Chapter 17
After snatching a glass of blood-red wine from a tray, I followed Casimir out of the veranda, down a narrow passageway that led to a cozy mahogany study. The room was unfortunately already occupied by a group of stoned-looking Ouverham boys sharing a pipe filled with some strong-smelling herb.
“Out,” Casimir commanded as soon as we entered.
All five of them froze, gazes fixed warily on Casimir, taking in his severe expression, the promise of violence brewing just beneath the surface.
Without further prompting, they gathered up their paraphernalia and dispersed with mumbled apologies.
I fought the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth and plopped down onto a large tan settee positioned directly before a small library replete with beautifully bound leather books.
Beneath the settee lay a soft, snowy-white rug so fine that I wondered grimly about the poor beast whose life was sacrificed in exchange for its lovely pelt.
“You’re in a mood,” I observed.
The cloying scent of smoke from the pipe still lingered in the air between us. Casimir remained standing, glowering around the study.
“Are you still moping about Monty?” I asked, annoyed. If anyone should be angry about Monty, it was me.
His expression was stony. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” I replied too quickly.
“You can’t lie to me, Farrow,” he warned. “I saw the look on your face.”
I averted my gaze, refusing to give him the chance to apprehend the truth. Monty’s taunting words still pounded like a relentless hammer against my skull. But Casimir didn’t push; he just waited with that infuriatingly patient expression.
I set my untouched glass of wine on the table and sighed. “Fine! He invited me to come up to his estate this summer. He wanted me to go sailing on his stupid yacht.”
Casimir waited for the rest, his body still.
I hesitated. “He… he said that no one would have to know. I—” My throat constricted, cutting off the rest of the sentence, but the expression on Casimir’s face told me he understood the gist. Face flaming with shame, I turned away.
You’ll open your legs for Sinclair, but not for me?
It could be our little secret.
Casimir walked over to the desk and procured a half-empty bottle of expensive-looking scotch from a drawer. He poured two generous measures of the amber liquid and handed one to me. I tossed it back, shuddering at the bitter taste.
“He caught August and me together once,” I explained. “I didn’t realize he was—thought he was harmless—” I rambled. “Anyway, you know the rest. He…grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. And then you showed up.”
Casimir said nothing but continued to gaze at me with cold fire in his eyes. Fumbling in his jacket, he withdrew his gold case to light a cigarette, and then paused, as if suddenly remembering his promise. Guiltily, he tucked the cigarette behind his ear.
“So, what you’re telling me is that I should have broken his fucking hand after all,” he said casually.
I winced at the violence in his words. “That won’t be necessary,” I replied coolly. Then, to change the subject more than anything else, I added, “Are you going to show me what you stole from Bryce’s safe?”
At that, Casimir’s eyes brightened. He offered me a sly smile as he drew a heavy silver chain from his pocket.
It was a necklace made of coiling, interlocking chains set in shimmering silver.
Together, the diamond end clasps formed the head and tail of a viper with gleaming emerald eyes.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, even to someone like me, who had never laid eyes on something so fine and otherworldly.
An exquisite necklace to be worn by someone elegant.
“Holy hell,” I murmured, standing up to examine it more closely. “Won’t Bryce’s parents notice it’s missing?” It must’ve been worth thousands.
Casimir grinned at my stunned expression. “The diamonds are the least valuable thing about it,” he explained. “This necklace is enchanted with a rare and valuable sort of magic.”
I shot him a curious glance. “If it contains magical properties, then how did Bryce’s family come to own it?”
He folded his arms over his chest and studied me for a moment, as if considering how best to answer. “Did the book tell you about the emissaries to the Order?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It only told me about the rebellion and how the members of the Order were punished and exiled,” I said, and I could’ve sworn I saw Casimir’s left arm twitch at the mention of it.
He nodded, still pensive. “Yes, the Drekavac rebels who dared to invoke forbidden bloodmagic in their attempt to overthrow the council were punished and exiled. Some sought refuge here, on the Isle of Lorn, others dispersed to Canada.”
I thought I knew where this was going.
He went on, “A few of the more… well-connected families in Ouverham helped them reside in relative secrecy. For a price, of course.” He rolled his eyes.
