Chapter 07
Her roan gelding stood at the edge of an ocean of moving people, horses, and bags.
Next to Semras, the men mounted their steeds and rode them in circles in front of the inn. Sir Ulrech sat on a rose-grey destrier in the middle of it all, hurrying stragglers and organizing the chaos of departure with the tone of a veteran commander.
Semras looked around, brows furrowing. The sidesaddle was already secured on the horse at least, but she had no idea how to prop herself up on her own.
By the looks of the single stirrup and the two pommels sitting at different heights, she doubted she could do it alone, but she’d still have to attempt it.
Asking for help from a sword-bearer was out of the question.
The witch stared into the eyes of the roan gelding, and its ears flattened back. The horse looked docile, but to someone as inexperienced as she was, it still looked quite imposing.
Gathering her courage, Semras stepped closer. “We meet again, horse. Could you bear with me while I try to figure this out on my own? I’m afraid I’m not surrounded by friends right now.” She hovered her hand mid-air, hesitating, then set it down on its nose. “I really could use one, if you—”
The horse jerked its head away and loudly snorted. Startled, Semras stepped back with a little cry. Her back hit something solid behind her.
“Careful. Horses are prey creatures. You mustn’t approach them too fast or they will spook,” Themas’ voice came from over her shoulder.
Semras glanced back at him. “I-I didn’t mean to scare it.”
He walked past her and gently raised his hand toward the horse. This time, the beast didn’t react, and he rubbed its neck in circular motions. “Beautiful, isn’t he?”
The knight’s blond hair shone under the morning sun. Lips graced by a gentle smile, he gazed softly at the gelding. Not a single scratch or impact marred his armour. He looked like the exact image of the gallant knight, as told in children’s tales—almost too perfect to be real.
Themas grabbed the horse’s reins and led it back to her. “Please allow me to assist you, Miss Semras.”
She thanked him with a lopsided smile. It seemed that every time she was in a difficult situation, he would come to save her. A true fairy tale knight indeed.
“I told you to drop the ‘miss,’ Themas,” she said, still smiling.
“Am I forgiven then? After last night, I did not dare assume …”
Semras exhaled softly. “You are. I was … a bit unfair too. You’re a Venator knight; of course you have to obey Velten’s orders even if you disagree with them.
” She paused, then added, “I’m sorry I was so harsh with you.
Let’s put the past behind us, if you don’t mind?
I’d like to have at least one friend around here. ”
“You have one in me. It is an honour once more to be of service to you, Semras.” Themas took her hand, then left the ghost of a kiss on its back.
“I deeply apologize for the offence I gave you. I thought back then that you were on … um, familiar terms with Inquisitor Velten, but after this morning I realized that—well, that I was wrong. If he is not a ‘friend,’ then what exactly is he to you?” His gloved hands still delicately clutched hers.
“He asked for my help with his investigation,” Semras said, shrugging. “He needs an herbalist. As for my relationship with him, as he would kindly inform you himself: I am merely a tool.”
The knight frowned. “Please tell me he did not say that to your face.”
“You know the vile man well, Themas,” she replied, chuckling.
“He did, then. Calling you a tool. How very like—” Themas cleared his throat. “I would apologize in his stead, but you will tell me not to bother, I suppose?”
She winked. “Now you’re starting to know me.”
A light blush spread over his cheeks, and Semras’ smile deepened. Themas was younger than her by a few summers, and it showed at times like these. With his warm hazel eyes and the dimples framing his boyish grin, the knight looked quite handsome.
His thumb softly grazed the top of her fingers, and Semras ripped her hand back; their touch had lingered for far longer than appropriate. “We-We should probably …”
“Yes! The horse! Allow me—”
A hailing voice interrupted them. “What is holding both of you up?”
Riding his towering stallion, Inquisitor Velten expertly guided his steed around them and then stopped in front of Semras. His questioning glare jumped between her and the knight.
Semras stumbled back at the kelpie’s proximity. Sweat ran down her spine.
Sensing her fear, the fey creature darted its void-like pupils to her. It let out a rare neigh, splitting its mouth far too wide, showing teeth going far too deeply down its throat.
Her gelding grew agitated. The smaller horse pawed and huffed and tried to rip Themas’ grip from its reins. Panicked, Semras staggered back, her attention jumping between the gelding and the half-fey.
Velten looked pensively at her, and she hid her anxiety beneath a thin smile. Old Crone willing, her drawn face would inspire his clemency. “… It’s my fault.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded too shrill.
