Chapter 6 #3
“But…” I protested, “if Devereaux is really some lost Daemon prince, why would he bother joining the Gilded Circle?” It was, after all, just another elitist social club.
Casimir shrugged. “Devereaux likes to feel powerful and important no matter where he goes.”
I watched as a look of dismay crossed his face, his golden skin paling.
“I need to ask you something,” he began carefully. “Does Devereaux know your name?”
My name? I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard in the observatory. I could still hear the poison lacing Evren’s tone when he’d called me, “the Farrow girl.” It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
“Why does it matter if he knows my name?”
Casimir’s expression gave nothing away. “Just answer the question,” he growled.
I sighed in resignation. “They called me the ‘Farrow girl,’” I admitted. Neither Evren or Devereaux had used my given name. Not Arden Farrow Flynch. “Neither of them used my full name,” I assured him.
Casimir visibly relaxed. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. “Why won’t you tell me why it matters? What happens if they learn my name?”
I needed answers and Casimir was being intentionally evasive. It struck me then how desperately I wished I could taste his lies.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His reply came after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll tell you another time. For now, just be glad that Sinclair still cares for you enough to keep it from their ears.”
Other than my sharp intake of breath, I didn’t let him see how much the comment stung. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to my research,” I said pointedly.
Casimir nodded amusedly. “Of course. One last thing, I wanted to return this.” He tossed me a small object.
It was a dagger. My dagger. I dropped the book and ran my fingers over the supple leather handle, feeling for any damage.
But it was still perfect, its sheath still embossed with intricate latticework.
It was probably the most precious thing I owned, and I hadn’t even noticed it was missing. “You—stole this from me?”
He had the audacity to shrug. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react when I told you the truth about… what I am. I figured it was safer to err on the side of caution, considering how you nearly brained me with a lamp the first night we met.”
“How?”
“Sleight of hand,” he explained. “Something my mother taught me.”
“What, was your mother a pickpocket?” I scowled at him.
He chuckled. “Of sorts. The art of surreptitiously going through your enemies’ pockets comes in useful at times.”
Amusement tugged at the corners of my lips. I swore, but this time with no real venom as I tucked the knife into my belt for safekeeping.
“It’s a very unusual dagger,” he observed. His casual tone was belied by the careful way he watched me.
When I was thirteen, my father had presented me with the dagger, much to my mother’s tight-lipped disapproval. Its blade was only around five inches of iridescent silver—small, but razor-sharp. Wielded by the right hand, it granted deadly accuracy.
“I suppose it is,” I conceded. “It was a gift from my father.”
Curiosity burned behind Casimir’s eyes. He leaned in, just a fraction, but enough to reveal his interest. “Where did he get it?” he inquired.
“How should I know?” My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why are you so interested?”
Apprehension flared briefly in his gaze before it vanished. He offered me a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, really. I was just curious.”
At that moment, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t detect any traces of deceit. I knew he was lying.
His smile slipped. “You shouldn’t allow someone to disarm you so easily. You didn’t even notice it was missing.”
I nearly snorted at the irony of this statement. Everything about Casimir disarmed me, and no blade or weapon on Earth was strong enough to shield me from his influence. I averted my gaze, afraid he might decipher the dangerous vein of my thoughts through my expression.
“I didn’t expect you to rob me right after Devereaux glamoured me!
” I said, a little defensively. “And I wouldn’t have stabbed you for being a Daemon.
” I didn’t see any reason to reveal I had, in fact, forgotten about my dagger when he’d dragged me into an alcove outside of the Tusk that night. Gods, he could be so dramatic.
“Wouldn’t you?” he muttered. “Look—in case you still have any kind of heroic nonsense still rattling around in that unfortunately large brain of yours, I want to make one thing clear.” His expression hardened. “You are not equipped to stop the Order. You are not to go anywhere near them.”
Indignation flared inside me, and I opened my mouth to retort, but Casimir plowed on, “Even if you are immune to Evren’s glamour, the others are another story.
” He moved closer, forcing my back to press into the chair.
“Veronika is not to be underestimated, either. As an Alchemist, she may not steal bodily autonomy like Devereaux, but her powers enable her to wield magic in ways the others cannot fathom. Evren, too, is more than capable of harming you, even without the use of his glamour. Don’t underestimate any of them. ”
“You’re just trying to scare me,” I said, my tone matter of fact.
“Yes,” he replied. His shoulders sagged, as if he was relieved I’d caught on so quickly. “Is it working?”
“No,” I gave an arrogant toss of my head. “Maybe the Order shouldn’t underestimate me, either.” What Casimir didn’t know was that I had another secret weapon besides the silver dagger stowed at my hip.
Casimir stared at me like I’d gone completely mad.
“You know, I had been planning to quit, but clearly I’m going to need every ounce of stress relief at my disposal.
He muttered darkly as he placed a cigarette between his lips and lit the tip.
“I can’t leave you alone for more than a few hours without you finding yourself in mortal peril. ”
“I’m not the one in mortal peril, August is! And you could always—oh, I don’t know—leave me the hell alone?” I snapped. “As a Daemon, perhaps you’d be wise to avoid interfering with the fates of mortals.”
His lips twitched in amusement, but he shook his head. “Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
“And why not?”
“I would’ve thought it was obvious,” he said, dragging on his cigarette, infuriating, insufferable bastard that he was.
Frustration stabbed at my temples like the onset of a migraine. Despite knowing I’d probably regret boasting about my secret, the impulse to wipe that condescending smirk off Casimir’s lips was too tempting to deny.
