Chapter 14
“You know,” I said, heaving the Book of Erebos onto the veranda wall next to Casimir outside Magnolia Hall the following morning, “there were several opportunities during our conversation the other night when you might have told me exactly what this little assignment of yours entailed.”
It hadn’t taken me long to find him. It would’ve been hard to mistake that dark silhouette on the empty veranda, the edges of his black jacket set starkly against the silvery sky.
Leaning languidly against the wall, his attention was entirely fixed on the book in his hands.
He stood with such stoic stillness that he may as well have been made of stone.
He didn’t even flinch at the thud of the Book as I’d dropped it beside him.
I continued my diatribe. “You might’ve said, ‘Hey Farrow’,” I imitated his drawling voice, “just so you know, that hideous book you’re lugging around might start speaking to you in a creepy fucking voice!’”
Casimir finally dragged his eyes from his own book to shoot me a lazy smile from his slouching stance against the wall.
Today his eyes were an ethereal amber color, like liquid honey, though perhaps that was just an effect of the overcast sky.
Amethyst half-moons shadowed the circles beneath his eyes, and I wondered what the hell he’d been doing all night, whether he’d slept at all while I’d been ruminating over everything the Book had revealed.
My bizarre behavior these past few weeks had done little to assuage Gwen’s growing suspicions over what secrets I might be keeping from her.
All evening, she kept shooting me suspicious glances from her perch on the bed.
I couldn’t even blame her, not after I’d so abruptly ditched her in the Labyrinth earlier that afternoon.
I found some comfort in the likelihood that Gwen’s suspicions over my strange behavior had everything to do with Casimir and very little to do with a decades-long power struggle involving a magical Order infiltrating the school.
I quieted my anxieties about being a bad friend by reminding myself that dishonesty was the cost of protecting Gwen from harm.
Knowledge was dangerous, and anyone who learned what the Order was up to might be perceived as a threat.
Casimir gave me a fleeting once-over, appraising me briefly before he fixed his attention back on his book, though not before I caught the twitch of amusement on his lips.
“I take it you’ve had a chance to familiarize yourself with our little sprite?” He smirked.
I glared at him, still irritated that he hadn’t warned me. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t the Book ever tell you its name?” His eyes glinted with mischief.
I shook my head.
“It calls itself the Vrag Kigna. It’s a dead language, but it roughly translates to Sprite of Kign.”
I arched a skeptical brow. “The Sprite of Kign?” I repeated. “You’re telling me that this book is possessed?”
His smile only grew more wicked. “I can’t say for certain, but the rumor is that an ancient spirit has been trapped within the confines of the Book for centuries. Maybe longer.”
I shuddered. “No wonder it’s so… evil.”
Casimir shrugged. “I wouldn’t recommend keeping it under your pillow, at any rate,” he deadpanned.
“Where the hell did you even find it?”
“Who says I found it?” As he traced a finger over the mottled cover, his smile faded. “Trust me, you really don’t want to know.”
“Whatever that means,” I muttered under my breath.
He sighed and gracefully pushed off from the wall. “So,” he said brusquely. “Did you coax the sprite into giving you some answers?”
“Hardly.” I paused as a group of giggling students passed directly behind us, heading toward the grounds. When they’d passed, I asked, “When were you going to tell me you’re a Darkseer?”
Ever since the Book of Erebos had let that little truth slip, I’d been waiting for the opportunity to catch him off guard.
He met my gaze unflinchingly. “I didn’t think it was important.”
“Not important? How can you even say that?” I said. Was he seriously trying to gaslight me? “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” he said carefully. “I merely concealed information that I didn’t deem pertinent to—”
“Pertinent to bother sharing with me?” I said sharply. “This may come as news to you, Wrayburn, but concealment is just a coward’s way of lying.”
He sighed in exasperation. “I gave you the Book, didn’t I? It wasn’t as though I was trying to hide anything,” he argued.
“But you could’ve just told me you were a Darkseer,” I pointed out.
He snorted. “What, and deprive you of the fun of arguing with a magical book?”
This earned him a disapproving scowl. “The least you can do is tell me what it means. I only have a vague understanding of how your power manifests. For instance, where do Darkseers land in the caste system?” I asked, conveniently omitting what the Book had told me about Darkseers.
I shot him a warning look. “And don’t you dare say ‘need to know basis, Farrow.’”
“You’re rambunctious today,” he observed, biting back a laugh. “I don’t know if I should feel scared or aroused.”
