Chapter 11 #3
“Wait. What Coven are you from?” Ulrech cut her off, voice laced with traces of mistrust.
“Adastra,” Estevan replied. “Do not worry; she is not from Talion.”
Semras blinked, unnerved by the accuracy of his answer.
“I thought you said you were a witch of Yore?” Themas asked.
“I am. But I …” She glanced at Estevan. Would he be able to answer that too?
Noticing her, he raised his mug and smirked.
“I was initiated into Yore a year ago, but before that I lived on Adastra’s coven grounds.” She looked back at Estevan. “How do you know—”
“Initiated?” Eyes bright with curiosity, the young knight leaned toward her. “That was your choice, then?”
Annoyance started to brew within her. Semras had meant to fish for information, and she ended up being the one questioned.
“Yes. The Elders of Adastra wanted me to join them, and I refused. I wanted to keep to the Woods Path, and there was a skilled potion maker at Yore I hoped could help me walk it. A famous warwitch—but I suppose the Inquisition would call her infamous. I wanted her to take me as an apprentice.”
“A warwitch the Inquisition does not like …” Studying her with open suspicion, Sir Ulrech leaned forward. “And you freely admit to wanting to learn from her.”
Now it had become an interrogation.
Semras scowled. “You’ll find nothing to reproach her.
She’s the one who brokered the peace that ended the witch purges, and her War Path is long behind her.
We still refer to her as a warwitch to honour the sacrifices she made walking it for us, but she’s a woodwitch nowadays.
” She huffed, exasperated. “Besides, she’s quite reclusive and doesn’t take part in the Coven’s life very often, so I have yet to cross paths with her.
I hope that answers all your worries, Sir Ulrech. ”
Next to her, Themas gave her a kind, placating smile. “She sounds very impressive,” he said. “What is her name?”
Estevan tapped his fingers on his knees. “You do not have to answer them, witch. Change the subject.”
Mellowed by the young knight’s dimpled grin, Semras ignored him. “Warwitch Leyevna. She is really impressive; everyone knows about her. She even has the ears of the Elders of Yore.”
“I hope you get to meet her one day,” he replied with a bow, a hand placed over his heart.
“So do I …” The witch leaned closer to the fire. “I’m a wild daughter, so I always had to find mentors on my own.”
“A ‘wild daughter’? I’m very sorry to bother you this much, Semras. It is all just so fascinating to me,” Themas said. “I grew up thinking witches were just legends of the past. That your people were all gone by now.”
“We could have been …” A thin, forced smile spread across her lips. “‘Wild daughters’ means orphaned and raised communally by the Coven. The last witch purge made many of us, so I’m far from the only one, but … well, I had no mother to support me.”
“… A void no one else can fill …” Estevan muttered to himself, flask held near his lips. Their gazes crossed, and he gave her a soft, heavy smile.
She knew the curve of it well. She had given similar ones to other wild daughters after hearing their own stories of loss—not a smile born of pity, but of empathy, and drawn from personal experience.
Her heart fluttered.
Estevan understood her. He too knew the same bitter longing as she did—the desperate, irrational mix of yearning and resentment for the parent who abandoned them.
Themas cleared his throat, snapping her attention back to the present.
“With … um, with Warwitch Leyevna as a mentor,” Semras continued, “I could finally have someone—”
The inquisitor stood. “You must excuse me. I have Sir Ulrech’s secret alcohol stash to investigate.”
“What?” Ulrech said. “No, wait, my lord!” Grumbling something about abuses of power and the unlawful seizure of private property, he ran after Estevan.
Left alone around the campfire, Semras eyed the younger knight.
Earlier, Sir Ulrech had stopped himself before mentioning why Estevan was under scrutiny—and by who. Themas hadn’t served the inquisitor for very long, but he might still know something if he came from Castereina too.
“I wanted to ask—”
“Do you know—”
With a shy smile, Themas gallantly gestured for her to go first.
Semras chose her words carefully, hoping to obfuscate her query behind curiosity. “Do you know what, um … reputation Inquisitor Velten has in Castereina? Or the things he’s known for? Like some scandals, or if some people resent him …?”
Themas mused a moment, then spoke slowly, “Are you referring to the rumours about his witch lover?”
Her heart skipped a beat. His … witch lover?
What witch lover?
Grabbing a branch, Themas stirred the fire.
“I believe her name is Nimue. Rumours say she’s lived with him for …
three, four years now? Inquisitor Velten used to bring her along in his travels, but she has remained behind for the past year.
Probably because she was with child. I’ve heard a newborn was recently spotted at his residence.
” Themas glanced at her. “As you may imagine, other inquisitors are none too pleased about it. It is not illegal to sire a child, but … it’s not like he can marry his lover while keeping his position.
He’ll never make of the poor witch an honourable woman. ”
He had a witch lover?
At last, Themas noticed her distress. He dropped the stick and drew her hands into his. Their warmth did not reach her.
“Semras, what happened this afternoon? When you were alone with him? I—I saw the marks on your skin … He did not force himself on you, did he?” His thumb caressed the top of her hand, and she stared at it numbly, unable to feel it.
Face blank, she shook her head slowly.
“That’s a relief.” Themas squeezed her hands. “Please pay him no further mind. It pains me to say so, but Inquisitor Velten is a known dissolute rake. He is not … he is not worthy of your consideration. You’d do well to keep away from him. He’s not a … a good man.”
He had a child?
The knight bent down and gently kissed her hand. “I fear you might be in danger around him.”
He had kissed her. It had meant nothing.
How.
Dare.
He.