Chapter 19 #3
“Right,” I grimaced. “Well, she had a knife at my throat, and I was grasping for something—anything to say to distract or stall her.”
“What did you come up with?”
I hesitated, uncertain as to how Casimir would react.
“I… showed her the tattoo on my leg and threatened her. Said you’d come after her if she harmed me.
Of course, that didn’t work, so I ended up telling her that I’m the only person that the Book of Erebos will speak to,” I explained with a shrug.
“She decided not to kill me and instead forced the wine down my throat.”
Casimir’s appraising eyes slid to meet mine. “Zhara didn’t realize the tattoo was a mark of our bargain?”
I groaned internally, wanting more than anything to avoid rehashing this particular part of the story.
“No, she didn’t,” I began slowly. “She thought it was a mark of ownership, just like Evren.” Gods, why did my face have to burn at this very moment?
“She didn’t believe me, but I… I told her I belonged to the Darkseer. ”
Casimir went still with shock, his gaze still locked onto mine.
Cheeks heating, I rushed on, “I don’t belong to you, obviously.
I just wanted Zhara to think that you might kill her if she hurt me.
” I had to bite down on my cheek to stop myself from rambling.
It occurred to me then to wonder why both Zhara and Evren had believed my tattoo was a mark of ownership, designating me as Casimir’s pet.
Casimir’s gaze drifted to the tattoo, visible in my current repose on the bed, a possessive gleam in his eye.
And then it vanished.
“Right,” he muttered, still with that calm, casual demeanor that made me uneasy. But then he switched back to his usual amused arrogance. “I suppose it’s a good thing Gwen lent you that dress then.”
Time to steer this conversation into less treacherous territory, I thought.
Casimir’s vile concoction was already working wonders; the pounding in my head was ebbing, and I felt sharper, more alert.
He stood and walked to the kitchen to refill my empty glass with water.
When he returned to the loft, he leaned against a wall and watched as I slaked my thirst. Hydration seemed to further clear the cloudy debris from my mind, and as the memories of the party returned, a new and unpleasant sensation knotted its way around my stomach.
“Why is Daemon wine so toxic?” I asked. “I felt like I was on death’s door when I woke up.”
Casimir answered, “The wine was enchanted with the essence of Datura, a flower that causes hallucinations and can induce a state of delirium that lasts hours. The side effects of the toxin can be especially pernicious, though Veronika’s enchantments prevented it from being outright deadly.
” He offered me a conciliatory smile. “She isn’t as sadistic as the others.
Her skills with poison aside, she doesn’t want to kill anyone. Most of the time,” he added wryly.
“But I can’t remember what’s real and what the wine made me hallucinate,” I said, turning slightly pink.
“If you’re referring to the fact that we kissed,” he drawled, flashing me a wicked grin. “That definitely happened.”
I choked on a gulp of water, my cheeks flaming. Recovering my composure, I replied, in as neutral a tone as I could muster, “Does it even count if I barely remember it?”
It was a bluff, of course. Casimir stilled at the implication, his smile faltering as he considered me. I kept my features blank, but I wondered if he didn’t see the hollow lie for what it was.
In retrospect, it had been a cataclysmically stupid idea to kiss Casimir.
Notwithstanding the fact that he was a Darkseer who possessed the ability to invade the recesses of my mind at the merest whim…
he was also dangerous. Possessive. He’d broken Monty’s finger for his drunken transgressions.
Even Devereaux and Evren were wary of him.
And yet… I couldn’t deny the power of that kiss.
It had been the most Earth-shattering experience of my human existence. Nothing else even came close.
Scientists would have to cleave my brain open with an ice pick to make me forget it, and even then, my very blood would still hum with the memory of his lips on mine.
I was immediately wary of the mischievous smirk spreading over his lips. “Well then, what about all the other things you said Friday night? Do they count?” His brows shot up innocently.
My face felt entirely too hot, my palms slick with sweat.
Oh my fucking gods. I could only imagine what I’d said under the influence of that damned poison.
I groaned internally, and in that moment I would have happily died of shame in exchange for the promise that I would never be forced to relive it.
