When they’re back in the dark stairwell, Claudia says, “Does she still think I’m a murderer?”
Cassius says no at the same time that Alistair says yes. They glare at each other.
Cassius sighs. “I’m working on it. And I’ll keep working on it. Don’t worry.”
She nods. If anyone can convince Marcherie to leave her be, it’s Cassius. After all, he’s won all the arguments he’s ever had.
Well, all except one.
Just before they exit the stairwell, Claudia hears the entire cast in unison say, “Dolericym, we are your voice. Take our bodies, minds, and souls, and in turn, give us a show.”
They find their way to their seats, but not before helping themselves to the sparkling red wine at the door of the theater. It’s warm and tingly in her mouth.
In their private box, Cassius and Claudia’s seats are plush violet velvet. There are no armrests, so there is nothing between them. They keep their distance, for now, while the lights are still up.
“I need to warn you of something,” Cassius says.
Claudia sips her wine. “Yes?”
“The recital is going to be quite intense. The Musices students, see, they are very close with their god. Dolericym is the most involved out of all the gods. Much to the chagrin of the Musices professors, Dolericym disregards the rule about first-years not beingallowed to engage in theurgic communication with her. She aids in every production, channeling powerful, evocative magic into their compositions.” He leans closer with every word. Claudia can smell the wine on his lips. “Dolericym grants the gift of feeling, and her songs are deeply compelling. Whatever she wants you to feel, you will feel more intensely than you’ve ever experienced in your life. It’s most potent as the music plays, but that intensity will linger through the night. It’s what makes the afterparties so fun and wild.”
“Is it safe?”
“As long as you stay with me.”
“I have no intentions of doing anything else.”
His mouth twitches. “Good.”
At that, the lights go down, and a single spotlight illuminates Professor Darden in the center of the stage.
“Students, welcome to tonight’s recital,The Deer and the Daughter. The story is this: In the early whispers of the Trojan War, Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, commander of the Achaeans, slaughtered a sacred stag—one under the protection of Artemis. As punishment, Artemis did the unthinkable; when Agamemnon’s ship set sail for Troy, she seized the wind and sea, bringing them both to absolute stillness. The king and his men were stranded for days. Their meat spoiled, and their clean water ran out. He knew of only one way to sate the wrath of Artemis: sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia. He summoned her under the false pretenses of a proposal from Achilles. Iphigenia arrived steadfast, dressed in a white gown, eager to descend the aisle upon her father’s arm. But the truth was laid bare upon her arrival: Her father had sold her fate to absolve himself.”
Claudia can’t help but feel connected to Iphigenia, down to the white of her gown.
“There she stood at the altar, the sword of death shimmering at her neck. Artemis, though, was touched by Iphigenia’s striking innocence, and thus rescinded her wrathful bargain. The goddess spared her, but Agamemnon would never escape the knowledgethat he designed the death of his daughter. Even without the sacrifice of Iphigenia, Artemis exacted her price—Agamemnon’s soul would be stained forevermore.”
This is where Claudia’s story differs—in the myth, the father is stained by the daughter’s death, but in Claudia’s world, the daughter is stained by the father’s blood.
And she wasn’t spared by a goddess—she was spared by a devil.
“Tonight,” Professor Darden boasts, “we have prepared for you an opera of the myth. But before we begin, I wanted to share an anecdote about the composition. Originally, when we were writing the libretto, we had every intention of arranging it in the Phrygian mode. But when it came time to score the pieces, it simply didn’t work. The sound would not obey. And the strangest thing—we all heard this odd, pervasive, percussive sound bouncing off the walls of every music room. It plagued our ears, even in our sleep. And it was merely days ago that we realized the sound was Dolericym, and she was repeating one word, over and over, so fast it sounded like the thrum of wings. The word wasDorian.”
Claudia gasps so hard she chokes.
“That was the answer all along! Once we changed the opera from Phrygian mode to Dorian mode, everything felt right. So when you hear that twinkling promise of the major sixth humming above the darkness, know that is Dolericym herself answering your call.” He gestures to the stage. “Please, enjoy.”
He bows as the crowd claps, and the spotlight is snuffed out, leaving the entire theater in total, chilling darkness. The scent of magic wafts in the air, and already, Claudia feels a heightened sense of excitement, of wonder, of deep red passion burning in her veins.
Here is where the show begins.
THE DEER AND THE DAUGHTER
We will buy back our own harm with what is most dear to us.
Euripedes,Iphigenia at Aulis
The overture sets the tone for an ambiguous ending. The Doric harmoniai is mysterious and suspenseful with teases of brightness at the end of each tetrachord. As only the wind and strings play, the music takes on a mythic quality like a sea shanty or a folkloric ballad. With the addition of percussion, it sinks deep into a seductive second movement that languishes in an ascending pentatonic, relentlessly building up to something that refuses to settle. It’s a siren call underscored by a raging sea. It keeps Claudia on edge until finally,mercifully, it descends into completion. The last note is met with the first bang of the next movement—a warm feast of consonance culminating in one final, lonesome violin string calling out in D.