“You needn’t worry,” I informed him, relishing the cold triumph rising in my chest. “As it happens, Devereaux and Evren aren’t the only ones with extra abilities.”
Casimir’s eyes narrowed and his brows drew closer together, torn between curiosity and irritation. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your prerogative, I guess,” I shrugged. “Well, if that’s all, I have some reading to get back to.” Doing my damnedest to ignore him, I trained my gaze back to my book.
But Casimir made no move to leave. He merely stood there, the ash from his cigarette falling steadily onto the carpet. I could almost feel the waves of frustration rolling off him as he simmered over whether to give in.
“Fine, I’ll bite,” he gritted out. “Tell me your secret, Farrow.”
I calmly turned to face him, even as the intensity of his gaze threatened to wrench me apart.
It felt like a glamour, the way he could pierce through my hardened exterior to the soft underbelly lying just beneath.
Clouds of smoke wafted up through the stacks before they dissipated. I hardened my resolve.
“Alright, I’ll tell you. But first, you have to swear to help me get August away from the Order,” I said.
“Absolutely not!” he growled, earning several filthy looks from a group of students a few rows down.
“Look,” I hissed, steeling myself for an argument.
“You want to stop the Order from completing whatever sick ritual they’re planning—don’t bother denying it, I saw it written all over your face back at the Tusk—and I want to stop them from killing August. We’ll have a better chance of achieving both if we work together. ”
“Why do you care what they do to him?” he demanded.
I stiffened under the heat of his contemptuous expression. “Don’t worry about my motives.”
He snorted at that. “And how,” he said, leaning closer, “do I know you’re not bluffing about your so-called ability?”
I met his flinty gaze. “You don’t.”
He huffed out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand through his wild curls. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
But he was tempted, and sorely. Curiosity burned in his umber gaze, and I knew then that I had him. Just the small possibility that I wasn’t bluffing was too tempting to pass up.
His features twisted into a reluctant expression. “The last time I made a bargain with someone, it didn’t end too well for me,” he confessed.
“You can trust me because we want the same things. We both want Devereaux gone. I know you have your own reasons for hating him, whatever they might be.”
For right now, the specifics didn’t matter. The hatred I’d seen etched into Casimir’s features in the Tusk told me enough.
“You may not like the consequences of this bargain,” he said, his starry eyes darkening as they bore into mine.
“I can handle it,” I insisted.
“Alright, Farrow,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll make a deal with you. But I have conditions.”
I suppressed a groan. Of course, he had freaking conditions.
“First, you will swear not to tell anyone else what we’re up to. Trust goes both ways, you know.”
I sighed impatiently, but nodded.
“Second,” he continued, “Our agreement will be binding. We will seal it with a pact that cannot be broken by either party until all the tenets of the agreement are reached. Do you understand?”
I faltered. “What do you mean, binding? Like a contract?”
His smile was slow and impish. Almost wicked. “Yes, Farrow. Exactly like a contract. It will be verbally binding.”
“Alright,” I agreed, feeling more than a little uneasy. I didn’t like the sly edge to his expression. “What do you want me to say?”
He tilted his head, surveying me thoughtfully before stamping out his cigarette.
“Swear that you will not interfere with my plans to dismantle the Order. You will not speak about the Order, or share details of our collaboration with anyone else, except in circumstances where your life is in danger. You will be my helpful little ally, and vow not to become a burden.”
I glowered at him with the full force of my rage. “How—You—I am not a burden!” I burst out.
He shrugged, that insufferable smirk still slashed across his lips. “Do you want my help or not?”
I shifted uncomfortably. The dynamic between us had flipped, and suddenly, Casimir had the upper hand. “Fine,” I ground out. “I promise—”
“Ah, ah, state your full name please,” he interjected. “Your true name.”
I ground my teeth together in frustration.
Of course he would use information I’d given in confidence against me.
I started again, “I, Arden Farrow Flynch, promise not to speak about or interfere with Casimir’s work dismantling the Order.
In exchange for his help, I will tell him my secret, with the understanding that he will never speak of it to anyone else.
Nor will I speak of the Daemons or the Order, except in circumstances where my life is in danger.
I will be his ally, and vow not to become a burden.
Except in the case of Casimir being a stupid and insufferable prick. Happy?”
As soon as I spoke the words, something metallic rolled across my tongue. Like a trace of quicksilver, it dissipated almost as quickly as I discerned it.
“I have one other condition,” he said.
I squinted at him, instantly suspicious.
“If things go south, you will obey me. I don’t care what the circumstances are, if August is broken and bleeding on the ground, if I tell you to go, you will go. Understood?”
Obey him? I didn’t like the sound of this condition at all. But I couldn’t see a way around it, so I sighed and repeated the words. When I was finished, another sliver of metal danced across my tongue. I must have been imagining it. I arched an impatient brow at Casimir. “Your turn,” I said.
“I, Casimir Wrayburn,” he drawled, “promise to help Arden Farrow Flynch stop the Order from completing a ritual that will more than likely end in the demise of her moronic ex-boyfriend.”
I rolled my eyes at his choice of words. “Is that it?”
He nodded and, smirking wryly, reached out a hand to shake mine. Tentatively, I took it. At the contact, a sudden pain jolted across my inner thigh. I dropped Casimir’s hand.
“Ouch!” I swore, yanking up the fabric of my skirt. I froze when I understood the cause of the pain. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A tendril of moonlight from a nearby window illuminated seven letters seared into my flesh.
Casimir.
His name. His fucking name. Branded on my body.
On my thigh.