After watching the last of the bloody water spin into the drain, Claudia grabs a black towel from the rack on the back of the door. Drying off, she walks over to her suitcase, where she pulls out a light pink chemise. She then heads toward her armoire where she retrieves her first black scholarly robes. They slide onwith ease. There is her very own swan crest embroidered over her heart—red for Rhetoric. She beholds herself in the gilded mirror on the wall and smiles.
She looks like she belongs here.
Her hair is still damp when there’s a knock at her door. She drapes her towel over Bishop on the bed to keep him hidden. When she opens the door, it’s him—the one who called her the star girl.
He opens his mouth to speak but pauses, eyes roaming over her form. He clears his throat. “You look quite different without all that blood.” Leaning against the doorframe, he surveys her and smirks. “I was eager to parade you around in such a state.”
“So that you could humiliate me further?”
“So that everyone could see how absurd it is that you’re here, and not just because of your application.”
“How did you even know about that? You’re no High Sage.”
“No, but I am his apprentice. I see every application that comes in and sort it by major. Yours was alone in its pile.”
“And you told everyone?”
“Of course. I thought it was a joke.”
“So, you gave everyone permission to mock me?”
“I never thought you’d ever be here. After I read your flowery essay about your dead mother, it was clear you didn’t belong.”
She wants to slap him, but she’s struck by the fact that she’s no longer merely a girl with a dead mother. Now she’s a girl with no parents. No family at all.
They’re all dead.
All she has left is Dorian, and that thought chills her to the bone.
Fists balling at her sides, she snaps, “Apologies that my suffering wasn’t compelling enough for you. Good thing the decision was not yours to make.” She steps forward, chest to chest with him. “I earned a place here. Malevimus chose me. I stand equal to you, and I don’t deserve to be treated like this.”
“I disagree. I don’t trust you, and no one else should, either.And I’m deeply curious as to how you managed to get Malevimus on your side. Frankly, your first application should have deemed you just as unworthy as whoever died in your Doorway.”
Her throat tightens when the image flares in her mind again, as if it’s happening right in front of her. Her father. The blood. The guilt.
She shakes her head and glares up into his eyes. “I’ve done nothing to you. You don’t know me at all and yet you’re being so…” She’s so angry and flustered that she can’t find the proper words—onlyimproperones.
“I’m being sowhat? Use your words, rhetorician.”
An incredulous, shaky laugh escapes her. She can’t think of anything but “So fucking awful.”
He shrugs, unaffected. “I’m not being awful. I’m being articulate. Your acceptance is inexplicable, unless there is something darker at play.”
“No, you’reso—” She stops herself with a groan. He’s riling her up on purpose. Her jaw tightens. “I’m not taking a tour with you.”
“Do you want me to report your unwillingness to fulfill your obligations to the High Sage?”
She stutters over her response and he rolls his eyes, holding open the door for her and gesturing her forward. “Let’s go, Star Girl.”
THE GROUNDS
Dolericym’s tears shaped the stone until the opera house was unearthed. Sidarphion created the observatory with a kiss to a steeple. Malevimus built the walls out of whispers. Orteslux used a silver tooth as the first seed of the greenhouse, and the clock tower speared through a spill of Caedisterra’s blood. Magic is built into the bones, the very marrow of Cygnus.
The Book of Cygnus: History 3:8–12
Cygnus is colossal but cozy, ancient but immaculate. Claudia expected the university to be dark and stuffy, similar to how Oxford and Cambridge are rumored to be. She anticipated rigid schedules and curfews, silent halls and absolutely terrible food. But her new home couldn’t be more surprising; the soaring arched ceilings and giant windows let inevery last drop of afternoon light. High tea is being served in the great hall, replete with sandwiches on fluffy bread and scones with clotted cream. She’s going to gain ten—no, twenty—no,thirty—pounds, and it’s going to be wonderful. Music carries through the resonant corridors and tangles with laughter. They walk through crowds of bustling students, and each face wears a smile.
Until they look at Claudia.
