“Understood.”
She very nearly calls him a good boy. Now is not the time.
“All right.” She pokes in the spell—first Corvus, then Horologium. Little bubbles of blood decorate his skin. Claudia whispers the spell, and the air immediately turns thick as honey. It sounds like an entire ocean is crashing against the inside of her skull.
It’s worse and weirder and more magical than anything she could have imagined.
“Claudia? Can you hear—” is the last thing she hears before the stars consume her mind, and all she hears is a metallic, melodic screech, like teeth on metal, like sawing through ice. It’s nothing like the sweet, holy hymns of Dolericym. This is divination. This is the language of stars.
This is madness.
Her brain is freezing hot. Her body is trembling. A string of round vowels and toothy consonants spill into her mind, and she’s certain she’s floating. She can feel the heat of the stars against her skin. She is moon-touched, star-kissed, night-bound. She is midnight itself.
No words are shared, and yet the message is completely clear in a way she can’t explain. There’s a loud, tinny, rhythmic ringing underscoring everything else.
This is what her mother heard all those years ago.
It’s the toll of a bell, and it sings of death.
The realization settles in like ice in her veins, like a dagger in her heart, like poison in her very soul.
Death waits at the end of one moon cycle.
In one month, Cassius MacLeod is going to die.
Suddenly, she’s crashing back into herself, gasping for air, clutching her throbbing heart, and fighting the urge to scream.
“—THE FUCK IS GOING ON? CLAUDIA, CAN YOU HEAR ME? CLAUDIA? CLAUDIA!”
Cassius’s voice is a guide back to consciousness. Slowly, her eyes flutter open. She’s in his arms, her body tight and tense. She must’ve fallen out of the chair and he caught her before she hit the ground. Above her, haloed by starlight, he’s beautiful. He’s divine.
He’s dying.
He looks so scared to lose her, but little does he know that he’s the one who is almost out of time. One month is nothing. One month is a blink. A breath.
“Cassius,” she whimpers.
“What happened? What did you see?”
“I—”
There’s a loud bang as someone throws open the doors and screams, “What is going on here?”
Claudia turns her head weakly, expecting to lock eyes with Lamour.
But it’s not him.
It’s High Sage Triche.
Cassius’s demeanor changes drastically. He stands Claudia upright and removes himself from her, without caring if she stumbles or falls.
“Triche, we were just—”
The High Sage comes toe to toe with him. He’s glaring upward, for Cassius is a few inches taller than him. Still, his presence is so large and domineering that it is still Cassius who cowers.
“I am deeply disappointed in you, Cassius MacLeod.” He points at Claudia. “Ever since she arrived, I have heard nothing but horrible things about you. You’re fighting in class. You’re losing debates. And now you’re breaking into the condemned wing of the school? Who are you? You are not the scholar I once knew.”
“I’m sorry, High Sage. It won’t happen again.”
