Chapter 06
The sound of pouring water stirred Semras from sleep.
Bleary-eyed, she blinked in confusion, then jolted awake as memories of the previous night filled her mind. Her head spun toward the fireplace.
The bedroll was gone, and the desk had been cleared. Only the large bag slumped against it betrayed Inquisitor Velten had ever been here.
Semras stared at the rumpled sheets of her bed, victims of her restless night, but they revealed nothing amiss. For good measure, she discreetly sniffed the linens; they didn’t smell of musk and wood essence.
The inquisitor hadn’t approached her.
She exhaled deeply—half out of relief, half out of irritation. Her wary mind had kept her half awake all night, awaiting his inevitable betrayal with strained ears. It had been for naught.
Holding back a tired groan, Semras surveyed the room. Near the windowsill, the blonde tavern maid she had seen the prior night was filling the bathtub with steaming water.
Velten had called her … Luisa? Sara?
The maid emptied the last bucket and turned.
Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, goodness me! You are awake, miss! So sorry for the noise. I hope I didn’t disturb your rest. The inquisitor told me you’d probably want a bath, and I thought it best to get started before you’d wake up.
These tubs are mighty fancy, but take a while to fill. ”
Semras glanced at the bath. Pouring the water into the large copper tub must have taken the maid multiple trips. Had the poor Deprived been a witch, she’d have only needed to weave a few threads to accomplish the task.
The maid slapped her hand over her brow. “Oh, where are my manners? My name’s Pepa. Please let me know if there’s anything you need. It’ll be my pleasure to help!” Then she turned back to the bath, humming to herself as she straightened the towels hanging on its side.
Pepa? So the inquisitor hadn’t even remembered her name correctly. Semras scoffed to herself. At least she wasn’t the only woman he couldn’t recall the name of. “Thank you, Pepa. When did Vel—when did Inquisitor Velten leave?”
“Hmm, ‘bout an hour ago, I reckon? Said to wake you up if you lingered too long, but to be gentle about it.” The young woman turned to her, giggling. “He’s so thoughtful for an inquisitor. I thought they were all just old creeps who’d kick a girl out as soon as their business was done.”
The witch sat on the bedside, feet dangling just above the floor. “Their business?” she asked, confused.
The maid crossed the room to join her side. “Well, the servants of the Radiant Lord aren’t really supposed to have fun, you know? It’s not forbidden, but they can’t get married, so imagine the scandal if one got a girl pregnant.”
She couldn’t. Very few witches chose to take their lovers as Wyrdtwined, even if they had children with them. The pain that came with losing one—to sickness, or death, or betrayal—was too great to endure for most witches, so choosing to partake in the sacred binding ritual was rare.
Eyeing her, Pepa whistled. “Well, well, Blessed Light! I see why he keeps you around, miss! I’d also risk excommunication for golden eyes like yours.” She tugged on Semras’ nightgown, trying to pry it over her head. “Now it makes sense why he rejected me last night.”
Semras fended off the helping hands. “I don’t need help with—what do you mean, rejected you?”
He hadn’t been joking?
Giving up, the maid stepped back. “Don’t worry. He was very courteous about it, but I wouldn’t have wasted my time had I seen you properly before. It’s obvious you’ll have no competition for his favour.”
Heat radiated from Semras’ face; Pepa thought she was Inquisitor Velten’s mistress. She knew it would happen, but it still made her unexpectedly sheepish. “That’s not—we didn’t—”
“Oh, no need to be so shy!” the maid said, winking. “He’s a handsome one, that one. You made a fine catch, girl!”
Semras sighed in surrender. Further protestations would only make Pepa more certain of her assumption.
Feeling suddenly bashful, she stood to escape the maid’s gaze—only to wobble on her legs and wince with pain. Riding all day had taken its toll on her body.
Pepa let out a throaty laugh. “That good, hmm? He did look like the rough type. No worries, dear, I’ve got something that’ll help.
To the bath with you!” She guided Semras and what remained of her dignity to the tub, then retrieved from her apron a small bottle and winked.
“It’s my secret ‘witchy’ brew. What’s in there works wonders for soothing aches of all kinds.
” The maid let a few drops fall down into the water.
The scent of lavender, a bit of chamomile, and a dash of patchouli filled her nose—the basics of a relaxing, aromatic essence. Not bad for a neophyte.
“Thank you,” Semras said, turning to the bath.
“Wait!” Pepa patted her shoulder, startling her. “Dear me, I almost forgot!”