Scowling, Velten dismounted and walked toward her. “Your fault?” he asked as he drew closer.
“I-I don’t know how to climb onto the saddle alone, and I’m still a little sore from—”
The inquisitor grabbed her waist, and Semras yelped as he unceremoniously threw her over his shoulder.
“Let me down!” Legs kicking, she pounded her fists over his back. “Velten! Let me down right now or I’ll—!”
“Silence.” Velten dropped her next to his stallion.
Semras faced him, eyes glowering. A blazing flush spread all over her face. “What do you think you’re—”
With a smirk, the inquisitor grabbed her waist once more and lifted her atop his steed. The ominous creature snorted, but didn’t protest the additional weight.
Feet dangling far too high above the ground, Semras clutched the pommel with all her might.
It wasn’t very efficient—the inquisitor had sat her with both legs on the same side of the horse’s flank.
The saddle wasn’t made for sidesaddle riding, and she felt as if she’d fall to her death at any moment—if the fey didn’t decide to kill her first.
The inquisitor glanced behind him. “Maldoza, take care of her gelding.”
Themas bowed with a stoic expression. Only a twitch of his jaw betrayed his true feelings.
After mounting his horse, Velten settled right behind her. His hands snaked around her waist to grab the reins. “We depart!” he declared at large.
The stallion moved beneath her before Semras had time to register it. Fearful, she threw her arms around the closest thing she could grab and closed her eyes. A hand fell on her back, holding her safe.
Seconds later, realizing that she hadn’t—and wouldn’t—fall under stomping hooves, Semras opened her eyes and then groaned.
The damn smirk of Inquisitor Velten greeted her. “Hold on tight, witch. This will be a long ride.” Then he pressed his horse to speed up, and she tightened her hold around him reflexively.
“You’re doing this on purpose!”
A thunder of hooves hit the ground behind them, drowning out any other noises.
Velten dropped his face to her ear. “Perhaps. But I am still serious. Hold on to me, I will keep you safe.”
Her heartbeat pounded in her chest. ‘And who’s keeping me safe from you?’ she thought sourly.
The soft rustling of leaves threatened to rouse Semras from her slumber. Far above her head, wind danced through a thick canopy of branches, sending a cool breeze against her bare skin. Her shawl had partly slipped off her shoulders.
Semras shivered then snuggled closer to the radiating source of heat next to her. Her nose wrinkled. A pleasant smell was overpowering the earthy, fresh air, threatening to wake her further. Faintly, her mind registered the familiar scent: it was musk and wood essence.
A deep mortification shocked her back to reality.
Inquisitor Velten was holding her, keeping her from falling off the horse. She had dozed off to its canter and fallen asleep in his arms.
And now, she was cuddling him.
He would jeer at her once he’d notice that she was awake. Semras kept her eyes closed, desperately trying to gain more time before facing the inquisitor’s derision.
Autumn leaves crackled beneath the horse’s hooves. Their gait hit the compact soil rhythmically while birds sang joyously through the forest. So far beneath the thick canopy of trees, the shining rays of the sun couldn’t disperse the cold, lingering humidity of the air.
They had reached the Vedwoods.
People spoke in low tones around her. Semras recognized the voices of Sir Ulrech and Inquisitor Velten, their conversation far stronger than the rest as they rode ahead of the company.
Eyes barely cracked open, she peered through her lashes at the Venator knight riding next to them, her vision half shielded by Velten’s arm. Details were blurry, but she could tell movements apart at least.
“This armed escort is excessive,” the inquisitor muttered. “They are slowing us down.”
Sir Ulrech shrugged, eyes fixed on the path meandering through the trees ahead. She risked a half-lidded glance at it. Frequent journeys had sunk the trail into the soil and stamped out any crawling plants trying to overtake it.
“You do not share my opinion?” Velten asked.
“What I think does not matter, my lord,” the knight replied. “You already made your complaint about them known yesterday, and it did not make them disappear. Speaking further on the subject will not change that.”
The inquisitor snorted. “All the power of the Church in my hands, and I cannot rid myself of a few Venator Brothers,” he said, scoffing. “Just between you and me, old friend, don’t you just wish to leave them all behind too? I know you yearn to be back in Castereina as much as I do.”
Sir Ulrech’s gaze fell on Semras. She fully shut her eyes before he caught her listening in—again.
Velten continued, “Talk freely. She is asleep.”
“Is she, my lord?”