Chapter 20
Iawoke in darkness. Night cloaked the loft like a black curtain, the interior lit only by a thin strip of string lights along the far side of the kitchen wall.
Stealthy as a cat, I crept down the ladder to the main floor, where Casimir lay motionless on the couch, one arm flung gracefully above his head.
By now, he’d seen me unconscious several times, but this was the first time I’d ever seen him so vulnerable.
My eyes darted to the kitchen, where remnants of celery, kale, and other greens lay strewn across the marble countertop.
Something in my chest surged at the sight of it, at the evidence of his efforts to help me recover from the poison.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of me like that.
He looked so at peace, his face so unmarred by worry, that I was unable to do anything but stare at him for several moments.
The lambent glow from a kitchen lamp cast half of his face in shadow, accentuating his dark lashes.
My eyes traced his supple lips, the smooth plane of his nose, and the curls that fell all around him in a crown of delicate disarray.
This was my chance. As quietly as I could, I unsheathed the dagger Casimir had left lying on a side table, my eyes glued to his face, scanning for any signs of disturbance.
He remained as peaceful and unconscious as ever.
The onyx blade had serrated teeth and felt surprisingly light beneath my fingers.
One lock of hair was all I needed. He’ll never even notice it’s gone, I thought. Lifting a single curl with a feather-light touch, I lowered the blade—
Hard fingers seized my wrist and abruptly twisted me around.
Yelping in surprise, I lost my footing and fell backwards, landing hard against Casimir’s chest as my dagger clattered to the floor.
He grunted at the impact of my elbow between his ribs, but the pain did not stop him from snaking a hand around my throat, the other clasped around both wrists, caging me against his chest. I gasped, straining against his punishing hold.
“Do you mean to slit my throat while I sleep, Farrow?” he growled into my ear.
“N-no!” I rasped. The shock of being caught, in tandem with the sudden proximity to Casimir—he’d pulled me on top of him—had my blood pounding in my ears.
We were pressed so close he could probably feel my heart thundering wildly beneath my ribs.
Shit, this was going to be hard to explain.
I couldn’t think properly with the feel of his body pressed against mine, his heat blazing into my skin at each point of contact.
Sweat broke out along my arms and chest as I squinted into the darkness.
“Of all the ways you could’ve repaid me,” he said, his voice rough in my ear. “But this? Even for you, Farrow—”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you!” I interrupted breathlessly. “The Book of Erebos asked me for a lock of your hair. It said it wouldn’t help me unless I delivered it.”
He arched his brow. “So you meant to steal it while I slept?”
Abruptly, he shoved me off of him. I staggered back to standing, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process.
He sat up and leaned against the cushions, his eyes narrowing on my exposed shoulder where the strap of my dress had slipped down.
In the aftermath, my loud, uneven breaths filled the room, and a dull heat crept up my neck.
I hastily tugged the strap back into place, but my heart continued to race.
Under Casimir’s unwavering glare, I felt the first tendrils of fear trailing up my spine. I was alone with the Darkseer. He could end me, right here, right now. And why wouldn’t he, if he truly believed I’d meant to kill him in his sleep?
After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, Casimir spoke. “Why not just ask me? I would’ve given you my hair willingly.”
I didn’t see the point in lying. “I thought you’d say no,” I said flatly. “Or make me trade you for it.”
Casimir gave a heavy sigh and held out his hand.
I eyed his open palm warily.
He rolled his eyes at my suspicion. “The dagger, Farrow.”
Still, I didn’t move. “Why do you want it?”
Casimir shot me an exasperated look. “To cut your throat, of course,” he deadpanned.
Scowling, I grabbed the knife off the floor and handed it to him. I watched with raised brows as he lifted the blade to his head and sheared off a lock of hair before offering it to me.
“Right,” I said, clearing my throat as I tucked the lock of hair into my fist.
Casimir nodded and leaned back into the sofa, glancing over at me expectantly.
“Need something else?” he deadpanned.
“Nope, I’m all good,” I said quickly and escaped back up the ladder, not wanting to suffer Casimir’s ire for another moment.
Indigo crept over the gloaming darkness outside the windows as dawn approached, staining the fir trees a deep ocean blue.
