Chapter 29
When I returned to my dormitory in the early hours of the morning, my face still flushed from kissing Casimir between the stacks, I found a note waiting for me.
If you value your life, don’t go to the Jewel Ball on Sunday. For once, please just listen to me.
The message wasn’t signed, but it didn’t matter.
I’d recognized August’s looping hand at once.
I crushed the note between my fingers as wave after wave of anger and frustration crashed over me.
Once again, August was trying to control me, using veiled threats to deter me from stopping the ritual.
Treating me like a child, as if I couldn’t handle myself.
How dare he order me around! He held no claim on me anymore, and he’d learn that soon enough.
As I crawled into bed and closed my eyes, I tried to prevent my thoughts from trespassing into dangerous territory, but the feeling of Casimir’s lips on mine in the dark corridor of the Labyrinth was seared into my flesh like a brand.
We had kissed not once, but twice in the course of the past two days.
Unfortunately, as one of those incidents had occurred hours prior to my concussion, I couldn’t blame my lapse in judgment on a head injury.
But then Casimir had agreed to attend the Jewel Ball with me.
Even if we were only attending as friends—as allies—the thought had my stomach swooping with nerves.
The idea of walking into a ballroom on the Darkseer’s arm was at once exhilarating and terrifying—especially considering that, as of tonight, things between him and me were no longer strictly professional.
I showed Casimir the note from August the next morning in the courtyard outside of Ash Hall. He was waiting on one of the wooden benches with two cups of coffee in hand.
I’d given up on concealing the dark circles beneath my eyes; in contrast, Casimir looked sharper than ever, despite the early hour.
He frowned as he read the note. “Is this all?”
“You mean, did I forget to disclose an additional explanatory letter that would actually be helpful? No,” I retorted with a roll of my eyes.
Casimir ignored the sarcastic remark and drained the last of his coffee. “Did you write back?” he inquired.
“Seeing as it’s seven in the morning, I don’t see when I’d have had the time.”
Casimir offered me a surreptitious smile. “I’ve been up for hours. Couldn’t sleep.”
My cheeks heated at the implication, but I evaded further comment.
Casimir continued, “In any case, I have a hunch that the Heir may be in attendance at the ball Sunday night. It might be wise for us to heed Sinclair’s warning, considering your current… vulnerabilities.”
My head snapped around to glare at him. “No way,” I seethed. “We already agreed! We’re going to the ball to find the Heir and do whatever it takes to stop the ritual. You’re not doing this without me.”
I was determined to see this through, no matter what.
Casimir gave an exasperated sigh and met my gaze with equal ferocity.
“Do you need me to remind you what recent event makes your attendance that much more dangerous?” he asked.
“The second Evren discovers you’ve tricked him in this bargain, he’ll be out for blood.
He might even fancy the idea of torturing you into making a new bargain, only next time, he’ll be sure to see to it that the terms are completely binding.
” His eyes were devoured by darkness as he leaned in toward me.
“You would be his slave, Farrow, and there would be little I could do to stop it.”
I couldn’t help the shiver that skittered along my spine. The idea of becoming Evren’s slave was simply unthinkable. I closed my mind to the thought, refusing to let fear cloud my judgment. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for an argument.
“He won’t find out,” I insisted. “No one apart from you and I have any idea—”
“There are multiple ways he might discover it,” Casimir interrupted, his tone scathing. “I’ve already told you that because you spilled your blood to seal the bargain, you may be bound by magic to uphold your end of it, at least in part.”
“Wait a moment. How do you know that the Heir will be in attendance?” I asked.
His eyes were fixed on the ground as he replied, “I have my ways.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have a friend who dabbles in catopromancy.”
I gaped at him. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“Catopromancy, also sometimes called scrying, is the practice of divining the future by gazing into a mirror. Ancient Roman priests known as specularii often practiced it, as did the Ancient Egyptians,” he explained. “Strictly speaking, scrying of any sort is forbidden in Ethervale.”
“Who is this friend, exactly, and why haven’t you mentioned them before?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose that.”
“How could you not tell me you have a-a spy?” I said indignantly. “What happened to ‘no more secrets’?”
