Chapter 38
Blanching rapidly, Semras stared at the accusing finger. “… What?”
“No …” Estevan breathed. “No, oh no. This is not happening; this is not …”
Garza’s smile broadened. “Let us all consider this for a moment: Inquisitor Velten tried to frame Warwitch Leyevna to protect his new mistress—the true murderer of Tribunal Torqedan and the bleakwitch who stands before us today. It is still just a theory as of now, but one that some rigorous questioning will surely prove right.”
Still sitting, Cardinal Velten turned toward the tribunals. “I am afraid I do not follow how you have come to such a … conclusion, Your Honours.”
“Is it not obvious, Your Eminence? The clues are plain to see. All we needed was to put them together to discover the truth of this matter!” Pajov replied.
The sagging skin beneath his chin quivered with outrage.
“Her mother is from Endor, a Coven long since suspected by the Inquisition of lurking between the Torremale and Anderas Mountains up north. What a coincidence, when he just came back from ‘dealing’ with a bleakwitch in that very same area.”
“And once you consider Inquisitor Velten’s known history of consorting with witches …
” Tribunal Garza said, his smile sly and vicious.
“One from whom he sired a child … Well, he would hardly be the first man to desert a pregnant woman for a new one. By his own admission, he was even alone to deal with the bleakwitch while his Venator knight travelled up north to join him. It takes weeks to cross the peninsula. Who can tell what happened in between that time?”
Tribunal Whitmore cleared his throat. “Two weeks. Inquisitor Callum asked the witch to confirm whether it had been two weeks since she had been consulted on the crime, and she answered yes. And then, she affirmed that their trip had taken two days from Bevenna to Castereina—and that she had gone to work as soon as she arrived. Which gives us …” He shuffled through the papers set before him, found the one he sought, and then brandished it.
“… if we look at the dates on the report … two days with none of her movement accounted for between reaching the city and the moment she examined the body! What happened during those two days? Why conceal them behind a lie? Had Torqedan truly died by then, or was he still alive? His body was kept cold—or so Inquisitor Velten affirmed—so there is no way of knowing the exact time of death.”
A breath shuddered out of her. In trying to avoid being questioned about the unusual time they took to reach Castereina, she had unknowingly destroyed her own alibi.
Cael clicked his tongue. “You forget my testimony, Your Honour. I witnessed myself the last moments of—”
“You forget that you recused it when you chose to act as a defender,” Whitmore replied.
“How can we consider your testimony as trustworthy when it is in your interest now to make us believe it? Besides, you accused your own brother over this entire matter, and then you came here accompanied by the witch … Was it she who asked you to do both these things? Have you been compromised by the bleakwitch as well, Inquisitor Callum?”
“Enough! She is innocent!” Estevan snarled, fighting the chains around his wrists. “She just made an innocent mistake in recalling the time! If anyone lied here, it was me!”
“Oh, we know that, boy,” Garza sneered. “You professed not knowing her when she was brought in by Inquisitor Callum, yet you clearly do. I do not doubt a woman burned in the Anderas; I simply doubt it was the Bleak one.”
“Alas, it would not be the first time this happened,” Tribunal Pajov said. “Men have always been fallible to the wiles of witches.”
Garza snorted. “Even the vilest of witches, it seems … He took a bleakwitch as a lover. Radiant Lord save us all.”
“This accusation is beyond the purview of this trial, Honourable Tribunals,” Cael said.
“It is within the purview of this trial, Inquisitor, as her testimony is now officially rejected. Her relationship with the accused may have altered its veracity,” Tribunal Whitmore declared.
Cael stepped closer. “Then I request to reconvene the trial on a later day. While the timeline does not add up, I have a witness who can corroborate the exact length of the trip and the whereabouts of all involved parties.”
“Estevan was accompanied by Venator sword-bearers as well,” Cardinal Velten said. “I asked the Confraternity to send them to him myself. Could we not ask for their testimony about this trip too?”
“Your Eminence,” Tribunal Garza said. “Have you not yet been made aware that your boy killed one of them and imprisoned three others for the sake of the witch? Please do bring them in, I say, and let’s see what they think of her.” A sly, mocking smile twisted his face.
Semras shuddered. They were trapped.
The sword-bearers could confirm she hadn’t arrived in Castereina as early as she pretended to, but they’d also most certainly speak of their fear and suspicion of her as well.
