Chapter 32 #2
“I considered stabbing it with the Umbra Noctis,” he admitted.
“But that idea was fraught with potential disaster. For instance, if the Book managed to strengthen itself with the poisons and curses imbued in the blade. Then I considered tossing it in the ocean, or even burying it. But I think the most obvious solution—” Casimir stood, stoking the fire with a poker as he sent me a conspiratorial smile “—Is to burn it.”
I swallowed hard. “Shall I do the honors?” I offered, praying Casimir would mistake my nervousness for eager anticipation.
“As you like,” he replied, handing me the heavy leather tome.
Slowly, I approached the flames.
Casimir watched, eyes shining, as I tossed the book into the fire. At once, the pages curled beneath the flames, sending sparks shooting into the air. The soft leather darkened to a charcoal black. After a few minutes, all that remained was a pile of ash.
Casimir frowned.
Nervously, I wrung my hands behind my back.
Was that a flash of suspicion lurking in his gaze?
Was he, at this moment, doubting whether the book he’d just watched turn to ash was the Book of Erebos?
Based on my past interactions with the sprite, I could imagine the real Book of Erebos would have screamed the moment its bindings made contact with the flames, sputtering ink as it burned.
I waited, hardly daring to breathe as Casimir continued frowning into the hearth.
His inquisitive eyes found mine. “I admit, I’m surprised it went out without a fight,” he murmured.
I stared back at him, my features carefully blank. “It probably burned too quickly for the sprite to react,” I suggested.
He held my gaze for another heartbeat, and then shrugged.
I sighed in relief, hardly believing my own success. Guilt twisted in my gut as I recalled my last private conversation with the Book:
“I will do everything in my power to keep you—well, not alive, but intact.”
“Go on, girl, I’m listening…”
“On Saturday night, the Darkseer plans to destroy you. I don’t know by what means he intends to do it, but I cannot allow that to happen.”
As if to underscore the point, my bloodbargain seared painfully.
“Oh! But what treachery is this?” the sprite rasped. “Of all the Daemons who might’ve wished upon my ruin…”
“Yes, yes, how horrible for you,” I cut in impatiently. “It’s nothing personal. He just doesn’t want you to fall into the wrong hands. Now, how would one go about destroying a magical book?”
“Mark me well, girl, for I’ll not repeat myself. Only mortal fools do not fear mortality. But for one as immortal as I, ‘that is not dead which can eternal lie.’”
Again, that phrase from H.P. Lovecraft. “That is not dead which can eternal lie.” Did that mean that the Book couldn’t be destroyed?
“Even if you remain a sprite, if your vessel is destroyed, what will become of you?” I asked. And more importantly, what would the Book’s physical destruction mean for my bloodbargain with Evren? Would my heart stop if I failed to save the Book? What horrors might the bloodmagic bring upon my head?
The Book sighed. “I do not wish to depart from this vessel, which I have called home for o’er a century.”
“What do you propose we do, then?”
The sprite huffed impatiently. “From the Labyrinth, you shall procure a tome of similar composition and size,” the voice instructed. “On the night in question, the Darkseer will give in to distraction, at which time, you shall switch my vessel for a counterfeit.”
My mouth fell open. “You want me to swap you with another book? What, right underneath Casimir’s nose?”
“Unless you would prefer to endure the consequences of your bargain, I suggest you obey me. Remember, every opponent has a weakness. You must root it out and exploit it.”
My gaze darted to a corner of the room where the real Book of Erebos lay tucked safely inside my bag.
I’d waited until Casimir’s craving for a cigarette led him to venture outside just long enough for me to swap the true Book of Erebos with the counterfeit.
It hadn’t been difficult to find a tome of similar weight and size, and with a bit of black paint, I’d duplicated the Moros eye on the cover.
Along my forearm, my Zarvex rune pulsed, though not unpleasantly.
The magic sung beneath my veins, exalting in my success, even as shame churned the contents of my stomach.
In capitalizing on Casimir’s weakness for nicotine, I had at once appeased the magical bargain that bound me to Evren while deceiving my closest ally.
More than my ally, Casimir was—well, I didn’t know if there was a name for what he was.
My Darkseer. The phrase left a bitter flavor in my mouth.
Did it even matter what he was to me? After this betrayal, there would be no going back.
