Chapter 04
“You shall dine with me tonight, witch,” Inquisitor Velten announced behind her.
Standing with the reins in hand and without the slightest idea of what to do with her horse, Semras took a deep, calming breath before facing him.
A few minutes ago, the company had dismounted in front of a large roadside inn plastered with lime and built at the edge of farmlands. Night was about to fall, and the two-story, slate-roofed building was the last accommodation before the road would lead them through another part of the Vedwoods.
Her eyes flickered aside, seeking Themas among the crowd of steeds and men.
The knight had left her to help prepare the horses for their stable stay after he had assisted her down the sidesaddle and was now nowhere to be seen.
She hadn’t minded the solitude; the long day of riding had given her more sore muscles and cuts than she had expected and taken all her energy in exchange.
All she longed for now was a quick meal and a comfortable bed.
Suffering Inquisitor Velten’s company was decidedly not part of her evening plans.
Semras smiled sweetly at him. “No, I think not.” The inquisitor’s incredulous frown almost made her laugh, but she kept her composure. “You do not command me, Inquisitor. In case you forgot: I am not part of your retinue to order around as you please.”
He grinned, teeth bared like a snarling wolf.
Amusement tainted by aggravation sparkled in his eyes.
“Brazen witch. I do not care to entertain whatever rebellious fancy this is. I have spoken, and you have heard me: you shall dine with me.” He stepped closer and swept his arm at the group of Venator guards unloading the horses.
“Or would you rather eat gruel with the sword-bearers?”
Semras studied them. Between the aggravatingly superstitious, distrustful men, who’d surely be given the cheapest fare for dinner, and the smirking inquisitor with his gleaming eyes and rude manners, the choice was easy to make.
“Oh, I love gruel! I shall join them as you suggest,” she declared loudly.
As intended, her words reached the guards’ ears. One turned to look at her, and she waved at him. Was that Raphene? He looked away, visibly disturbed, but she didn’t care. Now, the inquisitor would have to honour his own offer or risk losing face.
Turning her victorious gaze back to him, Semras found him staring silently at her.
Loath as she was to admit it, she struggled to hold his gaze. Inquisitor Velten’s eyes were unlike any she’d ever seen. Ice blue and set behind a well-defined brow, they’d make anyone squirm beneath them.
What did he make of her yellow eyes? He’d probably say something about how they reflected the taint of the Night, or some other nonsense.
“As you wish,” he said at last, jaw clenched. “I shall see you later tonight, then.”
After a curt nod, Inquisitor Velten strode to the inn’s front door. His knights awaited him there to requisition rooms for the company.
Themas had told her earlier that the innkeeper would comply with the inquisitor’s demands, even if it meant throwing other guests out. The Church of Elumenra still exerted great influence over the population; they wouldn’t dare defy a servant of its most feared institution.
Semras sighed. To think that this man held such power over so many people, just because of a little sun-shaped pin of gold and a cloak of dark red.
Sir Ulrech opened the inn’s door while the inquisitor exchanged a few words with Themas, gesturing toward her. By the uneasy expression on his face, Themas didn’t seem to like his orders at all. He bowed, then walked toward her, while Inquisitor Velten and Sir Ulrech vanished into the inn.
“Miss Semras,” Themas hailed her, “I have been chosen to accompany you for the evening. If you require anything, be it for your comfort or your safety, let it be known and I shall fulfill your request at once.”
The knight had fallen back into speaking with rigid politeness. His wall of practiced manners hid something from her; she’d bet on it.
“That does not sound like Inquisitor Velten at all,” Semras said, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, what exactly did he say?”
His embarrassed, lopsided smile revealed a dimple on his right cheek, making him look like a mischievous child about to be scolded.
“Oh, um. I might have … reformulated his exact words. The inquisitor said that, considering you were ‘acting like a petulant child,’ you needed a … a nanny to watch over you tonight.”
“Charming,” she scoffed. “I hope he won’t give you trouble for revealing this to me.”
“Not at all! He, um … he said he expected you’d demand to be relayed my orders and told me to do so truthfully. The idea … amused him, I think.”
“Oh. Really?” she replied through gritted teeth. “How … ‘gracious’ of him.”