With a jolt, I recalled it was Monday. Morning lectures would start in less than four hours.
Normally, I would’ve tried to catch a few more hours of sleep, but my mind was wide awake, restlessly rifling through everything that had happened over the past week, and mulling over unanswered questions.
Like, what would happen to August if we couldn’t figure out how to stop the ritual?
What if the Order found the Keeper’s Heir first?
What if Devereaux killed the Heir before we could glean the council’s secret?
What was the nature of the blood ritual itself?
How did bloodmagic work, and what made it so unstable?
And who the hell was Isolde? A creeping suspicion told me she was probably Casimir’s ex-lover.
My stomach twisted into knots at the thought.
Perhaps most troubling of all were the Book’s snide comments about my father.
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…”
“Malcolm guarded his secrets fiercely, too.”
When I could no longer repress my curiosity, I hissed into the dark room, “Casimir? Are you awake?”
“No,” came his gruff reply.
“We need to talk. I still have questions.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“It is tomorrow,” I pointed out.
His frustrated groan was muffled. “Has anyone ever told you you’re insufferably persistent?”
I snorted. “Did you or did you not make a veilbound bargain promising to help me stop the Order? If so, I’m going to need more information.”
“I don’t remember any stipulation in our agreement that said I was obliged to answer fifty gods’ damned questions at six in the morning.”
In retaliation, I tossed a pillow down at his head. It missed, but just barely, and Casimir hissed in irritation.
“In the interest of saving my head from further projectiles,” he said resignedly, “I will answer two questions, and then you will stop badgering me.”
“Fine.” I hid my smirk as I clambered out of bed and back down the ladder.
I sank into an armchair across from the sofa and fixed Casimir with an intense look.
“Tell me how bloodmagic works. How is it different from softmagic or glamours? And if Nymara is the only one allowed to use it, how does Devereaux plan to enact it during the ritual?”
“That’s three questions,” he observed wryly, but answered nevertheless.
“First, you should know that, like all Daemons, Nymara’s powers are bestowed by the goddess Morana and thus influenced by the celestial movements.
All of us—Daemons and morals alike—are marked by our beginnings and our ends.
Life and death have always held significance in Ethervale, and blood is often the price that the magic demands.
Nymara has proven herself more than willing to pull from that well of power.
She’s willing to kill for it.” He gave a hollow laugh.
“It’s why she’s our Queen. She’s ruthless. ”
I remembered that Nymara had killed her own husband, Caladryn, to seize the throne for herself.
“The Book said that during the blood ritual each of the participants must consume the blood to derive the power bestowed by Morana,” I quoted.
“Does that mean—are they going to kill people in order to harness this forbidden magic?”
The unspoken question hung in the air between us.
Casimir was silent for a moment. “If August has volunteered to act as a donor, that means he’s bound to uphold his promise. Bloodbargains are permanently binding.”
“That’s not an answer,” I shot back.
“Honestly? I don’t know Farrow. The only bloodmagic ritual I participated in was under… unusual circumstances.”
“Meaning?”
“I was drugged,” he murmured, so softly I could barely make out the words. “I don’t remember the details. But the taste of human blood is difficult to forget.”
Despite the shadows gathering around his face, the light streaming in through the windows was enough to see the hatred burning behind his eyes.
I shuddered to imagine what he’d endured as a child.
His parents, being ambitious courtiers, had forced him to experiment with bloodmagic in the hopes of amplifying his Darkseer powers.
And what about the woman whose name August had invoked last night, the one whose mysteriously tragic fate clearly haunted him?
“Unless you want her to end up like Isolde.”
Curiosity blazed within me, and the next question slipped out before I could consider the consequences of asking it. “Casimir, who is Isolde?”
He stiffened. “I’ve answered enough of your questions, Farrow. Now leave me alone.” He turned away to face the cushions.
“I know Evren courted her—”
“Enough, Farrow!”
I blinked, taken aback by the hostility in his voice.
“Fine,” I muttered, my thoughts shifting to the eye-shaped brand on Casimir’s bicep.
It was so different from the mark on my thigh, which looked more a tattoo.
