Chapter 10 #3
“You’re drunk,” I said, as if the fact disproved his point. “They’re all drunk.” Abruptly, I changed the subject. “Are you going to take that internship with the mayor’s office next fall? Margot was prattling on about it.”
He hesitated. “I am.”
An uncomfortable silence followed this announcement.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” I mumbled.
August shrugged. “It changes nothing.”
“But why didn’t you tell—?”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d take it badly.”
I made a noise of protest. “That’s hardly fair. I didn’t have a chance to react because you didn’t tell me—”
“Be honest, Arden. Was there ever a time you would’ve taken this news well?”
I didn’t have an answer. The truth was, I didn’t want him to take this internship, not if it meant things between us would become even more strained.
“I guess I’m just surprised that you, of all people—who hated this school as much as I did last year—” I said, ignoring August’s huff of exasperation “—weaseled his way into the Gilded Circle brats and is now going to work for their mommies and daddies in the government office, kissing their boots and fetching their coffee.”
He flinched at my harsh analysis. “I understand why you might feel…betrayed,” he conceded.
“But things have changed for me, Arden,” And this time his voice broke, as if my grief had been the final sequence in unleashing the barrage of emotion he was holding back.
He recovered quickly. “Don’t you see? I finally have a chance to—”
“Do they know we’re together?” I interrupted.
August blew out a cloud of smoke before snuffing out his cigarette against a brick. “No, not yet.”
“When are you going to tell them?”
“Arden.” He sighed repressively. “The Gilded Circle is finally inviting me to their parties, and now I’ve got this internship, and the fencing tournament finals are coming up. I don’t want to, you know…”
“No, I don’t know,” I cut in. “Why don’t you spell it out for me?”
“I do care about you, Arden. It’s just…not the right time.”
I nearly staggered as the lie hit my teeth with the bitter taste of betrayal, but I didn’t need my abilities to know that August was lying.
“Arden, we’ll be sophomores next year. Don’t you want to at least try to fit in? To become one of us?”
“One of us?” I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Barely three months and you’re already counting yourself among them.”
His words cut me deeper and with more precision than any blade. Nausea threatened to eject the frothy beer I’d consumed earlier.
“Arden, I didn’t mean—”
“I shouldn’t have come tonight,” I said.
Without waiting for August’s reply, I fled from the pub, tripping over the cobblestones but determined to put as much distance between me and August as possible.
Darkness swallowed me rapidly, my vision beginning to twist and whorl, and maybe it was all just a nightmare, but—
I came to on the floor of the Labyrinth with Casimir’s face looming above me.
“Shit,” he muttered as I sat up. “Are you alright?” His tone was level, but something like concern flickered across his brow.
“I’m fine,” I said, swearing as my temple throbbed and the room began to spin. “Just give me a minute.”
Casimir backed away to give me space while I recovered.
“I shouldn’t have come tonight,” I said, unable to keep the accusation from my tone.
“Something happened.” It wasn’t a question. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “I’m just tired.” And I was exhausted. Exhausted and angry and emotional.
He offered me a hand, but I ignored it and rose to stand on unsteady feet.
“I was trying to sift your memories for something that might inspire a sense of déjà vu,” he explained. “I figured it might help you realize it wasn’t real.”
“Well, it didn’t,” I snapped. “Gods, why do I feel like shit?”
“Side effect of the glamour.” He shrugged. “And you did fight it a bit, at the end there. I felt it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I ground out. Another wave of nausea rolled through me as I sank into a chair. It suddenly struck me that Casimir had just witnessed every moment of that memory. Had listened to every thought, experienced every pang of hurt and betrayal. “Did you see… everything I saw?”
He hesitated, looking wary. “More or less.”
“Great,” I groaned.
He looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable as he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I didn’t immediately reply. It was hard to explain why I’d debased myself so thoroughly for August. No one, apart from August and me, was ever meant to witness that interaction, and now Casimir would know I was a fool.
