Chapter 28
It felt strange to be wandering the halls of the Labyrinth after hours.
Criminal, even. Apart from the occasional torchlight, the endless rows of books stretched out in almost complete darkness as we made our way toward the entrance to the underground crypt.
Devoid of the comforting rustle of pages being turned or the muffled whispers of students, the library’s usually cheerful atmosphere was transformed into something foreign and unnatural.
I half-expected some overzealous hall monitor to jump out from behind one of the shelves and accuse us of breaking and entering, but none did.
I glanced at Casimir walking in front of me, trying to determine from the slope of his shoulders whether he too shared my unease, but he was apparently unbothered by the eerie silence.
After descending a narrow spiral staircase at the east end of the library, we found ourselves at the foot of a low-ceilinged passageway, at the end of which stood a large iron door.
Compared to the rest of the Labyrinth, this place felt neglected, as if the caretakers had all but forgotten its existence.
“This is it,” he whispered.
I didn’t dare ask how and when Casimir had stolen the keys to the crypt. He tried to insert several in the lock before he found the match. At last, one clicked, and the door wrenched open with a metallic screech that made both of us cringe.
We stepped into sepulchral darkness. The damp, stale air, combined with the eerie feeling of having trespassed upon a place where we did not belong, made my skin crawl.
The crypt was downright creepy. I was about to suggest we leave to search for a torch when Casimir withdrew a lighter from his pocket and lit an old oil sconce on the wall.
The soft glow of lamplight revealed the interior of the crypt.
Apart from several sinister-looking, chipped gargoyles, the interior mostly consisted of a tower of yellowing papers, old filing cabinets, and haphazardly stacked boxes. A small coffin lay against a stone wall. Casimir whistled as he stepped around a box of ancient-looking scrolls.
“This is going to be impossible,” I groaned. For once, Casimir did not disagree with me.
“You take that side, I’ll start over here,” he instructed.
After a fruitless half hour of searching through the mess, I began to doubt the Book’s clue. Even if there was a magical object hidden amongst this disorder, how were we supposed to know what it looked like?
“Casimir, how exactly do you identify a magical object from an ordinary one?” I called out.
“Enchanted objects contain remnants of magic,” he explained. “Like with the Book of Erebos. I’d wager you felt its magic the moment you touched it.”
I considered this. It was true, the first time I’d held the Book—truly felt the weight of it in my palms—an icy chill had gathered over my skin, as if, all at once, my body had grasped what my mind could not; that the Book was embedded with dangerous magic.
To summarize it, Casimir expected me to determine whether I’d come across an enchanted object purely based on evil vibes.
I heaved a heavy sigh and then resumed my search.
One box held a collection of unlabeled bones.
Grimacing in disgust, I forced myself to examine each one but found no traces of magic.
Nothing in the crypt was alphabetically organized, or indeed, sorted by any kind of rational system, and the longer we remained, the more uneasy I became.
I was rummaging through a box of funeral masks and taxidermied pigeons when—
I stifled a gasp as the palm of my hand caught on the edge of something sharp—a piece of stained-glass—wincing as the cut smarted. I did my best to stem the flow of blood by wrapping my fist in a handkerchief.
“Everything okay over there?” Casimir called out.
“All good,” I answered, grimacing down at my injury.
A moment later, he spoke again. “Farrow, come over here.”
“Why?” I whined.
No response.
Resignedly, I abandoned my box and walked over to the corner of the crypt Casimir was now occupying.
He didn’t look up as he instructed, “Remind me again, what did the riddle say?”
I huffed impatiently, but obliged, reciting the riddle from memory while Casimir continued staring at a shelf full of dusty old tomes.
His expression grew pensive. “There’s one part that I don’t understand.”
“Just one part?” I replied drolly.
“Yes,” he said seriously. “The implication is that this object—whatever it is—awaits the seeker’s gift…
Which, I’m guessing means you, given your ability to taste lies, and the fact that you’re currently seeking this object.
But the line, ‘Imbibe your poison, this ancestral haunting,’ strikes me as strange. ”
I fought to conceal my surprise. Casimir thought the riddle was referring to my ability to taste lies? “You believe me now?” I asked.
“I’ve tasted lies in your memories,” he admitted, his lips twisting in disgust. “I don’t know how you stand it, honestly.”
My lips pressed into a hard line, cursing myself for na?vely hoping he’d decided to trust me after all.
