“Ascend as in… you mean he’s going to become a god?”
Marcherie nods. “He’s closer than anyone has ever been.”
Fear flutters in her chest. “Don’t you have to kill a witch to ascend?” That’s what it said in the tale of Dracoemagyl that Cassius gave her.
“Well, I don’t know for sure. No one really does. The first gods killed witches to ascend, but no one has been elevated since them. All we know about the process is what Triche has told us: When you’re ready, the gods will give you a series of trials. Once they’re all done”—she flares her fingers and releases an angelic, richly operaticahhhh—“you’re a god.”
She knits her brows. “Has Triche started his trials?”
“That’s what Cassius says. But he’s still years away, maybe even decades, from ascension. The trials aren’t things that can be completed in a night. They’re long, grueling, painful tasks, each requiring years of unwavering dedication. So long as Triche is working toward them, he won’t die. That’s how he’s reachedsuch an impressive age. And Cassius is helping him because he’s going to take his place as High Sage one day, and then, in a dream world, Cassius gets to ascend, too. Eventually.”
Claudia’s head is spinning. She’d questioned Professor Lamour about Triche’s age before and he didn’t tell her any of this. Why?
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”
“See? Maybe being friends with me won’t be so terrible. Maybe you’ll learn things.” She looks her up and down. “Like how to sing on pitch.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, and maybe I’ll teach you how to speak to people in a way that doesn’t make them hate you.”
Marcherie’s eyes light up. “All right, friend. It’s a deal.”
“Well, I wasn’t actually offering—”
It’s too late. Marcherie throws her arms around Claudia’s neck, squishing water out of Claudia’s curls. “Thank you, Claudia, for giving me a chance to make things right. You won’t regret it.”
At midnight, Lamour barges into the observatory for their lesson, his face red as Mars. “Are you a godsdamned fool, Claudia Jolicoeur?”
She stands from the parlor chair, hanging her head in shame. She knew this was coming, and she knows she deserves it. “Professor, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He laughs like a madman, as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You brought another student up here, and not just any student, but Cassius MacLeod. The High Sage’s apprentice, for fuck’s sake. And worse than anything, you got caught. And you’re sorry? You think being sorry is enough? He could be the one who killed Odette. He could’ve killedyou.”
“It wasn’t him,” she assures. “I wouldn’t have brought him up here if he was untrustworthy. Malevimus told me Cassius hadnothing to do with her death. So, see, it wasn’t as reckless as it seems. I know you’re afraid because of what happened to your friends, but—”
“Do not speak of them,” he barks. “Do not use them as pawns in your argument. You are wrong. Nothing will change that.”
She keeps her head down, speaking to the floor. “I know. You’re right.”
“Why did you do it? What were you doing up here?”
She very nearly confesses everything, but some deep-rooted, indefinable instinct holds her tongue. She can’t stop thinking about Odette’s last diary entry. Why did Lamour have it? He knows far more than he’s letting on about what happened to Odette. Maybe he didn’t kill her, but perhapskillwas the wrong word all along. Malevimus said no one killed her, but someone certainly made her disappear.
Right now, all Lamour knows is that she and Cassius came up here. He doesn’t know she cast anything on him. He doesn’t know that Cassius witnessed celestial magic.
He doesn’t need to know. That would make it all worse.
But what can she tell him that explains everything? How can she navigate this without potentially putting herself in danger?
“It was the opera. The influence from Dolericym was much more powerful than I ever imagined. It was my first time, you know. I was ill-prepared. It took us both to a strange place, like when you and your friends killed that deer called Banquo, remember?”
Professor Lamour’s brows pinch, tugging at the harsh lines on his forehead. “What does that mean?”
“We… we wanted to…”Fuck, she needs a good lie. And for it to be believed, it needs to be worse than the truth. She takes a deep breath and looks down, for she can’t bear to look into his eyes when she says, “We wanted to make love under the stars.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Claudia eventually glances up, and Lamour looks like he’s going to be sick.
“You”—he swallows a gag—“fuckedin my observatory?”
Claudia sucks in a sharp breath. “It was a mistake. I know that.”