Worse than a fool, since I could claim no plausible deniability when it came to knowing August’s true intentions.
No, I had tasted every lie like a mouthful of ash, and yet I had held out hope.
My sick, twisted love—and my willingness to do everything for a person who never saw me as more than a distraction—persisted.
Swallowing down my self-loathing, the confession came tumbling out of me.
“August found me earlier,” I said resignedly.
Casimir started, momentarily distracted from his concern. “He—what?”
“He came to warn me to stay away from the Order. And from you,” I explained. “He told me I’d be a fool to trust you.”
His expression was inscrutable. “He… he said you’d probably get me killed trying to stop the Order.”
Casimir arched a brow in silent question, apparently unconcerned by the severity of the accusation. The blazing look in his eyes told another story. “And what do you think?”
In all honesty, I hadn’t decided yet. Narrowly avoiding answering the question, I said, “August implied you’ve been withholding certain information.” I was careful to keep any accusation from my voice.
Casimir’s eyes darkened as they bored into me. “Is it necessary to know everything about a person in order to trust them?”
To that question, I had no answer.
Casimir stood in brooding silence, his muscles tense while he waited for me to gather the pieces of my shattered mind.
It wasn’t only unease over Casimir’s dredging up my very private memories that troubled me.
It wasn’t even August’s warning. Something else was scraping at my inner walls, turning over and sharpening itself into relief.
As the nausea began to subside, I understood what it meant, and my stomach plummeted to the floor.
“Your glamours work on me,” I said after a moment.
Casimir slid his eyes to me, his expression a little relieved when he realized I wasn’t going to chew him out. “So what? We knew that already.”
“Evren’s glamours don’t work on me, but yours and Devereaux’s do. Why is that?”
Casimir scratched the back of his neck. “I have no earthly idea.” He snorted at the look of disappointment crumpling my features. “If it makes you feel better, Evren’s glamours work on me. It’s not fun, I can tell you,” he added.
I shot him a skeptical glance.
“This is why it’s important that we train you to resist all glamours. If Devereaux can’t get past your resistance, he can’t control you.”
“But he can control me!” I blurted. I was breathing hard, my hands shaking, and my chest aching as though it might split open.
“He has August’s life in his hands. He can still hurt me or control me or do whatever he likes to me!
” It was the first time I’d admitted it aloud.
The truth was, I didn’t want to see August harmed, no matter how much he’d hurt me.
Casimir ground his teeth, mulling over my declaration.
He shook his head. “No, he can’t, Farrow.
He can only control you if you let him.” His expression was almost menacing in its intensity as he leaned over the table to glare at me.
“Having leverage over someone is a hell of a lot different than being master of their minds and bodies, orchestrating their every move.”
I glowered back at him. “You’re right, leverage is worse. Like tricking someone into making a bargain, for instance.”
This earned another scowl from Casimir. “I dare you to say that again after Devereaux makes you his puppet for a few months. In fact, why don’t you ask August which he’d prefer?”
“This conversation is over.” I was halfway to the door when he stopped me.
“Let go of me, Casimir—”
But he didn’t let go.
“Hold on to your anger, Farrow,” he said. “It might just be the thing that saves you.”
Shock rippled through me, melting away the fury. Hold on to my anger?
My temper was, and would always be, the worst thing about me.
That “dash of mercurial fire,” as my father called it.
If you were to ask my mother, she’d be the first to say I was born into the world a stubborn, insolent girl, quick to anger and even quicker to tears.
Was Casimir really trying to convince me that my anger could be a strength?
Strangely, and in spite of all that August had said to make me distrust Casimir, part of me wanted to believe in him.
Maybe it was because I’d grown up tasting the lies of all the adults around me; maybe that made me unbelievably, pitifully desperate to place my trust in someone worthy of it.
Maybe I was desperate enough that I wanted that person to be Casimir.
I thought about him, and everything else that had happened in the Labyrinth long after I crawled into bed and was once more cloaked in darkness.