He shook his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “The part about an ‘ancestral haunting’ could imply many things. The weight of a generational curse, family secrets, bad blood—” Abruptly, he stopped speaking as his gaze fell to my injured hand. “What the hell is that?”
“Oh, I cut myself on a piece of glass earlier—”
“Not that.” His face had gone pale. “What’s that on your arm?”
Instinctively, I clapped my hand over the blistering, red “X,” knowing it was too late to conceal it from Casimir. Shit. In my haste and excitement to unravel the Book’s riddle, I’d forgotten to make sure the rune was covered. And now Casimir would discover my bargain with the Bloodweaver.
“It’s nothing,” I said, trying to pull my sleeve over the brand, but Casimir was too quick. Seizing my wrist, he yanked it toward him and inspected the rune burned into my arm, his eyes wide with horror.
“What the fuck did you do?” he demanded.
I struggled against his grasp, but he held my arm firmly in place. I didn’t need to glance down to know what he saw. Raw, angry flesh. The lingering irritation from bloodmagic made it resemble mottled snakeskin, just like the eye on Casimir’s wrist.
“You made a bloodbargain,” he said through clenched teeth. It wasn’t a question. “Who?”
My lips opened and then closed, knowing that the answer would only horrify him more. I lowered my gaze before muttering the truth. “Evren.”
Casimir closed his eyes, as though trying to suppress the violence of his own reaction. He released his punishing grip on my arm, moving to clench his fists at his sides.
“I don’t need to tell you what that rune symbolizes,” he said, so softly that I might’ve mistaken his tone for gentleness rather than quiet fury.
I glanced down at the angry pink brand. “It’s the mark of a slave,” I echoed, recalling the first time I’d seen the rune on August’s wrist the night of Bryce’s party.
It was somehow worse seeing the mark through Casimir’s eyes.
Powerless. A slave. Bound to Evren. Swallowing my unease, I made a dark stab at humor.
“Well, it’s a good thing we aren’t in Ethervale. ”
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say.
“Leave it to you not to take this seriously,” Casimir muttered, his expression furious. “Tell me the exact terms on which you made this bargain.”
“Evren attacked me in the infirmary,” I began, more than a little defensively. “He knows we’re trying to interfere in the ritual, and was told to remove me as an obstacle.” I grimaced.
“Devereaux sent him,” Casimir ground out.
I nodded. “He was tasked with eliminating me as an obstacle. I persuaded him against that.”
Casimir was struggling to restrain outward signs of anger. “And how did you manage that?” he asked.
“I proposed that we make a deal instead.” I fidgeted nervously and averted my gaze. “I offered to relinquish whatever immunity I have against his glamours to restore his ability to cause me pain.”
At this, Casimir’s eyes flared dangerously.
I rushed on, “I knew that night in the Tusk had been a major blow to his ego, so I appealed to his vanity, and it worked.”
He still said nothing but dropped his gaze to my arm, his mouth tight.
I took a deep breath to steady myself. “When I made the vow, I used the name ‘Arden Farrow,’ instead of ‘Arden Farrow-Flynch.’”
Casimir’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Evren doesn’t know my true name,” I reiterated.
“He even tested his glamour on me to make sure the bargain held—of course, nothing happened.” At the look of confusion on Casimir’s face, I explained, “I gave him a convincing performance.” To demonstrate, I rolled my eyes back in my head as though in the throes of agony.
Casimir growled a string of curses. The initial shock of seeing the rune had burned off, leaving pure, undiluted fury in its wake.
“You cannot be this stupid,” he spat. “You really think Evren will honor his side of the bargain once he finds out that you’ve tricked him?
” Something dangerous ignited in his expression.
“Do you think he will be merciful then?”
I winced, imagining Evren’s rage should he learn about my double-dealing.
His threat echoed in my mind, Why…when there are so many other ways I can make you hurt?
I tried not to think of all the methods he might employ to torture me without glamours.
To punish me for my deceit. Forcing myself to meet Casimir’s tempestuous gaze, I set my jaw stubbornly.
“I’ll make sure he never finds out.”
“What did the Bloodweaver promise you in return for this foolishness?”
“He promised to spare my life.”
Casimir’s jaw clenched in fury, but for once, he was at a loss for words. “For how long?”
I hesitated. “I… don’t know.”
Bloodbargains were permanent, as far as I understood. As long as Evren never realized the bargain we made was only partially sealed, he would abide by its terms.