I struggled to remember through a haze of pain. And then I recalled the pale, skeletal hand reaching out of the wardrobe. A disfigured face with a blood red mouth and two gleaming eyes, coal black and ruthless.
“Oh,” I mumbled, rubbing at my temple.
He’d come across one of my frequent nightmares.
“It’s just a dream I have sometimes,” I explained. “Probably my subconscious trying to remind me to call my mother.” I attempted to smile and choked on a dry heave.
Casimir offered me a hand, which I ignored. I rose to my feet, rubbing my aching lower back and wincing at the thought of how sore I’d be tomorrow.
He cast me a look that was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Would you rather I show you colorful visions of puppies and rainbows?” he asked. “Or perhaps you’d like to see the Gilded Circlites running around campus in their undergarments. Would that increase the likelihood of a breakthrough?”
In spite of my irritation, a smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth. “What did you just call them?Undergarments?”
He huffed impatiently. “Stop waiting for someone to save you from the glamour.”
My mouth fell open in outrage. “I amnotwaiting for?—”
“You aren’t fighting hard enough. You just keep letting bad things happen to you,” he cut me off.
I recoiled as though he’d slapped me.
But he was right. Every time he showed me a memory, I simply absorbed the blows. When he’d showed me a vision of my mother criticizing my behavior, or the time August had ditched me to meet with Bryce and Margot, I took the hurt and buried it deep inside. Despite my reputed temper, in those instances where someone I loved truly gutted me, I folded inward—an act of self–preservation— just as I had on the days when those memories had occurred. And now, Casimir was asking me to rewrite history.
“Maybe now would be a good time to take a break,” Casimir said. His expression brooked no argument.
My shoulders slumped in both relief and disappointment, but before I could sit down, he stopped me with a light touch to my elbow.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that you get to rest, Farrow.” He barked out a laugh, his eyes glittering with mirth. “No, I thought now would be a good time to refresh your combat skills.”
“What?” I balked. “You can’t be serious—I was this close to vomiting into that bucket not two minutes ago!”
Casimir clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “What if you encounter a situation where you’re forced to fight after being put under a glamour? Knowing how to defend yourself under the added strain of nausea or dizziness is critical. Need I remind you how much of a disadvantage you’re working with, Farrow?” His eyes narrowed. “Even the weakest Daemon is significantly more powerful than you are.”
I glared at him. “Yes, thank you. I get it, I’m a weak, mortal girl. You don’t have to keep reminding me,” I spat.
His low chuckle echoed off the high ceilings. “You are right now, but maybe you don’t have to be. Come on, draw your blade and assume a fighting stance. I’m sure you remember that at least.”
I ground my jaw hard enough to fracture a tooth.Did he have to be so fucking cruel?
Casimir’s obsidian dagger caught the light as he unsheathed it, the blade gleaming like quicksilver. It was the same one he’d stolen from Zhara.
I swallowed nervously. “We’re going to practice with real knives?” I was used to practicing with sabres—fencing swords—which were long and blunted at the tip. Fighting with daggers was entirely unfamiliar territory. Shakily, I drew my own dagger from its sheath. It felt heavier than lead against my palm. Why hadn’t he told me about this in advance? I wouldn’t have wornjeansif I’d known we’d be doing this sort of training.
Casimir’s answering grin was entirely too smug. “Unless you have a pair of training blades lying around somewhere? Yes, Farrow, we’ll be using real daggers. And don’t worry about me,” he added. “Like I said, I heal quickly.”
I muttered a curse under my breath.
He laughed at my terrified expression. “Alright, how about this? I’ll keep my blade sheathed, so there’s no risk of drawing blood. Sound fair?”
I sighed in relief at the offer and gave him a curt nod. On instinct, I shifted into a fighting stance, leading with my left foot and swaying slightly to ensure that my weight was distributed evenly. Despite my admittedly lax practice as of late, my muscles remembered the basics of defensive form.
My eyes never left Casimir’s face as I gripped onto my dagger, holding the handle in such a way that the blade faced outward, thereby preventing my opponent from simply seizing my weapon.
As Casimir mirrored my movements, he also sheathed the obsidian blade, though not before shooting me a condescending wink, the fucker.
I shook my head to clear my irritation.Okay,Arden,you’ve got this. I performed a quick mental checklist. My chin was tucked in to protect my throat, my feet were shoulder-width apart, which meant it was time to assess my opponent for weak points.
As Casimir narrowed his predatory gaze on me, my courage faltered.Did he even have any weak points?