“Something happened.” It wasn’t a question. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “I’m just tired.” And Iwasexhausted. Exhausted and angry and emotional.
He offered me a hand, but I ignored it and rose to stand on unsteady feet.
“I was trying to sift your memories for something that might inspire a sense of déjà vu,” he explained. “I figured it might help you realize it wasn’t real.”
“Well, it didn’t,” I snapped. “Gods, why do I feel like shit?”
“Side effect of the glamour.” He shrugged. “And you did fight it a bit, at the end there. I felt it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I ground out. Another wave of nausea rolled through me as I sank into a chair. It suddenly struck me that Casimir had just witnessed every moment of that memory. Had listened to every thought, experienced every pang of hurt and betrayal. “Did you see… everything I saw?”
He hesitated, looking wary. “More or less.”
“Great,” I groaned.
He looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable as he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I didn’t immediately reply. It was hard to explain why I’d debased myself so thoroughly for August. No one, apart from August and me, was ever meant to witness that interaction, and now Casimir would know I was a fool. Worse than a fool, since I could claim no plausible deniability when it came to knowing August’s true intentions. No, I had tasted every lie like a mouthful of ash, and yet I had held out hope. My sick, twisted love—and my willingness to do everything for a person who never saw me as more than a distraction—persisted. Swallowing down my self-loathing, the confession came tumbling out of me.
“August found me earlier,” I said resignedly.
Casimir started, momentarily distracted from his concern. “He—what?”
“He came to warn me to stay away from the Order. And from you,” I explained. “He told me I’d be a fool to trust you.”
His expression was inscrutable. “He… he said you’d probably get me killed trying to stop the Order.”
Casimir arched a brow in silent question, apparently unconcerned by the severity of the accusation. The blazing look in his eyes told another story. “And what do you think?”
In all honesty, I hadn’t decided yet. Narrowly avoiding answering the question, I said, “August implied you’ve been withholding certain information.” I was careful to keep any accusation from my voice.
Casimir’s eyes darkened as they bored into me. “Is it necessary to know everything about a person in order to trust them?”
To that question, I had no answer.
Casimir stood in brooding silence, his muscles tense while he waited for me to gather the pieces of my shattered mind. It wasn’t only unease over Casimir’s dredging up my very private memories that troubled me. It wasn’t even August’s warning. Something else was scraping at my inner walls, turning over and sharpening itself into relief. As the nausea began to subside, I understood what it meant, and my stomach plummeted to the floor.
“Your glamours work on me,” I said after a moment.
Casimir slid his eyes to me, his expression a little relieved when he realized I wasn’t going to chew him out. “So what? We knew that already.”
“Evren’s glamours don’t work on me, but yours and Devereaux’s do. Why is that?”
Casimir scratched the back of his neck. “I have no earthly idea.” He snorted at the look of disappointment crumpling my features. “If it makes you feel better, Evren’s glamours work on me. It’s not fun, I can tell you,” he added.
I shot him a skeptical glance.
“This is why it’s important that we train you to resist all glamours. If Devereaux can’t get past your resistance, he can’t control you.”
“But hecancontrol me!” I blurted. I was breathing hard, my hands shaking, and my chest aching as though it might split open. “He has August’s life in his hands. He can still hurt me or control me or do whatever he likes to me!” It was the first time I’d admitted it aloud. The truth was, I didn’t want to see August harmed, no matter how much he’d hurt me.
Casimir ground his teeth, mulling over my declaration. He shook his head. “No, he can’t, Farrow. He can only control you if you let him.” His expression was almost menacing in its intensity as he leaned over the table to glare at me. “Having leverage over someone is a hell of a lot different than being master of their minds and bodies, orchestrating their every move.”
I glowered back at him. “You’re right, leverage is worse. Like tricking someone into making a bargain, for instance.”
This earned another scowl from Casimir. “I dare you to say that again after Devereaux makes you his puppet for a few months. In fact, why don’t you ask August which he’d prefer?”