“Not important? How can you even say that?” I said. Was he seriously trying to gaslight me? “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” he said carefully. “I merely concealed information that I didn’t deem pertinent to?—”
“Pertinent to bother sharing with me?” I said sharply. “This may come as news to you, Wrayburn, but concealment is just a coward’s way of lying.”
He sighed in exasperation. “I gave you the Book, didn’t I? It wasn’t as though I was trying to hide anything,” he argued.
“But you could’ve just told me you were a Darkseer,” I pointed out.
He snorted. “What, and deprive you of the fun of arguing with a magical book?”
This earned him a disapproving scowl. “The least you can do is tell me what it means. I only have a vague understanding of how your power manifests. For instance, where do Darkseers land in the caste system?” I asked, conveniently omitting what the Book had told me about Darkseers. I shot him a warning look. “And don’t you dare say ‘need to know basis, Farrow.’”
“You’re rambunctious today,” he observed, biting back a laugh. “I don’t know if I should feel scared or aroused.”
“You’ll drop the haughty attitude right now, if you know what’s good for you,” I snapped.
Ignoring my warning, Casimir gave an exaggerated shake of his head and said, “I don’t know if I can handle Feisty Farrow this early in the day.”
“Will you please shut up?” I begged. “Gods, is it your only mission in life to piss me off?” I retorted, glaring at the object now resting innocently in Casimir’s hands. “You and that creepy book.”
Casimir pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide in an expression of feigned offense. “Shh, it can hear you!”
“I don’t care if it does!” I growled. It wasn’t just the fact that it could talk—although that was fucking weird enough. I hesitated. “Casimir, it… knew things about me. Things it couldn’t have possibly known.” Like my dead father’s pet name for me, Little Arrow, and my ability to taste lies, for example.
I recalled, with some trepidation, the Book’s earlier accusation. “Perhaps you ought to ask yourself why you’re drawn to things that only spell trouble.”
None of this seemed to concern Casimir.
“TheBook of Ereboscontains unknown magic,” he said with a shrug. “It’s revered and feared for its omniscience. But the fact that it spoke to you at all is impressive. The Vrag Kigna commands respect from its reader.” He shot me a dubious glance. “You weren’t rude to the poor sprite, were you?”
“No… not really.” I jutted my chin defensively even as a treacherous heat crept up my neck. I needed no reminders about my temper. Besides, if anything, the stupid sprite had been rude to me.
I eyed Casimir suspiciously. “What about you? Do you find the Book so easy to talk to?”
“Oh,” he gave a low chuckle, “it won’t speak to me.”
To my surprise, he then reached for my bag, hoisting it onto his shoulder where it clunked around noisily, presumably to spare me the burden of carrying it while we spoke.
“Jesus, Farrow.” He grimaced. “What are you carrying in here? Bricks?”
I ignored his attempts to divert the conversation. “Never?”
“Well,” he amended, “it has spoken to me a few times, but only in curses and filthy obscenities. Nothing useful.”
I stared, half-convinced he was joking, but one glance at his face told me he was entirely in earnest. I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face, and I giggled in spite of myself. My attempts to control my laughter failed entirely.
“Are you telling me that the sprite harasses you?” I giggled.
He frowned at my amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s of no use to me, so I wondered if it might be more inclined to talk to someone like you.”
“Someone like me? What, you mean a mortal? Or a girl?” I snorted.
In lieu of a reply, he gave a noncommittal shrug.
Then, thinking back to the moment I’d first heard the Book’s voice in the library, another question occurred to me.
“Casimir, when I opened the Book in the Labyrinth, no one else could hear it. Do you know why that might be?”