Shifting on his feet, the knight dropped his eyes to the ground. “I have offended you. Miss Semras, I—”
“It’s not you.” She huffed. “Forgive me; my temper is short when it comes to that man.”
“Nevertheless, allow me to ask forgiveness properly.” Dropping to one knee, Themas presented his open hand and looked at her expectantly.
With some hesitation, Semras extended her arm, imitating his palm turned to the sky.
This was how it worked, right? She had only ever witnessed that Deprived practice from afar once, almost two decades ago in a small town she had sneaked into with Blyana, a childhood friend.
They were young teens back then. An older witch had dragged them back to the coven grounds by the ears, and they had received quite the scolding from the Elders. Blyana had been terrorized into never going out again without permission, but Semras had kept fond memories of their escapade.
For weeks after, her mind played the scene, substituting the graceful lady she’d seen with herself. A man dropping on his knees before her, taking her hand while declaring grand oaths of love and devotion, and …
What came after this? Time had erased it from her mind.
Themas took her hand in his, and her breath hitched. Softly, he turned her wrist, presenting her palm to the ground, then pressed a fleeting kiss on the back of her hand.
Semras’ face bloomed red.
The palm! Of course, the palm was supposed to be toward the ground! Oh, she had made a fool of herself.
Still kneeling before her, Themas smiled gently. “I beg forgiveness for my offence. It is my honour to serve you tonight, Miss Semras.” His eyes were a soft hazel, devoid of mockery or contempt. They drew a bashful smile across her lips.
Was this what the graceful lady had felt that day? A held breath, a skipped heartbeat, a blooming blush on the cheeks? Would it happen to her too, one day? Would it be him, that handsome man who’d—
The inn’s door opened again, and Inquisitor Velten stepped through the doorway. He stood there, surveying the courtyard, until his attention stopped over Semras. His damnably sharp gaze soaked her like cold rain.
The daydream vanished in an instant. Semras shook off the naive fantasy, then smiled at Themas. “Of course I forgive you, but only if you drop the ‘miss’ and just call me Semras, as I asked before.”
“This is a great honour you bestow upon me. I will accept it, but only if you simply call me Themas in return.”
He rose back up with a warm smile of his own, and Semras wondered if she had imagined the gentle squeeze on her hand before he let it go.
The rest of the evening passed by uneventfully. After Themas had entrusted the care of her gelding to a junior sword-bearer, he led her into the inn’s common room to sit at a long, thin table. A lively tavern maid soon came through the brightly painted yellow room to distribute food.
To the inquisitor’s credit, it wasn’t the promised gruel but a rather good, if simple, meal that awaited the company.
Semras feasted on legume stew sprinkled with salted bacon, rye bread, wine, and even hot cocoa—a drink from Mundomera that she knew the Deprived adored but that she didn’t have much occasion to try herself.
She liked it, though it was a little too sweet for her taste.
Themas downed two bowls of it. “My father drinks his with far more sugar than this,” he told her. “This much sweetness is nothing compared to what he used to make for me when I was younger.”
Semras held back a chuckle as he poured himself yet another bowl.
Splashes of wine soaked the table as the tavern maid, a comely blonde with lightly freckled skin, served the men with giggling recklessness.
Chatter mingled with the music from a flute one of the sword-bearers had a surprising talent for.
Without the oppressive presence of the inquisitor among them, the men relaxed and enjoyed their respite.
Most steered clear of the witch. Seated near a corner of the wall, Semras enjoyed some level of isolation from the merry retinue. By her side, Themas kept her well entertained with light tales, staying away from any story related to witch hunting.
One time during the evening, a few drunken Venator guards approached her. Emboldened by the wine, they came with lecherous questions concerning witches and their—apparently famed—‘nightly rituals,’ asking with a leer if one or two of them could assist her with them.
It didn’t faze her. Most men spoke these false platitudes to women, obeying some bizarre custom of the Deprived to pay compliments to anyone wearing a skirt. Semras had received that sort of polite attention ever since she’d grown into a woman. It was nothing to be taken seriously.
Themas didn’t share her opinion. He sent them running outside to sweat the alcohol out of their system, and soon the other sword-bearers decided to prudently keep their curiosity to themselves.
That left her plenty of time to satiate her own. “How did you find my house?” Semras asked.