It was my turn to roll my eyes. Even if someone overheard our conversation, it wasn’t as if they’d believe what we were saying.
“But…” I protested, “if Devereaux is really some lost Daemon prince, why would he bother joining the Gilded Circle?” It was, after all, just another elitist social club.
Casimir shrugged. “Devereaux likes to feel powerful and important no matter where he goes.”
I watched as a look of dismay crossed his face, his golden skin paling.
“I need to ask you something,” he began carefully. “Does Devereaux know your name?”
My name? I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard in the observatory. I could still hear the poison lacing Evren’s tone when he’d called me, “the Farrow girl.” It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
“Why does it matter if he knows my name?”
Casimir’s expression gave nothing away. “Just answer the question,” he growled.
I sighed in resignation. “They called me the ‘Farrow girl,’” I admitted. Neither Evren or Devereaux had used my given name.Not Arden Farrow Flynch. “Neither of them used my full name,” I assured him.
Casimir visibly relaxed. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. “Why won’t you tell me why it matters? What happens if they learn my name?”
I needed answers and Casimir was being intentionally evasive. It struck me then how desperately I wished I could taste his lies.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His reply came after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll tell you another time. For now, just be glad that Sinclair still cares for you enough to keep it from their ears.”
Other than my sharp intake of breath, I didn’t let him see how much the comment stung. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to my research,” I said pointedly.
Casimir nodded amusedly. “Of course. One last thing, I wanted to return this.” He tossed me a small object.
It was a dagger.Mydagger. I dropped the book and ran my fingers over the supple leather handle, feeling for any damage. But it was still perfect, its sheath still embossed with intricate latticework. It was probably the most precious thing I owned, and I hadn’t even noticed it was missing. “You—stole this from me?”
He had the audacity to shrug. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react when I told you the truth about… what I am. I figured it was safer to err on the side of caution, considering how you nearly brained me with a lamp the first night we met.”
“How?”
“Sleight of hand,” he explained. “Something my mother taught me.”
“What, was your mother a pickpocket?” I scowled at him.
He chuckled. “Of sorts. The art of surreptitiously going through your enemies’ pockets comes in useful at times.”
Amusement tugged at the corners of my lips. I swore, but this time with no real venom as I tucked the knife into my belt for safekeeping.
“It’s a very unusual dagger,” he observed. His casual tone was belied by the careful way he watched me.
When I was thirteen, my father had presented me with the dagger, much to my mother’s tight-lipped disapproval. Its blade was only around five inches of iridescent silver—small, but razor-sharp. Wielded by the right hand, it granted deadly accuracy.
“I suppose it is,” I conceded. “It was a gift from my father.”
Curiosity burned behind Casimir’s eyes. He leaned in, just a fraction, but enough to reveal his interest. “Where did he get it?” he inquired.
“How should I know?” My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why are you so interested?”
Apprehension flared briefly in his gaze before it vanished. He offered me a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, really. I was just curious.”
At that moment, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t detect any traces of deceit. I knew he was lying.
His smile slipped. “You shouldn’t allow someone to disarm you so easily. You didn’t even notice it was missing.”