“You’d be the first to complain,” he drawled with his typical arrogance.
I scowled. “Summon a lot of women then, do you? How horrible for them.”
It was a weak retort, but his presence made it difficult to think clearly. For all my determination to be a dagger in his ribs, the moment I was in his presence again, I was utterly disarmed. Hence the reason I resorted to being rude. What was wrong with me?
He shot me a cryptic smirk, but whether it meant I had guessed correctly or not, I couldn’t say. Sometimes, his amber eyes trapped me and refused to let go. They hooked me like a fish on a line, and it was all I could do not to squirm away under such scrutiny. Casimir leaned forward in his chair and my tattoo prickled dangerously.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he accused.
“You know our dormitories have telephones, right?” I said waspishly. “So you can stop leaving cryptic little messages in my letterbox.”
He went on as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “I assume the reason you’ve been avoiding me is that you’re less than thrilled to continue training.”
“Not everything is about you.”
A hint of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “Isn’t it?” he murmured.
I fought to look anywhere but into those eyes. “Maybe I just didn’t want to waste my time with this,” I retorted. “It’s not working!”
The look he gave me could have melted steel. “And what makes you think I’m here to waste your time? If anything, you’re the one wasting mine, acting like a petulant child.”
My jaw fell open in outrage. “I am not?—!”
He raised a hand to quell my argument. “Spare me your false indignation,” he cut in. “I will assume, based on your presence here tonight, that you have decided to ignore Sinclair’s warning, at least for now.”
I opened my mouth to retort, and then closed it, unable to deny the truth of it.
“Fine,” I conceded, sliding my feet off the desk and leaning in to glare at him. “But no more using memories about August.” I set my jaw, not caring that both of us knew what this was: merely my petulant attempt to cling onto my remaining last kernel of dignity. “There are plenty of other memories to choose from.” Though I was loath to admit it, the thought of whatelseCasimir might unearth in my mind set my teeth on edge.
He nodded. “I concede that I chose the memory in part because it was packed with emotion. I will try to avoid using memories with Sinclair in future.”
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. So, hehadselected that memory with a purpose in mind. “How did you know which memory would get the kind of response you wanted?” I asked.
Casimir glanced away and ran a hand through his curly shock of hair. Probably buying himself time before he had to give an answer. He fixed me with that flinty gaze that reminded me so much of cold, hard obsidian.
“When someone like me summons the magic required to sway emotions, it is first necessary to glean insight into the mind of the target,” he explained.
With some difficulty, I digested this piece of the puzzle. “Is that your convoluted way of saying that you—what? Infiltrate your victims’ minds before selecting a memory?”
He winced at my use of the term victims, but replied, “Essentially, but it’s more nuanced than that. I try to get a feel for their underlying emotions or even their mental state.”
I took a deep breath to calm the panic threatening to seize me. Casimir had done more than simply witness a memory; he’d plundered me for vulnerability. It was a violation worse than I’d anticipated.
“So, what you’re saying,” I said slowly, “is that I should be even angrier with you than I was at the Grotto?”
He merely gazed up at me from beneath his dark lashes.
“Don’t you realize how violated that makes me feel?” I said.
“Not as violated as you’ll feel when Devereaux next glamours his way into your mind, commanding you like a dog,” he ground out. “He’s made slaves of many before you and will continue to do so long after you are gone. Don’t think for a moment he’ll hesitate to violate and use you in whatever manner best suits him.”
His warning clanged through me, hammering its truth into my bones, even as a louder, buzzing anger filled my ears.
“So that’s it, then?” I said. “I should just let you prowl through my head, probing my private thoughts, giving me nightmares? So you can train me to bark and obey at your command instead?”
At this, Casimir stepped into my space, crowding me until the backs of my legs hit the bench. I felt his lips graze the shell of my ear.
“You think what I show you is too much, Farrow? Too brutal?” he demanded, and the harshness of his words belied the gentle way his fingers curled around my throat. “I can make it so much worse.”