It’s her. Not him. That’s it. That’s the decision. All she has to do is wait. She’ll keep herself locked away until the bargain takes her, and then it will all be over.
How will Marcherie, Cassius, and Alistair cope with losing someone the exact same way they lost Odette? She imagines their faces when someone finds her body and breaks the news to them.
It happened again, they’ll say, and the three of them will feel the world slip out from under their feet once more. They are nowhere near at peace with what happened to Odette, and when Claudia dies, their grief will double over itself, and still they will have no answers as to why people they love keep dying in this room, in this bed.
And Lamour—he’ll be sick with grief. This could be the thing that breaks his heart and kills the little spark of joy he’s only just got back.
It’s happening again. All over again. Claudia can’t stop it.
But she’s trying. Gods know she’s trying. Searching. Reading. Praying.
Anything.
Anything.
In response to Alistair’s note, Claudia writes:
Dearest Alis,
You want the truth, and I can’t give it to you.
I can’t tell you that Sidarphion is not dead, or that I sold my soul in a devil’s bargain with him to come here. I can’t tell you that I’m fated to kill Cassius or die myself, and that there is no way out, nor solution. One of us is going to die, and it’s all my fault.
I can’t tell you any of this, because you’d either think me mad, think me murderous, or perhaps the most dangerous of all—you wouldbelieve me, and you’d get yourself in irrevocable trouble trying to help.
I know you too well, Alis. I fear you would give away a piece of your soul to save mine. I won’t let you.
So, see, I can’t tell you any of this. No matter how many times you come to my door or slip notes underneath it, I have nothing I can give you.
Don’t worry. I’ll be gone soon enough, and then you can grieve properly.
Forever your mouthy, flower-loving, treat-obsessed, foolish, foolish girl,
Claud
While the ink is still wet, she dips the corner of the letter into a candle’s flame and watches the paper turn to ash.
The following afternoon, when she walks into the Treaty, she has every intention of grabbing a fistful of whatever her hand finds first and trudging back to her room, but Cassius catches her arm at the tea table. His hand is so warm against her skin, and there are sparks beneath his touch. It’s the first good thing she’s felt in so long. Her eyes are almost too heavy for her to look up at him, but she forces herself to meet his cold blue eyes, wide with concern. She could cry just looking at him.
“Star Girl, are you all right?”
Hearing his nickname for her makes her cheeks flush. Suddenly, she can’t hear the hum of chatter throughout the room—she can only hear his breathing. Without speaking, she nods.
“Use your words,” he says, and it sends both a thrill of want and a heartbreaking jolt of grief through her body. It’s a reminder of everything they once were and everything they’ll never be.
Her eyes dart around the room in search of the High Sage. “You’re not supposed to be speaking to me. What will Triche think?”
“I don’t care about Triche right now. I care about what’s going on with you.”
She swallows hard. “I’m all right.”
She can tell by the set of his jaw and the red-ringed worry in his eyes that he doesn’t believe her.
“Come sit with us, then,” he says, gesturing to a round table in the corner where Marcherie and Alistair look away quickly to pretend they aren’t staring. Next to Alistair is Angel. They’re whispering to each other. Claudia’s heart warms. At least there will be someone there to pick up the pieces of Alistair’s heart when she breaks it.
“No. If Triche sees us together, he’ll—”
“Claudia, please. Forget about Triche for one second.”
