Cassius’s eyes sparkle in a way that tells Claudia she’s asking the right questions. He seems like the type who loves to be looked to for answers. It fans the flames of his ego. “Sidarphion was never as strong as the others. A hundred years ago, they banded together to remove him from power. I think, with his godhood rescinded, he crashed back into the earthly realm and lived the rest of his days as a sad and lonely mortal man.”
“I didn’t know godhood could be bestowed and taken away.”
“Of course. Power isn’t a birthright. All it takes is knowledge. Anyone can become a god.” He looks her up and down. “Anyone in theory, at least.”
Claudia breezes over the snub. “Do you think Sidarphion could ever come back?”
With a laugh, he says, “He lived like a god and died like a man. He will not be back.”
That brings her some comfort. Sidarphion is dead. The other gods are not like he was. And Cassius is here; he may be awful, but at least she’s not alone. She takes a careful step inside and turns back, noticing Cassius’s stillness.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“It is traditionally done alone, one by one on the first day.”
“Oh.” She tries to hide the shiver that runs up her spine. Her legs won’t move.
Leaning down to her ear from behind, Cassius says in a low voice, “Go up to the pulpit. Get on your knees. Light the red candle, and wait.”
She swallows hard and nods. He closes the door behind her, pushing cold air against her back. With short, shaky steps, she walks down the aisle of the chapel until the pulpit comes into view. There are five candles upon it—red for Malevimus, green for Orteslux, yellow for Caedisterra, purple for Dolericym, and one tall black one in the middle.
There is a crystal vessel filled with matches, and an open book of match strike paper beside it. Claudia removes the lid, sending a twinkly chime bouncing off the walls throughout the small, dimly lit room. She plucks out a match and scrapes it across the paper. The smoky scent mixes with the briny air. Touching it to the wick of the red candle, she waits for the flame to take before sinking down to her knees and bowing her head. The room begins to warm.
She waits.
It starts on the tongue—this cloying sweetness that squeezes saliva from the sides of her mouth. Then it drips down her throat, bubbling in her belly before sinking farther, farther, licking at her bones, tickling the bottoms of her feet. A strong hum vibrates where her knees meet the floor. It travels up to her teeth. It’s as if the room itself is a being, a body, and she’s caught in its throat.
The red candle flickers twice before extinguishing itself, and the syrupy sweetness leaves her mouth. Black smoke curls out from the wick, reaching up to the ceiling before dissipating. She breathes in the warm, smoky smell of a freshly blown-out candle.
Her legs burn when she stands. The cold stone floor has left pebbly imprints across the thin skin over her knees. She releases a tightly held breath. Her shoulders relax, and she heads for the exit. Just before pushing through the door, she gets a waft of waxy, charred air like the candle has been lit again. She looks back.
The red candle is not burning.
The black candle is.
It’s for only a second, so quick that it could’ve been her imagination. One flash of flame, then green smoke colors the air.
She doesn’t know what it means and doesn’t want to wait and find out. Hurriedly, she shoves herself through the doorway. It slams behind her faster than she anticipated, sending her crashing into Cassius.
He takes hold of her by the shoulders and steadies her. “All right?”
Her palms are braced on his chest. Blinking away the fear in her eyes, she gazes up at him. “Fine.”
When she pulls her hands away, he catches her wrist and says, “Did it cut you?”
Eyes wide, she yanks her hand back. “No.” The fresh cut on her palm is from last night, from Dorian. She doesn’t know how to explain that to him, nor does she want to. Cassius already thinks that she doesn’t belong here—she refuses to tell him that she’s only here because of some arcane bargain. It would be all he needs to completely ruin her.
“Where do we go from here?” she asks.
“Outside. There is one more thing I want to show you.”
They walk into a lavender evening. Cassius charges ahead, making it impossible for her to savor the crunch of leaves beneath her feet or the unfamiliar songs of nearby bugs. Twilight wraps around the tall trees that surround the school. Against the darkening sky, Cygnus looks like several marble cathedrals all taking jagged, toothy bites out of one another.
They come upon the graveyard that High Sage Triche mentioned. It’s much fuller than Claudia expected. She imagined a handful of accidental deaths, all too young, all deeply mourned, all shrouded in fresh flowers. But before her is a vast audience of death, headstones packed shoulder to shoulder like onlookers in a colosseum. Overgrown vines tie each grave together. Many names are veiled by dirt and dry leaves, but the one closest to her is clean and fresh.
Odette Dufort.
Beside her, Cassius stiffens and refuses to look at the grave. Maybe he knew her. Maybe he misses her. Maybe he has a heart after all.