I didn’t need to ask if it had hurt when he was branded—when the acrid, sickly sweet smell of his own searing flesh had filled his nostrils, lingering with the others.
The excruciating pain would have only amplified over the next few days, the wound oozing with fluid and plasma as the dead skin scarred and hardened.
What had he given in exchange for Isolde’s life?
Maybe, given the choice between being branded compared with the agony of losing someone he loved, he’d chosen wisely.
After a moment, I spoke again. “What did you discuss with Devereaux on the veranda at Bryce’s party?”
Casimir didn’t answer for several moments. Finally, he turned back around to face me. “Devereaux wants me as his ally. He offered me a place in the bloodrite if I agreed to hand over the Book.”
“He what?” I sat up and gaped at him in disbelief.
Casimir was being offered a place in the ritual—the opportunity to restore his powers by drinking August’s blood? The queasiness that had plagued me the previous day suddenly returned with unflinching intensity. No. Casimir couldn’t—he wouldn’t—
“Zhara,” I breathed. My blood chilled in my veins as the realization washed over me. “She must’ve told Devereaux we had the Book because of what I’d told her at the party.”
Casimir’s expression twisted into a grimace, but he nodded. “Yes. He was displeased, as you might imagine.”
“Are you saying that the Book of Erebos belongs to Devereaux?”
“Technically, the Book belongs to no one,” he corrected.
“So, you lied when I asked you if it came from Ethervale.”
“No, not technically. The Book was bound in Ethervale, but I didn’t obtain it there.” The ghost of a smirk traced his lips. “I stole it from Devereaux’s chateau.”
I bit back a growl of frustration. “Fine, you didn’t lie, but you purposely misled me. That’s just as bad!”
“Look, it doesn’t matter!” he cried, throwing up his hands and standing to flick on a nearby lamp. Warm light bathed his golden skin, illuminating his severe expression. “I refused his offer outright.”
My blood went cold. “You refused? Aren’t you worried Devereaux will retaliate?”
He scoffed, shooting me an all too familiar arrogant smirk. “Let him try. The rite cannot take place without the Book of Erebos.”
“What if Devereaux manages to steal back the Book before the full moon?” At the puzzled look on his face, I clarified, “Will you participate in the ritual? Don’t tell me the prospect of getting your powers back isn’t a tempting offer.”
Was it so unreasonable to wonder whether Devereaux’s offer hadn’t wavered his iron resolve, if only for a moment?
His eyes flashed dangerously. “As debased as I may seem to you, Farrow, I’m not exactly keen on the idea of drinking your ex-lover’s blood if it means being in Devereaux’s debt.”
I closed my eyes as if to shut out his corrosive words. “How noble of you,” I fired back.
At that, he stalked over to me, his furious gaze driving icy daggers into my skin.
“The fact that you could even think—” He ground his jaw. “After everything that’s happened—”
I cut him off with a derisive snort. “You mean, after you tricked me into making a veilbound bargain and left me with this tattoo?” I raised the hem of my dress to display the tattoo bearing his name.
A shadow darkened his expression, and I could have sworn the temperature inside the loft dropped several degrees.
But then his anger deflated, his shoulders softening. “We want the same thing, Farrow. You said so yourself.”
It was true. We wanted the same thing, and yet… He’d concealed so many secrets, told so many lies by omission. First, by concealing his familiarity with the Order; second, by neglecting to inform me that he was a Daemon and a Darkseer; and third, by refusing to tell me about Isolde.
Only last night, Casimir had held me on the veranda and kissed me beneath the faerie lights.
I recalled the way his lips curved against mine, like a match on the tinder of my undoing.
How his touch had ignited my skin, burning a wildfire in my blood.
Then, my dawning horror at my body’s reaction, at just how badly I wanted to succumb to the flames.
But now, as we glared at one another across his sun-crested living room, I wondered how all that fire had cooled into ice-cold resentment in the span of just one conversation?
Living in Casimir’s orbit was like trying to outrun wildfire; his chaos consumed everything in his wake, and I had already allowed him to devour too much of my attention.
Already, he consumed my waking thoughts, my anxieties and fears, my dreams and nightmares. I needed to tread carefully, else I risked being swallowed whole.