Claudia looked up at him, stammering. He was so smug. She wanted to claw that expression off his face.
He tsked. “Never skip the foreword, Jolicoeur. Unless, of course, you enjoy making a fool of yourself. You’re quite good at it.”
The students behind them whispered to one another:
“They’ll never stop fighting.”
“We should put them in an arena.”
“I don’t care who wins, I just want them to SHUT UP.”
This is their routine in every class—even though Lamour’s class is mostly hours sanctioned for quiet writing, they still manage to argue there. Cassius turns his papers too loud, Claudia drums her nails on the desk too hard, and neither of them is paying attention to the actual work; they’re too focused on disrupting each other’s concentration at the cost of their own. Olivier has shot warning glances at them when they get too rowdy, and they both pretend that their ruckus is solely the other person’s fault.
Claudia’s plan is working, though. She’s getting better, and she’s making Cassius worse. If she keeps this up, it’s only a matter of time before she comes out on top.
The valedictorian’s blessing will be hers. She can almost taste it.
Days later, Lamour asks Claudia to stay after class, and her heart is nearly bursting with hope. He must’ve read her paper. He must’ve changed his mind.
When the room clears, she beams at him. “So? Will you help me?”
He sighs. “You’ve impressed me, but I’m afraid—”
She cuts him off with, “If you turn me away, I will just come back harder. I can’t let this go. If the first paper wasn’t enough, I’ll write a hundred more. If writing isn’t enough, I’ll do something else. Just tell me what it will take and I’ll do it, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Lamour stares at her for a long time. “My answer is still no.”
Rage rises in her body. “No?” she says through gritted teeth.
“I’ll admit your knowledge is compelling. Your argument was powerful. I can see ambition in your eyes. I know you want this, and I know you would do well, but that doesn’t change the fact that the best way to keep you safe is to avoid this altogether. You’ll be perfectly happy with linguistic magic with the rest of the Rhetoric scholars once you learn how to cast in your second year. Celestial magic is nothing more than a medium for the same power.”
“You don’t know what’s best for me. I do. I need this.”
“Whatever you think this will fix, I promise it will only make things worse.”
She seethes. If he won’t be her mentor, she’ll make him her hostage. Pointing at his chest, she says, “If you don’t help me, I’ll tell people what you are.”
She tells herself she’s not blackmailing him—she’s simply giving him an ultimatum. This is not a threat; it’s persuasion. It’s an ironclad argument. It’s—
It’s rhetoric.
He laughs, but fear sparks in his eyes. “Claudia, everyone here knows about your application to Astrologia. They all think you’re a silly star-obsessed girl who’s not bright enough to understand the truth. If you start rattling off about celestial magic, no one will believe you.”
Wrath flares in her fists. She wants to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze. “It doesn’t matter if they don’t believe me, because Odette’s killer will. And then they’ll come for you.”
“They would come for both of us, foolish girl. They would burn you, too.”
She gives a half shrug. “Let them. Either you train me, or we’ll both die. Your choice.” The words taste sour on her tongue. She can’t believe she’s making her own devil’s bargain for the sake of satisfying the first.
Color drains from his face. “You are a nightmare.”
The comment should hurt, but it only makes her smile.
Dorian would be proud.
“I’ll meet you in front of the Astrologia wing at midnight. Don’t be late.”
Bishop, ever dedicated to his hunts, is waiting with another diary entry when Claudia gets back to her bedroom. Before she reads, she feeds him a juicy, long-legged spider she found on the floor of the Treaty. He lunges for it, snatching it from her hand and swallowing fast.