Later, Casimir and I sat on either end of his couch, imagining the atomic-level meltdown that would inevitably occur when Devereaux realized the Book of Erebos was gone, and thus the blood ritual could not take place.
We shared an expensive-tasting bottle of whiskey Casimir had procured from a cabinet, passing it back and forth until the acrid liquor made my head swirl.
I was grateful for the whiskey as a useful nostrum for assuaging my guilt where the Book was concerned.
The Book was intact, and Devereaux would have it for the ritual tomorrow.
More than once, I caught myself losing track of our conversation as Casimir ran a hand through his curls or laughed at something I said.
It wasn’t my fault he was so nice to look at.
The fire was stiflingly warm, and together with the alcohol and my hyperawareness of Casimir’s proximity, I began to feel overheated.
“I should be getting back…” I said idly, not meeting his eye.
“It’s nearly quarter past two in the morning—and besides, I’m not entirely sure it’s safe to return to your dormitory just yet.”
I frowned. “How long could it possibly take for them to search my dorm?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt they’ve finished searching, but I wouldn’t put it past Devereaux not to post one of his dogs in your room to wait for your return.”
Despite the warmth permeating from the fire, a shudder ran down my spine as my mind conjured the image of Evren seated upon Gwen’s bed, his cruel gaze trained on the door. Waiting.
“I suppose you have a point,” I conceded.
“So, you’ll stay the night?” Casimir inquired.
“I… yes.” I swallowed thickly.
The cryptic look he gave me was laced with some emotion I couldn’t immediately identify; and yet I was certain there was something dangerous lurking there.
I turned away, knowing the way my blood heated beneath my skin had little to do with the overzealous fire crackling away in the hearth.
Casimir poured himself a measure of whiskey, allowing the amber liquid to swirl in the bottom of the glass, never once taking his eyes off me. “Have you had a chance to consider my earlier question, Farrow?” he asked suddenly.
I glanced over at him in confusion. “What question?”
He arched a graceful brow. “Whether you’ve figured out what it is you want?”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak, as if my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
The heat of his body so close to mine sent jolts of electricity shooting down my abdomen to coil low in my core.
I dug my nails into my palms, fighting a sudden, wild impulse to reach out and drag my fingers through his dark curls, to trace the curve of his jaw and taste the hollow of his throat.
The sharp ache of my need centered my swirling thoughts.
The thing was, I knew what I wanted.
I wanted him.
Not the Darkseer, not the traitor or the Daemon rebel. Just him, just Casimir. Knowing this made me feel vulnerable. Exposed. But maybe, just this once, that didn’t have to be a bad thing.
Casimir took in my troubled expression, and after a moment, he gave a curt nod and averted his gaze. “It’s fine,” he said, turning back to his whiskey.
His dismissal hit me like a punch to the gut. He’d given up on me. I’d missed my moment to tell him.
“There’s no reason…” he paused, searching for words. “Never mind. You should just get some rest.”
“No!” I blurted out. Blood rushed to my cheeks.
Casimir stared at me. Probably wondering if I’d finally lost my mind. “No? You don’t want to sleep—?”
I shut my eyes. Good gods, he was making this difficult. “No,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I mean, I do know what I want.”
He looked bewildered. “You do?”
I sighed in exasperation. “Yes. I do.”
I’d had enough of this. Enough of the constant turmoil over whether I wanted to kill him or crush my lips against his, enough of anger and desire and uncertainty.
Every touch, every kiss felt long overdue.
The need to touch him was like a searing agony after all these weeks of flirting and fighting.
But most of all, I needed to get Casimir out of my system.
I couldn’t think around him, and I needed to keep my wits about me if I had any hope of surviving this weekend.
Before he could ask any more inane questions, I spoke again. “I just need to not think for a while.”
Casimir watched me with a wary expression that turned into one of surprise when I leaned over and kissed him.
He returned the kiss tentatively, but when I fisted my hand in his sweater to pull him closer, he stopped and drew back.
“Arden, are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice rough.
I met his gaze through heavy lids, feeling dizzy.
Hearing my first name on his lips still felt jarringly intimate, and every nerve in my body was tingling, on the edge of bursting.
He traced the bloom on my cheek with the back of his knuckle, his eyes darker than obsidian.
It was like staring into the bottom of the sea. I wanted to drown myself in him.
“Yes,” I breathed. “I want this. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”