“Devereaux’s family already held ancestral lands on the island, but the others weren’t as lucky.
In exchange for safeguarding their valuables, the Order provided the mortal emissaries certain…
favors. Gold. Enchanted wine. And of course, protection against glamours.
” He directed his chin toward the necklace in my hands.
“Wait,” I said, putting the pieces together. “Are you saying Bryce’s parents or grandparents were emissaries?” It would explain how they’d come to possess such a necklace.
Casimir shrugged. “Possibly. If they were, their identities were kept secret.” He stepped closer to take the necklace from my hands and hold it up to the light. The emerald eyes gleamed menacingly. “Turn around,” he ordered, still holding out the necklace.
“Excuse me?” A moment later, I realized his intent. “No way! I’m not putting that on! It’s bad enough that you stole it. What if Bryce catches me wearing it?”
His lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Bryce doesn’t even know about it,” he argued.
“Can’t you just put it back?” I asked, a note of desperation betraying me.
He spoke calmly, as if addressing a very petulant child. “You’re not yet capable of resisting glamours, so you’ll need to wear this for protection in the meantime.”
“Is that why you stole it?” I gasped, retreating backward so quickly I nearly stumbled over an ottoman. Barring the fact that it was stolen, those glimmering diamonds emanated a quiet, unknown hum of magic that had me terrified to let the cold metal touch my skin.
“Farrow,” Casimir groaned, exasperation lacing his voice. “Do you have to always be so stubborn?”
“Don’t,” I raised my hands as if preparing to shove him back.
Undeterred, he continued his approach, and my breath caught as my back pressed up against the wall. I was trapped.
“Will you please stop being impossible for five seconds?” he growled, still holding the necklace aloft. He was close enough that his breath ghosted across my cheek.
I shut my eyes, my body going rigid, but just as the cold silver made contact with my skin, realization struck me. Casimir hadn’t stolen this necklace for our mission. He’d only stolen it to protect me. Why? My eyes blazed open to meet his, and he hesitated, his face mere inches away—
The door swung open with a bang to reveal August, gray-faced and tired, his expression furious.
Casimir’s gaze hardened. The necklace had vanished, probably into the pocket of his jacket.
August’s gaze darted between the two of us, noting with narrowed eyes our closeness, my position against the wall, as the door clicked shut behind him. Reluctantly, Casimir stepped back.
“I need to speak with Arden,” August announced. “Alone.”
I bristled, but Casimir said coolly, “I’m curious to hear whatever it is you have to say to Arden.” He cut me a wry smile. “That is, as long as it’s alright with her,” he added with a wink.
I tried to hide my astonishment, both at August’s sudden appearance and at the speed with which Casimir slid that sly, arrogant mask into place. As if August’s intrusion was entirely unremarkable.
August’s hands formed into tight fists at his sides, his dark eyes simmering.
I felt a sickening clench in my gut. He looked even worse than when I’d seen him in class.
His bones seemed to jut out from his cheeks like blades sharpened from weeks of deprivation, his skin so pale it was nearly translucent.
What the hell was Devereaux doing to him?
“Say what you need to say, and then leave me alone, August.” I was relieved that my voice did not waver in the slightest.
August did not so much as inch from his position in front of the door, as though he wanted to keep as much distance as possible between himself and Casimir. Whether that was because he was afraid of Casimir or uncomfortable seeing me, I couldn’t say. His dark eyes were wholly fixed on me.
“I’ve come to tell you that it isn’t safe for you here. At Ouverham. You need to leave as soon as possible. There are things you don’t understand—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I interrupted him.
August turned away from me then, focusing his attention on Casimir. “If you actually cared about her, you would get her out of here as soon as possible. She shouldn’t be anywhere near the Order, and you know it.”
Fury flashed briefly over Casimir’s features before he restrained his expression. With a languid sigh, he replied in a drawling tone, “You still haven’t told us what this danger is. I assume it’s something other than Devereaux and his terrifying lackeys.”
“I don’t care how you do it,” August snapped, still addressing Casimir. “If you have to use your manipulative bullshit powers, or if you need to carry her out. But you need to get her out of here.”