“You’ll drop the haughty attitude right now, if you know what’s good for you,” I snapped.
Ignoring my warning, Casimir gave an exaggerated shake of his head and said, “I don’t know if I can handle Feisty Farrow this early in the day.”
“Will you please shut up?” I begged. “Gods, is it your only mission in life to piss me off?” I retorted, glaring at the object now resting innocently in Casimir’s hands. “You and that creepy book.”
Casimir pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide in an expression of feigned offense. “Shh, it can hear you!”
“I don’t care if it does!” I growled. It wasn’t just the fact that it could talk—although that was fucking weird enough.
I hesitated. “Casimir, it… knew things about me. Things it couldn’t have possibly known.
” Like my dead father’s pet name for me, Little Arrow, and my ability to taste lies, for example.
I recalled, with some trepidation, the Book’s earlier accusation. “Perhaps you ought to ask yourself why you’re drawn to things that only spell trouble.”
None of this seemed to concern Casimir.
“The Book of Erebos contains unknown magic,” he said with a shrug. “It’s revered and feared for its omniscience. But the fact that it spoke to you at all is impressive. The Vrag Kigna commands respect from its reader.” He shot me a dubious glance. “You weren’t rude to the poor sprite, were you?”
“No… not really.” I jutted my chin defensively even as a treacherous heat crept up my neck. I needed no reminders about my temper. Besides, if anything, the stupid sprite had been rude to me.
I eyed Casimir suspiciously. “What about you? Do you find the Book so easy to talk to?”
“Oh,” he gave a low chuckle, “it won’t speak to me.”
To my surprise, he then reached for my bag, hoisting it onto his shoulder where it clunked around noisily, presumably to spare me the burden of carrying it while we spoke.
“Jesus, Farrow.” He grimaced. “What are you carrying in here? Bricks?”
I ignored his attempts to divert the conversation. “Never?”
“Well,” he amended, “it has spoken to me a few times, but only in curses and filthy obscenities. Nothing useful.”
I stared, half-convinced he was joking, but one glance at his face told me he was entirely in earnest. I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face, and I giggled in spite of myself. My attempts to control my laughter failed entirely.
“Are you telling me that the sprite harasses you?” I giggled.
He frowned at my amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s of no use to me, so I wondered if it might be more inclined to talk to someone like you.”
“Someone like me? What, you mean a mortal? Or a girl?” I snorted.
In lieu of a reply, he gave a noncommittal shrug.
Then, thinking back to the moment I’d first heard the Book’s voice in the library, another question occurred to me.
“Casimir, when I opened the Book in the Labyrinth, no one else could hear it. Do you know why that might be?”
He shrugged again. “Its magic is attuned to the reader. I did warn you to open it when you were alone,” he observed.
“Where did you get it?” I hazarded a guess. “In Ethervale?”
“Of course not,” he replied smoothly, but not before I noted the way the corner of his mouth twitched in discomfort. I knew him well enough by now to identify the smallest changes in his expression that hinted at evasion.
“Really?”
“It doesn’t matter where I got it, Farrow,” he replied, sounding irritated.
“Speaking of…” I went on, “the Book told me a little about Ethervale.” This was, strictly speaking, a lie. But it was a lie I hoped might persuade Casimir to reveal secrets I was burning to learn. “Aren’t the Drekavac worried that someone might accidentally sail into Ethervale’s territory?”
Based on the way his eyes narrowed, Casimir saw through my not-so-sly attempt to needle out the magical isle’s location, but he answered nonetheless.
“You’d be hard pressed to trespass on Ethervale territory by accident,” he said. “There are bloodwards and enchantments in place to conceal it from any curious seafarers, not to mention it’s nearly impossible to reach by land.”
“Nearly impossible?” I repeated, snagging onto the underlying implication.
Rolling his eyes at my eagerness, he explained, “The only way to access Ethervale by land is through the Lacunae Caves, and you know the stories as well as I do. The caves are deadly. Still, I suppose they might be preferable to bracing the tumultuous seas off the coast.”
My eyes went wide. “The Lacunae Caves lead to Ethervale?”
“I would seriously advise against whatever plots that devious mind of yours might be hatching,” he said with a frown, before turning to gaze into the dense canopy of the forest. The dark trees stretched like a shroud along the edge of the campus toward the cliffs.
With a sigh, he said, “Why do I feel that even the smallest slice of knowledge is dangerous in your hands?”