Claudia smiles. “As we are dealing with divine beings, we cannot view punishment through a stately lens. For the sake of this debate, I will definepunishmentas consequences designed to restore the necessary cosmic balance that was disturbed. We have seen this many times. Zeus punished Prometheus for stealing fire from the gods and giving it to mortals. Hades punished Sisyphus for cheating death. Hades condemned him to an endless loop of rolling a boulder up a steep hill, but once he neared the top, the boulder would fall, and he would have to start again.”
All around the room, other students are wide-eyed, leaning over their desks and listening closely to her argument the way kids become enthralled by bedtime stories.
“With the aid of Malevimus, I have learned that our gods have enacted divine punishments of their own. There were supposed to be six gods of Cygnus, and six disciplines. Dracoemagyl would have been the god of dreams and tragedies, and he would’ve led the discipline of Dramaturgy. But Sidarphion destroyed him before he could ascend. Now Sidarphion is gone, and while we can only theorize what happened to him, we can assume that his disappearance was an act of retributive punishment. He destroyed a god—perhaps the gods destroyed him, and they were right to do so. Even I, an initial Astrologia applicant who once longed to workwith Sidarphion, can accept that. Sidarphion did not deserve to be a god. His punishment was proportional to his wrongdoing, restorative to the cosmic balance, and absolutely necessary.”
While she speaks, she gets a taste of something familiar—that sticky sweetness that flooded her mouth when she was on her knees in the chapel. This is the magic of Malevimus, and it tastes like even the god himself wants her to win.
“Punishment is a cure,” she says, lifting her chin. “It is a remedy to ignorance by way of consequence. It’s divine in itself. Itisthe cosmic balance.”
The rest of the debate is a relentless blur. While Claudia dances through rebuttals with ease and grace, Cassius stumbles. All of his argument hinges on the inapplicability of the mortal idea of good and evil to that of the gods. Nothing he says does anything to subvert or challenge Claudia’s position. He collects himself in his closing statement, but it’s simply not enough.
Her argument is stronger. Her conclusion is dazzling.
“When gods go unpunished, they become devils” is her last sentence, which hangs in the air like the echo of a guillotine.
At the end, Professor Olivier stands between the two of them and takes hold of both of their wrists. Claudia gasps as the professor raises her hand up, declaring her the winner. For a moment, the room remains still and quiet, as if the other students are debating between acceptance or mutiny.
But then, they clap. Everyone, including Cassius, applauds.
And Claudia Jolicoeur—the foolish, star-obsessed, silly girl who was rejected from Cygnus and laughed at by the entire school—becomes the first to beat the legacy student in a debate.
Claudia glides on air through the Treaty, high on victory. Alistair is sitting at their table, staring out the large circular window and anxiously tapping his foot. He has two plates of treats ready infront of him—one with lemon cake, Victoria sponge, and madeleines in case Claudia has won; the other, in case she lost, has chocolate cake, chocolate mousse, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a promise to smoke later. She rushes through the sea of students and nearly collides with the back of her chair across from her friend. Alistair’s anxious gaze snaps up to her.
“For you,” she says, beaming at Alistair as she slides her thank-you note for Bishop’s enclosure across the table.
“What’s this for?”
“Just to show my gratitude for all you’ve done for me. Now, I have big news.”
“Spill.” He sips his tea.
Plucking the madeleine from the winning plate, she takes a bite and swallows. She exhales slowly and settles into her smile. “I. Won. The. Debate.”
He spits his tea over the table. “YouWHAT?”
She nods, throwing her hands up in victory. “I WON.”
“YOU WON?” He stands and rounds the table to her side.
“I WON.”
“YOU WON!”
“I WON!” She wraps her arms around him.
“OH MY GODS.”
“I KNOW.”
They jump up and down in sync, screaming and laughing like madmen for half a minute.
“I cannot believe you beat Cassius! I mean, I can, because you’re brilliant, but oh mygods—no one has ever done it before. No one until you. You’re the dragon slayer.”
“I can’t believe it, either. You should’ve seen it. Oh, it was so intense and”—she clenches her fists, smiling—“passionate”—she says it like a growl—“and raw and—”
Alistair slides back into his chair with a smirk. “You’re making it sound like you two were doing much more than debating.”
She bites her lip to hold back a smile. “Maybe we were.”
