“Let’s hope we never find out,” he replied with a dark look.
I waited to speak again until a group of giggling freshmen passed our corner of the stacks. “Why do you think I can taste Devereaux’s lies, but not yours?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” The troubled expression did not dissipate from his face as he changed the subject. “You never gave me an answer. Will you let me train you to resist glamours?”
My mouth twisted into a frown. “Is such a thing even possible?” I asked.
He shifted in his chair, but his dark eyes remained locked onto mine. “Call it curiosity, but I want to see if someone like you can be taught to fight glamours.”
Someone like me?
I hesitated, giving myself ample time to mull over his offer. On one hand, I didn’t have any other opportunities to learn how to fight off glamours. On the other, it would mean working with Casimir, who I did not entirely trust, and who would undoubtedly take the opportunity to torment me for his own amusement.
The ghost of that familiar, arrogant smirk played on his lips. “Honestly, I’d be doing you a massive favor,” he said, and I fought the impulse to kick him under the table. Casimir huffed a laugh, as if he’d read the violence in my thoughts. “Do you carry your knife with you on campus?”
“No, it’s against school’s policy.”
“From now on, I want you to carry it.” As an afterthought, he added, “We should probably brush up on your hand-to-hand combat skills as well.”
I bristled at the implication. “I’ve been fencing since high school,” I said hotly. “I don’t need?—”
“You know that’s not the same thing,” he cut in. “Besides, how long has it been since you last practiced? Weeks? Months?”
In truth, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bouted on the fencing piste—probably last fall with August. At best, I was rusty.
“Fine.” I gave a curt nod that I hoped retained some of my dignity, and then added, “I’m not sure how knowing how to use a dagger will be of much use when Devereaux could just glamour me to stab myself with it.”
“You agree to train, then?” he asked, arching a brow. “Surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight.”
“Would you like me to?” I asked in a tone laced with sarcasm.
“That won’t be necessary.” He stood, and I caught a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes before he turned away. “We start tomorrow.”
9
The frigid night air bit at my face, and I struggled to keep up with Casimir as he strode across the grounds and into the darkened wood. I silently cursed myself for forgetting my winter jacket. I had on only a wool sweater, which did little to protect against the bone-chilling cold. My toes and fingers were practically numb by the time we reached the derelict chapel—The Grotto—where Casimir coaxed the iron lock to click open once again.
“How exactly do you plan to train me?” I asked once I was seated in one of the pews, my arms crossed reflexively over my chest.
“You’ll see,” came Casimir’s vague reply. He strode around the pew and sat sidelong on the bench before turning to face me, fixing me with an assessing look. “Tell me about fencing.”
The truth was, I was woefully out of practice. Even before our break-up, my sparring bouts with August were few and far between. Instead, I told Casimir about Beatrice, the soft-spoken middle-aged woman who’d taught me the basics of fencing in her studio when I was in secondary school. Despite her small stature, Beatrice was as tough and unforgiving as the steel swordsshe wielded. She warned me I would not graduate from initiate to duelist without putting in the hours.
So, without my mother’s knowledge, every Tuesday afternoon I came to the studio and learned how to parry and bind, riposte and advance. My father and I agreed it was best to tell my mother I was taking piano lessons. My father had beamed with pride when Beatrice promoted me to duelist senior year. I summarized my history as best I could, to Casimir’s growing amusement.
“Piano lessons?” he repeated.
I shrugged, grinning in spite of myself.
“It’s strange, though,” Casimir murmured. “Did you ever wonder why your father wanted you to take fencing lessons?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “I assume he wanted me to learn so I’d fit in better at a place like Ouverham.” Admittedly, it had bothered me a bit, lying to my mother about what I was up to.
“And later, you trained with August?” His tone was neutral. Cautious even, when trespassing on the rocky territory of my ex. My brow furrowed in confusion. While I could believe he’d heard of August’s reputation as a legendary fencer, there was no way he could’ve known about our private training bouts. Maybe Bryce had told him?
“Yes,” I replied stiffly.
Casimir merely nodded and strode to lean over the altar. Furtively, I took in his appearance. Tonight, his ebony waves were even messier than usual, and the hollows beneath his eyes were lined with shadows. I wondered if he’d slept at all since that night in the Tusk. Yet, in spite of the exhaustion that traced the planes of his face, his rich brown eyes shone like burnished gold.