“Casimir,” I began, trying to suppress the note of panic in my tone, “tell me what I said while I was blacked out on Daemon wine. Right now.”
His teeth flashed into a grin. He was clearly enjoying watching me squirm. “Hmm,” he scratched his chin pensively.
Fucking bastard.
“Not much.”
A glimmer of relief surged through me, and then he shrugged.
“Mostly you went on and on about how I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and that you’d love nothing more than to stare into my eyes all day...” He sighed dreamily.
I closed my eyes as a hot wave of humiliation crashed over me.
I thought I’d debased myself before, but nothing—nothing held a candle to this.
This was Dante’s Inferno level low. I’d sunk to the seventh circle of hell, and then dug myself a few miles deeper.
A pathetic noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan escaped my throat as my humiliation reached its peak.
Daemon wine was truly evil.
“You’re lying,” I tried.
“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes positively sparkling with mirth, “I can assure you that I’m not.”
I pressed my face into the pillow, attempting to burrow further into the bed. If I were lucky, the mattress would swallow me whole.
He only laughed harder. “Don’t worry, I got you out of there before you did any real damage to your stellar reputation. No one besides me overheard your inebriated ramblings.”
Well, that was something, I supposed.
“As for the kiss…” he added with a grin. “We can try again when you’ve recovered.”
His suggestion crackled in the air between us. My entire body heated, but my face was—mercifully—still concealed by the pillow. Was he serious? I had to know. I glanced up, jaw agape, to find him still watching me with a lilting smirk, entirely at ease.
Yep. Just like I’d said. Arrogant and conceited.
I groaned audibly this time. “You are not allowed to torture me with this,” I warned.
“I was drunk. I wasn’t in my right mind.
” I would never, ever forgive myself for allegedly professing a deep, if misguided, admiration for him in my staggering delirium, but I could at least stop him from constantly teasing me about it.
He only grinned more impishly. “I’ll do whatever I please, Farrow.”
“If you ever mention this to anyone—”
“You’ll what?” he challenged, his brow arching.
“I’ll—” I grasped for something to threaten him with. “I’ll tell the Dean you’re the one who broke Monty’s finger. Ouverham has little tolerance for violence. You’d be expelled within the week.”
Casimir’s expression was downright mirthful as he leaned in to say, “That’s assuming the little prick would dare tattle on me in the first place.”
Shit. He had a point.
Monty was, if anything, a cowardly prat. He probably feared Casimir’s retribution more than he desired vengeance.
Swallowing my defeat, I redirected the conversation once more. “Did we glean anything useful at Bryce’s party, or did I get poisoned and make a fool of myself for nothing?”
Casimir’s brows shot up. “Excuse me, are you forgetting our heist?” He slipped the silver necklace from his pocket and held it aloft, allowing the rows of embedded diamonds to catch the light.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, how could I forget?” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. His stupid heist. “Glad my humiliation was worth the prize.”
He leveled me with a glare. “If you’d actually wear the necklace, it might be.”
“Oh, I almost forgot!” I gasped, ignoring his snide comment. “Zhara let slip that the Order believes the Heir is a woman.”
He looked momentarily troubled by this information, and then offered me a pensive nod. “Strange…” He yawned. “I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep. Nursing you back to health is exhausting work, as it turns out.”
As I readied myself for sleep, it hit me. In all the chaos of the party and under the influence of the drugged wine, I’d completely forgotten about the lock of hair I was supposed to retrieve for the stupid sprite that lived in the Book.
“Bring me a lock plucked from the Darkseer’s head. Or don’t bother coming back at all.”
For some reason, the idea of outright asking Casimir for a lock of hair bothered me. I imagined his lips twisting into an unbearably smug expression the moment I told him whose hair the Book wanted.
And… what if he refused, or wanted to barter for it? Or worse, force me into another bargain? I turned the dilemma over in my mind until the light slanting through the small windows became awash with ochre tones, signaling the early onset of sunset.
Asking Casimir was too much of a risk, I decided. I’d wait until he dozed off, and then I’d take what I needed.