Epilogue #3
“Well done, Woodwitch,” the fleshwitch told her. “That is a mighty catch, and one that helps us all. There is one less inquisitor to pester us now.”
Some among the Coven joked they’d follow her example and try to seduce their long-standing enemies into allies. A few had seemed oddly serious about it.
Her Wyrdtwined spent weeks teasing her afterward, calling himself her ‘trophy’ husband.
Said trophy now looked far too smug. “Beware, Cael,” he said. “You will now be solicited more than ever. I bet you shall find your own happy matrimony before the end of the year.”
“Highly improbable,” Cael replied. “Forgive me, Madam Velten, but once you have seen as many of the Fair Folk as I did, their beauty no longer makes them stand out.”
“Don’t worry, I get it. I’m also far too used to our unusual appearance. I don’t really realize myself what we must look like in the eyes of the Deprived.”
Estevan leaned toward her. “I will tell you what you look like. A wild goddess, made to be worshipped,” he whispered. Her ears reddened, and he continued in that low, seductive voice she could never resist, “Help me get rid of our pesky visitor, so I may pray at your feet.”
Semras’ blush deepened. “Estevan! Your brother—”
“—can hear you.” Cael cocked an eyebrow. “You cannot wait for me to leave, can you, Estevan?”
Her Wyrdtwined smirked. “We were very busy. You interrupted.”
“I gathered as much.” Cael finished his drink. “Well, you shall be rid of me for a long while. A string of deaths up north came to my attention, and I intend to solve that mystery.”
“Up north,” Estevan said, musing out loud. “Is that where Maldoza has been all this time? You made him disappear before I could have words with him.”
Semras snorted. “‘Words,’ as if we all don’t know you mean to talk with your fists.” She stood and then gathered the empty cups around the table. “Leave that man be. Alaran was only following orders, and he thought you meant to hurt me. I forgave him already, and so should you.”
“I will not. He kissed you three times, and I have not forgotten it.”
Rolling her eyes, she walked toward the kitchen counter and stopped before a vast sink.
Delicate red mandala flowers decorated the pale ceramic in the distinctive style of Dharati art.
She’d seen it three months ago in Castereina, in the window display of an antique shop far above her means, and left it behind with a disappointed sigh.
Somehow, it appeared the week after in their home, a surprise left for her by a grinning Estevan.
She still hadn’t figured out how he had learned of what she wanted but suspected Maraz’Miri to be involved. Either that, or the influence Estevan still held in Castereina as the son of the cardinal came with greater boons than she had expected.
Semras dropped the used cups within, then returned to the brothers.
“Sir Themas de Maldoza has been abroad, accompanying Inquisitor Grimani to the Continent weeks before you returned from the Anderas, brother,” Cael said. “However, Mister Callhijo—if that is who you mean to refer to—is indeed currently away on a mission up north.”
Estevan narrowed his eyes. “Hiding from me, you mean.”
“Mister Callhijo is a man of many talents. I am sure he can do multiple things at once.”
Her Wyrdtwined groaned, and Semras stifled a laugh.
“I still cannot believe he has been part of your retinue for years,” he said. “I must have met him once or twice at least, yet I never recognized him.”
“No, you had not met him before,” Cael replied. “I kept him well away from you.”
“Why?”
Cael’s smile stretched a bit too wide. “Because you are a bad influence, brother, and he is still young enough at twenty-two years old to be impressionable.”
Estevan scoffed. “He is not a child, Cael.”
“He is to me. I have been watching over him since finding him living on the streets six years ago. Besides, who else can I look forward to seeing grow up? I had a nephew you never intended to let me meet, and then it turned out the child was never yours. I am owed a replacement.”
“Throw that energy at your new acolyte,” Estevan grumbled.
Drumming his fingers on the table, Cael cocked an eyebrow.
“Master Sin’Sagar has just finished his apprenticeship.
Not a surprise, considering it only served as a formality to appease the tribunals.
I had nothing to teach him.” Then he stood, walked to the tree hall, and retrieved his frock coat.
“The appointment ceremony is next week. I am travelling north as soon as my part in it is over. I suspect I shall be gone for a long while, so this is goodbye for now.”
“You’re leaving so soon, Cael?” Semras asked, joining him next to the door. “You came all the way here from Castereina; you should stay the night at least. It’s getting late. We have a guest room if you’d rather avoid an inn tonight.”
“No.” The inquisitor put on his coat. “I do not want to stand in the way of any nephew-making activities. Or niece. I have a hunch about a niece, but not quite right now.”
Crimson coloured her face once more. “You and your hunches …” Semras said, doing her best to ignore Estevan sliding behind her, taking her in his arms. It was a futile endeavour—her pounding heart felt only too aware of his proximity. “Get out of here before you have any more of those.”
“No, wait. Tell us more,” Estevan said with an endearingly excited voice. “A daughter? Are you sure?”
Cael opened the door, then glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “I am no seer, Estevan. I was only speculating.” He nodded at each of them, then closed the door behind him, sending a draft of cool air into the house.
It did nothing to lessen the surge of heat blooming in Semras’ heart. A fey’s instinct could always be wrong, she told herself. It was only a possibility among many, her mind rationalized.
A daughter …? Her heart chanted. A daughter of her own?
But not now, he’d said. And not now felt just right. Semras had only now begun her new life with Estevan, and she wanted to enjoy their time to the fullest before making such life-changing decisions. She was still young. They still had time.
Estevan hugged her from behind, then kissed the top of her head. “Cael said ‘not now,’ and it can mean ‘never’ too,” he reminded her, as if he could hear her thinking out loud. “You are the one who decides, not his hunches.”
Eyes gleaming with affection, Semras turned to him. “Changing your mind so fast? You mercurial man.”
“I mean …” he said, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “If you want some practice in the making of any hypothetical children …”
“You flirt.” She threw her arms around his neck. “There is no rectifying you.”
Estevan smiled fondly at her. “You love me that way, don’t you?”
Laughing, Semras rolled her eyes, then kissed him deeply. “Oh, Old Crone save me. Yes. Yes, I do.”