Sage Triche has gained it.
If he thinks she’s good enough to be here, then it must be true.
And if she’s good enough for Cygnus, she’s smart enough to survive it.
She’s supposed to be here. She was always supposed to be here.
She’s clever, cunning, and creative enough to find the solution to escape from the sword hanging over her head.
She still doesn’t know how or why or by what miracle it will happen, but for the first time in weeks, she lets in a little spark of hope.
Turning the corner, she reaches Cassius’s door. It’s locked, but she uses the same celestial spell from the chapel to get it open: Pyxis, Reticulum. She’s grown used to the sensation of pricking her finger and drawing in blood. She barely feels it anymore.
The handle clicks, and she slips through the small crack in the door, closing it softly behind her.
The room is empty, but it smells like him.
It’s so warm and calm and perfect. There are several open books spread out over the desk, on top of the bed, some on the floor.
In a thin vase, there is a single white flower, so fresh and alive.
She picks up a blue tie draped over his desk chair and brings it to her nose.
The memories they created here come crashing down, and it nearly brings Claudia to her knees.
All those arguments, all that hate which all the while was masking something much more powerful.
She remembers every lingering stare, every touch, every kiss.
Falling into his chair, she clutches the tie at her chest and chokes out a cry.
She can’t believe she’s going to lose this.
She pulls herself together as much as she can and rifles through his drawers until she comes to the one that’s locked.
The one she needs the most. Her thumb is still tender from the wound she used to open the door.
With the same spell, she tries to unlock the drawer, but it doesn’t work.
Again, she casts it, and she’s met with the same result.
Is she doing it wrong? No, she knows this spell better than any.
She can write it with the same mindless ease with which she signs her name.
She just used it to open the door to this room.
There is no way she’s doing it incorrectly.
But Cassius has locked this with his own magic. He had said something in Latin to open it before. What was it? It must’ve been linguistic magic. Of course he would already know how to cast, despite being a first-year. Claudia is going to have to figure it out now.
Odette wrote in her diary that any linguistic spells had to be ambiguous. She needs a Latin word or phrase with a double meaning: one meaning “unlock,” the other something different.
“Recludo?”
Doesn’t work.
“Re… sero?”
This also doesn’t work. She doesn’t know enough Latin to do this with ease.
The only reason she knows any at all is because Cassius once checked out a book in Latin from the Caedleian, and there were no English translations, so Claudia, painstakingly, did it herself, albeit poorly.
Focusing intently, she remembers that Cassius’s spell didn’t start with an R.
Dammit, what was it? Something that means “unlock,” something that means “open,” something that—
“Star Girl,” Cassius calls from the doorway, “what are you doing in my room?”