His answering shrug was full of more nonchalance than my temper could abide, but he replied sternly, “I can’t reveal my source. It would compromise their cover.”
I gaped at him, unable to find the words to aptly encompass my tumultuous feelings.
“Did this person—your friend—happen to see the Heir? Maybe they could tell us what she looks like?”
Casimir shook his head. “Scrying doesn’t work like that. You can’t pick and choose glimpses of the future.”
I snorted, still utterly irritated that he had concealed this secret from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Casimir’s fingers twitch toward the pocket of his jacket, the one that held his gold cigarette case.
“I’m surprised you actually stuck to your promise,” I said, gesturing toward his pocket. “It would be a first,” I added, a bit more harshly than I’d intended.
Casimir frowned. “Fuck off, Farrow, this is not the first time I’ve upheld a promise,” he said, but the words held no venom.
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
“Anything I haven’t shared with you is only out of necessity. This may come as a shock to you, but you’re not the only person I’m trying to keep alive.”
I stared at him, momentarily taken aback by his declaration, before the familiar pulse of anger pushed past my senses.
“Look, I can accept that you have your secret Scryers. You don’t have to tell me everything.
I can handle that. But you refuse to admit that I might actually be helpful.
At the ball, for instance, I can distract the Order while you look for the Heir.
Evren still believes he can torture me. If he’s expecting a show, I can give it to him.
It might be our last opportunity to find her before they do. ”
“I don’t like your idea of a plan,” he growled. “Not one bit.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Whether or not you like it hardly matters.”
A tense silence followed this exchange. At last, Casimir gave a curt nod, though a glimmer of anger still gleamed behind his stony expression.
“Can I ask you something?” I said. “How does Devereaux know about the Book of Erebos?”
A smirk twisted at the edges of his lips.
“You stole it from Devereaux in the first place, didn’t you?” I guessed.
“Yes.”
I snorted. “Well, that was idiotic of you.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded.
I thought again of the lock of Casimir’s hair I’d tucked inside the Book’s bindings, and how the sprite had giggled and taunted me. My cheeks warmed at the memory, but I banished it with a shake of my head.
Abruptly, the rune on my arm seared painfully. A reminder of my vow to Evren. Will you vow to do all in your power to ensure the Darkseer does not destroy the Book?
“Can I suggest something?” I said tentatively.
Casimir dipped his chin.
“What if we didn’t destroy the Book? I mean, it’s so valuable, truly irreplaceable. I doubt there’s another like it.”
He shot me a quizzical glance, as if sensing the guilt tying knots in my stomach.
Shaking his head, he replied, “It’s too risky. We’ll destroy it Saturday night, and no later.”
I nodded, and the knots twisted tighter.
We sat together for several moments in silence, soaking in the pale morning light and listening to the birds trilling in the surrounding canopy.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” I said after a while. “I can help.”
Casimir sighed. “You’re going to be extremely stubborn about this, aren’t you?”
“I recall someone once telling me that my stubbornness might one day be an asset?” I reminded him.
A small smile bled through Casimir’s irritation. “I believe I also said it might be the death of you. Now I’m wondering if your stubbornness won’t end up killing me, too.”
Later that evening, I followed through on my resolve to conceal the truth as best I could when a sleepy Gwen inquired about my whereabouts the previous night.
If only I had been studying all night instead of sneaking around with Casimir, hunting for hidden ciphers.
I’d also sheepishly confessed that Casimir and I were attending the Jewel Ball together, but amidst Gwen’s screams and squeals of joy, I’m not sure she heard me say that we were only going as friends.
No, allies, I corrected. I inquired about Gwen’s date, and to my surprise, she stifled a shrill giggle that was so distinctly Gwen-ish that my face immediately broke into a grin.
“Well?” I prompted, sitting up on my bed.
“I asked Neha Iyer if she’d consider going to the ball,” she began, blushing furiously. “And she said yes!”
“I’m so happy for you, Gwen!” I gushed.
Gwen beamed. “She writes poetry for the university’s literary journal, you know,” she sighed dreamily.
“And has she written you many love sonnets?” I asked, giving her a knowing smirk.
“Speaking of romance,” she evaded, “are you ever going to tell me what you two were really doing last night?”