And they’d reveal many other things that would only confirm her status as Estevan’s lover.
Even with a better timeline to defend herself with, Semras bet the vicious old men would only find another excuse to put the blame of Torqedan’s death on her shoulders.
Their version of ‘justice’ was so tainted by their prejudice, the tribunals would never even consider the possibility of being wrong—not unless she offered them solid proof she hadn’t done the crime. And how could she prove a negative?
“As for your supposed witness, Inquisitor Callum, I doubt this man exists, considering he is not part of the preliminary report you submitted.” Whitmore sneered. “Is this a trick of yours to delay this trial?”
“I ask not out of trickery,” Cael said quietly, “but out of fairness. Your unexpected presence today in the Chamber of Judgment is an irregularity. You ought to have been called only once all parties had readied themselves for the trial. And yet you are here, insisting on presiding today, so I must insist on postponing it … with all due respect.” His tone had grown increasingly chilly, his eyes darker, his stance more still.
Taken by a shiver, Semras shifted her feet at the sight of the Seelie peeking out of the human shell.
The tribunals looked at each other. Low murmurs ran across them as they debated Cael’s request. Semras bore the wait with gritted teeth. Rage simmered beneath her skin; she held it back.
But only barely.
“It shall not be postponed,” Tribunal Garza declared at last. “This trial may indeed be expedited, but the charges are exceptional and the matter serious enough to allow such a derogation. We will now proceed with putting the accused to the question to get the answers we are still lacking. Today.”
Semras stared blankly at the old men, unable to muster any surprised reaction for their predictable words.
After all this. After fighting so much to make these withering, elderly relics of the past understand, they were back where they began. She wanted to cry, to bury her face in her Wyrdtwined’s chest and let him hold her and lie that everything would be fine.
She so dearly wished he’d lie to her.
“Semras,” Estevan murmured. “I will be fine. When they see my answers do not change under torture, then they will know I speak the truth, and we will be reunited after. Just … just wait for me and pray to your Old Crone or your New Maiden for me—whichever you think might take the most pity.” The smile he gave her held none of the playfulness she had come to adore. Even his eyes looked dimmer, subdued.
They both knew the tribunals wanted to condemn him—and through him, her. They both knew there was no time limit on the Inquisition’s torture sessions.
And they both knew Estevan was ready to die to protect his own.
Tears prickled her eyes. Blinking them away, Semras leaned toward him, seeking comfort in his proximity—not daring to touch him in fear it would be the last time she ever did. “Don’t do this to me, Estevan,” she murmured. “Don’t leave me behind. Not you too.”
Her Wyrdtwined remained silent, beholding her instead. Despair tainted his tender, sorrowful eyes—as if giving her one last look before being dragged away to his death.
He might just be.
His throat bobbed. “I never wanted—”
“Sword-bearers,” Tribunal Garza’s booming voice covered his words, robbing her of them too. “Take them both away.”
Semras blinked. Both?
Weapons drawn, the Venators surrounded them with terrifying speed, ready to seize the inquisitor and the witch.
Estevan rammed his elbow into the sternum of the nearest guard. The man fell screaming, and two other sword-bearers lunged to take control of him.
Eyes fixed on her Wyrdtwined, Semras didn’t hear the footsteps coming at her from behind until a hand fell on her shoulder. Screaming, she raged against it, thrashing wildly to resist their pull—in vain. The cruel hands dragged her away from Estevan.
Dodging hands and blades, Estevan rushed toward her. “Semras!” Before he could reach her, the sword-bearers tackled him to the floor.
Semras blanched. “Estevan!”
Heated voices came from the high table. “Order, order!” roared one of the old judges. Gavels fell repeatedly, unheeded by all.
More sword-bearers burst into the room. They flooded the Chamber of Judgment, an army of chilling, mindless obedience. Semras froze as they approached her. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning her in the erratic beating of her own heart.
The faint, protesting voice of Cardinal Velten floated through. “Wait—”
Then rage, blinding and burning, devoured her mind, and she heard no more. A deep, primal growl rumbled out of her chest, sending the nearest sword-bearers stumbling back in fear.
She’d kill them all.
She’d rip their warp shapes apart, rend the pathetic remains of their lifeforce into ribbons, and hang them from the rope she’d make from their guts. Oh, how sweetly the tribunals would writhe and wail as she’d slough the skin off their bones.