I swallowed. “And you didn’t—Zhara, is she?—”
“She’s alive,” Casimir rolled his eyes. “For now, anyway. Though I expect her pride is somewhat wounded after being caught out by a mortal girl.” He handed me a glass of greenish-looking liquid that smelled bitterly like celery. “Get back on the bed and drink this,” he ordered.
I wrinkled my nose at the concoction.
“You can finish your story once you stop looking like you’re one foot from the grave,” he said.
“What is it?” I eyed the glass suspiciously.
“It’s not poisoned,” he reassured me with a wry smile. “Though it would seem I’m too late to spare you from that particular fate. It’ll help reverse the symptoms of the poisoning. I made you drink a bit earlier—well, to be honest, I poured it down your throat—” he grimaced. “But I was afraid if I gave you any more you’d aspirate.”
I sniffed at the pungent, chartreuse liquid and grimaced.
Casimir sighed at my histrionics. “Don’t be difficult,” he scolded.
Feeling too nauseated to argue, I clambered back onto the bed, pinched my nose, and downed the contents of the glass, shuddering at the thick texture coating my tongue. It tasted even worse than it looked, like bitter parsley and grass.
“Ugh!” I coughed, handing back the glass. For a moment, I thought I was going to puke again, but the feeling passed. Sitting up against the pillows, I glanced around the loft, marveling at Casimir’s peculiar brand of organized chaos.
“Please continue,” he prompted.
“Right,” I grimaced. “Well, she had a knife at my throat, and I was grasping for something—anything to say to distract or stall her.”
“What did you come up with?”
I hesitated, uncertain as to how Casimir would react. “I… showed her the tattoo on my leg and threatened her. Said you’d come after her if she harmed me. Of course, that didn’t work, so I ended up telling her that I’m the only person that theBook of Ereboswill speak to,” I explained with a shrug. “She decided not to kill me and instead forced the wine down my throat.”
Casimir’s appraising eyes slid to meet mine. “Zhara didn’t realize the tattoo was a mark of our bargain?”
I groaned internally, wanting more than anything to avoid rehashing this particular part of the story. “No, she didn’t,” I began slowly. “She thought it was a mark of ownership, just like Evren.” Gods, why did my face have to burn at this very moment? “She didn’t believe me, but I… I told her I belonged to the Darkseer.”
Casimir went still with shock, his gaze still locked onto mine.
Cheeks heating, I rushed on, “Idon’tbelong to you, obviously. I just wanted Zhara to think that you might kill her if she hurt me.” I had to bite down on my cheek to stop myself from rambling. It occurred to me then to wonder why both Zhara and Evren had believed my tattoo was a mark of ownership, designating me as Casimir’s pet. Casimir’s gaze drifted to the tattoo, visible in my current repose on the bed, a possessive gleam in his eye.
And then it vanished.
“Right,” he muttered, still with that calm, casual demeanor that made me uneasy. But then he switched back to his usual amused arrogance. “I suppose it’s a good thing Gwen lent you that dress then.”
Time to steer this conversation into less treacherous territory, I thought.
Casimir’s vile concoction was already working wonders; the pounding in my head was ebbing, and I felt sharper, more alert. He stood and walked to the kitchen to refill my empty glass with water. When he returned to the loft, he leaned against a wall and watched as I slaked my thirst. Hydration seemed to further clear the cloudy debris from my mind, and as the memories of the party returned, a new and unpleasant sensation knotted its way around my stomach.
“Why is Daemon wine so toxic?” I asked. “I felt like I was on death’s door when I woke up.”
Casimir answered, “The wine was enchanted with the essence of Datura, a flower that causes hallucinations and can induce a state of delirium that lasts hours. The side effects of the toxincan be especially pernicious, though Veronika’s enchantments prevented it from being outright deadly.” He offered me a conciliatory smile. “She isn’t as sadistic as the others. Her skills with poison aside, she doesn’t want to kill anyone. Most of the time,” he added wryly.
“But I can’t remember what’s real and what the wine made me hallucinate,” I said, turning slightly pink.
“If you’re referring to the fact that we kissed,” he drawled, flashing me a wicked grin. “That definitely happened.”
I choked on a gulp of water, my cheeks flaming. Recovering my composure, I replied, in as neutral a tone as I could muster, “Does it even count if I barely remember it?”
It was a bluff, of course. Casimir stilled at the implication, his smile faltering as he considered me. I kept my features blank, but I wondered if he didn’t see the hollow lie for what it was.
In retrospect, it had been a cataclysmically stupid idea to kiss Casimir. Notwithstanding the fact that he was a Darkseer who possessed the ability to invade the recesses of my mind at the merest whim… he was also dangerous. Possessive. He’d broken Monty’s finger for his drunken transgressions. Even Devereaux and Evren were wary of him. And yet… I couldn’t deny the power of that kiss. It had been the most Earth-shattering experience of my human existence. Nothing else even came close.
Scientists would have to cleave my brain open with an ice pick to make me forget it, and even then, my very blood would still hum with the memory of his lips on mine.