The maid flew through the room, then stopped at the desk to bend over Velten’s bag. After retrieving a small vial from it, she brought it back.
As soon as Pepa opened the bottle, Semras understood what the maid meant to do. Frenetic words of alarm jumbled in her throat, tangling together until they became a small, strangled whimper. Too late. The maid dropped some of the bottle’s contents in the water.
Helpless, the witch stared as each new drop tainted her precious bath.
“There you go!” Pepa said. “Men love it when you smell like them in the morning. It’s a little trick of mine, and it drives ‘em mad! You’ll see, miss. No need to thank me!” She returned the vial of cologne back where she found it, then left the room with a cheerful wave. “Enjoy!”
Blinking, Semras stood in front of the tub. Fragrances of lavender and chamomile now mixed with the scent of musk and wood essence, emanating invitingly from the lukewarm water. Defeated, she sighed and wove the water’s threads until it started steaming again.
Nothing else could be done to salvage her bath beyond the mere comfort of heat; weaving the problem out of the Arras would take too long.
She’d have to endure the irritating smell, lest her tardiness summon an equally irritating inquisitor while she’d still be naked in the tub.
That possibility didn’t tempt her in the slightest.
With a suffering sigh, the witch slipped out of her nightgown, then plunged her foot into the water.
As her shoulders gradually relaxed in the warm water, Semras corrected herself. The inquisitor’s cologne wasn’t irritating. It was quite pleasant, even.
It only had the misfortune of being used on an unpleasant man.
She really should have skipped the bath.
The thought plagued her as soon as she opened the room’s door to find Sir Themas waiting beyond, standing straight with his hands behind his back. Deep pockets had formed beneath his eyes during the night.
Semras chewed on her lip. She reeked of Velten’s cologne, and now he would think she had earned a pardon on her back.
Feet shuffling, the knight watched her with unease. He stood half a foot taller than her, yet his penitent countenance made her feel as if she towered over him.
He bowed. “Miss Semras, I bid you good morning. I …” His throat bobbed, then he continued, “I stand ready to escort you to the common room to break your fast. Whenever you feel … feel ready.”
Adjusting the black woollen shawl around her shoulders, Semras silently walked past him, determined to acknowledge neither his presence nor the situation.
But then Themas let out a shuddering breath, and she spun to stare at him, wincing inwardly.
His gaze immediately dropped to the floor. With his creased brow and downturned lips, the knight looked utterly miserable.
“Well. Spit it out,” Semras said, sighing. “I won’t dance around your awkwardness all day.”
He flinched, keeping his gaze down to avoid hers. “… Are you well?”
She waited. That was just part of what was on his mind. Better let it out here and now rather than later, when others could hear it too.
Squirming under her silence, he added, “… Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Semras jerked away, ready to leave the subject—and the night—behind.
A sharp pain flared up from her right thigh, and her leg faltered beneath her.
Themas caught her arms to steady her, bracing her against his muscular frame. “You smell … like him,” he murmured in a small, disconcerted voice.
His touch was intimate, unwelcomed—and uncomfortable. The cold iron studs of his brigandine came too close to her skin, numbing it lightly.
Semras shrugged out of his embrace. “He did not touch me, Themas. Let it go.”
“How—”
Her glare shut him up. “I won’t have you doubt my words. Take them, and be grateful I spoke to you at all.”
Chastised, he bowed without a word, then followed her to the inn’s common room.
They arrived just in time to catch the end of breakfast. A few sword-bearers were finishing their meal, hurrying to join the others outside, while Pepa cleared empty tables of their plates.
The inquisitor was still sitting at a table. By his side, Sir Ulrech stood looming over a map laid in front of them. Half-filled platters of food had been pushed away to free some space for it.
Before Semras could choose where to sit, Velten beckoned her to his side with a flippant hand wave. She groaned but still approached.
Sir Ulrech was arguing with the inquisitor in a low tone, his hands spread on each side of the map.
The two men looked quite similar, she observed.
Ulrech’s shoulders were bulkier, and his eyes were a dark brown rather than the striking pale blue of the inquisitor’s, but from afar, they could have been mistaken for one another.
Their profile had a similar slope to it; unsurprising, considering their family names both originated from Ostvald, Vandalesia’s northern neighbour.
“… and speed is what I require, var Hesser. We have wasted enough time as it is. I want—” The inquisitor paused. His eyes glided toward Semras. “I …” His brows furrowed with confusion.