And within it, the poem, “The Daemons of Lacunae.”
I stared at August in horror, feeling as though I was going to be sick. I fisted my fingers through the silver clasp at my neck, wanting to tear off the reminder of this, my ghastly inheritance. All those hints and cryptic remarks imparted by theBook of Erebos—the cipher’s mysterious warning—came crashing down on me, rattling through my bones.
You seek the one who will betray you?
No need to root them out, Little Arrow, they always find you first.
Was August the one who always found me first? Was he the betrayer the sprite had warned me about? It was true that in concealing this most calamitous secret, August had betrayed me. But how could my father—the twinkling, eccentric professor who liked to get drunk and read Milton into the late hours of the morning—have kept this secret from me for years, if not longer?
Against my denials, August’s explanation rang true.The Tales and Folklore of Lacunae. My father’s mysterious absences. His keen interest in my ability to taste lies suddenly struck a sinister chord. Why else would he be so committed to honing my skills into a weapon for his particular use, if not also to discover exactly how to evade my detection? He’d quickly learned that while I could taste lies, I never could detect omissions. But to think he had become such an accomplished liar himself…
It was almost impressive. As a professor, stories had always been my father’s favorite pastime, hisraison d’être, and what were stories, really, other than lies? How little did I ever expect to stumble across the knowledge that all along, I had been living inside one?
And then, Casimir’s own warning slithered into my mind with all the prophetic certainty of betrayal:You are the last person who should go anywhere near the Bloodthorn Order.
Like a punch to the gut, a horrifying question struck me… Had Casimir known I was the Heir all along? I fought to draw air into mylungs while my mind split and ruptured, caught between two betrayals: the false legacy of my father and his many secrets, and the unexpected deceit from the one Daemon whose lies I could not taste. The same Daemon who had touched my mind with as much intimacy as my body. Hot, salty tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision, and I was surprised I didn’t shatter into pieces right there on the dance floor.
“Do they know?” I asked finally, my voice coming out in a croak. “Does the Order know I’m the Keeper’s Heir?”
August eyes swam with unshed tears. “No. I never told them. It was all I could do to keep it from Devereaux. You’ve no idea the toll it takes to resist a Siphoner… But don’t you see why it’s important that you flee? If they discover your secret, they will torture and kill you. And if that doesn’t convince you, think what might happen if they decide to use you as leverage against Casimir.”
This sent another wave of panic tearing through me. How could August expect me to consider the ramifications of being named guardian to some long-held Ethervalean secret at this moment, when I’d just barely begun to wrap my head around the truth of it? I had so many questions fighting for space on my lips, but the one that demanded space was this: how had August come to acquire this gut-wrenching piece of information about my father, about my history?
I caught myself sifting through countless memories of my father, reading between his words, searching for a trace or remnant that still remained in the recesses of memory, and found none. I was in no state to comprehend the ramifications of being the Keeper’s Heir.
“How do you know?” The question slipped from my lips before I could guard my tongue. I glanced around, fearful we might be overheard, though it was unlikely in this crowd. Our two minutes must be nearly up, and then I would have to face Casimir.
August shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.
Didn’t matter?Of course it mattered! To learn that August Sinclair, my ex-lover, of all people, had been privy to such a secret while I’d been left in the dark my entire life? And he expected me to just accept it and move on?
“August, please,” I implored him. “I don’t understand how—Malcolm never told me anything about the Order, or the Daemons, or the council. He didn’t tell me any of it.”
He’d lied, he’d evaded, and squirreled away information like buried treasure. I glared at August, forcing him to meet the intensity of my gaze. “Tell me the truth. You owe me that, at least.”
He suddenly reached out to grip my arm, a wild anger in his eyes, spurring him to speak.
“It was an accident that I ever learned your father was the Keeper. It was months ago, I-I…” he stammered, as if fighting some inner battle. “I was sorting through some of your belongings. You know, things you left at my place,” he swallowed hard. “But when I arrived at your dorm to drop them off, you were out. The door was unlocked, and I… I let myself in.” His throat bobbed. “Please believe that it wasn’t my intention to… intrude on your privacy…”
No, this couldn’t be true. It couldn’t have happened like this.
“Go on,” I said coldly.
August braced himself before continuing. “When I entered your room, I noticed a journal sitting in a box on your desk.” He hesitated. “I thought it was yours, but when I opened it, I realized it was your father’s?—”
“You stole my father’s journal?” I said, aghast. “And then you read it?” The fact of his theft, his violation, was undeniable, and yet I could hardly believe it.
He closed his eyes for a moment before resuming his confession. “I didn’t realize it was Malcolm’s journal. Your handwriting is so similar…” His words trailed off, his eyes downcast in shame. “Once I realized it was your father’s, it was too late to give it back.”
Disbelief and fury fought for space in my mind, but I swallowed down my temper. Time was running out. Casimir would be back any second. My outrage over August’s violation would have to wait, because right now, there was only one thing that demanded my attention.
“August,” I spoke urgently, glancing nervously around the ballroom. “If you read my father’s journal, then you know what the secret is. The secret the council wanted safeguarded.” My eyes flicked between his onyx ones, searching. “You were never supposed to learn it, but I was,” I said, my breath coming in short, rapid pants.
For the first time, I was laying claim to my father’s deadly inheritance, to my status as the Keeper’s Heir.
August went, if possible, even paler. Steeling himself, he replied in a whisper, “There’s a way to end bloodbargains.”
I stared at him blankly. “No, bloodbargains are permanent.”