“I consider myself something of a collector of beautiful objects,” Devereaux said, turning to catch my eye, apparently unperturbed by my horror at what he’d just done. “I must admit, I’m intrigued by you, Arden. What is it about you that caught the Darkseer’s interest?”
My blood ran cold at the question. The last thing I needed was for Devereaux Graves to take an interest in me. He didn’t know my true name, nor my ability to taste lies, and I couldn’t risk him ever finding out on either count.
He plucked another pin from the table and began pinning the wings.
The butterfly’s feeble movements were growing weaker.
I closed my eyes before he drove the last pin into the last wing, condemning it to frozen mimicry.
“You call yourself a collector?” I spat, refusing to answer his question. “And you think that gives you the right to torture innocent creatures?”
Devereaux’s gaze darkened for a fraction of a second. “Sometimes beautiful things must be tamed. Perhaps your Darkseer has not told you, but in nature, there is always a hierarchy. As Daemons, we prefer to formalize our hierarchy based on power and blood.” He stepped back and examined his handiwork. “However much you like to pretend otherwise, I rather think this is the case for mortals as well.”
The butterfly was no longer moving.
I tore my eyes away from the creature, my stomach turning.
“The question is, will you do whatever it takes to save your friend, Arden?”
The combination of his sickening display of cruelty, his talk of hierarchy and caste, together with the metallic flavor of the blood still coating my mouth, proved to be too much. I heaved onto the tile, my vomit joining the taste of blood.
Devereaux pursed his lips in revulsion, but I hardly noticed.
How incredibly unlucky that the taste of blood and bile occluded my ability to discern lies at this moment. I had no way of knowing if Devereaux’s offer was genuine.
He was still waiting for my answer.
“What do you want me to do?” I rasped.
“Here are my terms,” he clipped. “When the time comes, you will help us lure the Darkseer to the ritual. We need his participation to ensure the magic is at its most potent.”
“And if I do, you’ll spare August’s life?” I gave a derisive snort. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “We can seal it with a veilbound bargain, if you wish. To appease both of our trust issues.”
For a fraction of a second, I seriously considered it. Could I betray Casimir to save August’s life? Could I do that to him, after everything? After he’d broken Monty’s finger and nursed me back to health after I was poisoned? I squeezed my eyes shut, willing this nightmarish scene to dissipate.
No, I thought.As much as Casimir might evade or omit the truth, he would never betray me outright. Not like this.
“No deal,” I ground out.
The slight stiffening of Devereaux’s posture did not escape my notice.
“What a shame,” he sighed, “that you seem as determined to be as stubborn as your friend.” He turned back to his display, his hands braced on either end of the glass case. “I’ll see you soon, Arden Farrow,” he said, dismissing me.
I fled from the room with the taste of blood and vomit still clinging to my teeth.
22
Athrobbing headache plagued me for the rest of the afternoon while I recovered from the morning’s harrowing events. Admittedly, I felt a bit guilty for accusing Casimir of betraying me after he’d gone to such pains to take care of me following my poisoning. I made up my mind when I spotted the Darkseer himself, heading down a hallway that led to the West Wing bathrooms.
“Casimir!” I called out. “I need to talk to you.”
He stiffened at the sound of his name, his shoulders only relaxing after he turned and saw who it was that had followed him into the bathroom.
“Christ, Farrow,” he swore, his brow furrowing in irritation. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait til I’ve had a piss?” He glanced around to ensure we were alone.
Before I could stop myself, my gaze flicked down to his trousers. I caught the unmistakable mirth in his expression when I glanced up.