Chapter 18 #2
He shrugged, then resumed circling around her.
“I only meant to underline the delicate balance of our ecosystem, witch. Perhaps you will find more interesting the position the victim held for your kind: he was a staunch defender of your right to exist. He even tried to promote your pagan medicine by taking some himself, to the greatest consternation of all of Castereina’s doctors.
Master Torqedan was an outlier among the tribunals, however. ”
Her chest tightened uncomfortably at that name. “Did you just say Torqedan?” she asked. “He’s the man who died?”
“I said that several minutes ago. Were you not listening? That wounds my pride.” Estevan leaned against the desk and grinned. “And here I thought I was a charming conversationalist.”
Shuffling the papers in her hands, Semras needlessly inspected her notes, determined not to indulge him with her full attention. “I was concentrating. And I didn’t expect to hear a name I knew of. My Coven spoke of him from time to time.”
“All on good terms, I suppose. In the past few years, that tribunal advocated for many ecclesiastical laws in favour of witches,” Estevan said, glancing at the extinguished alembic with a cocked eyebrow.
“You have him to thank for allowing no more than a single session when putting heretics to the question.”
That brought a scowl to her face. “The ‘question’? You mean torture. Charming. And no, not on good terms at all. We didn’t know he spoke favourably of us to the Inquisition. He’s known among us for … for something else.”
The inquisitor tilted his head. “What for, then?”
“For razing the Esdara Coven to the ground during the witch purges. He left no survivors behind.” Resting her chin on her linked fingers, Semras waited for Estevan’s stunned reaction.
The inquisitor didn’t disappoint her. “Ah.”
Speechless at last—how satisfying.
“‘Ah’? Just ‘ah’?” The witch arched her eyebrow. “Come on, Inquisitor Velten, you have a cleverer tongue than that. Go on, use it.”
He smirked, and the glint in his eyes made her instantly regret her choice of words.
“Brazen witch,” he drawled. “Do not challenge me to show you all its uses. You might yet come to appreciate it.”
Face twisting into a grimace, Semras threw him a dark glare. “You still have time to go see Nimue, if you have …” She waved down in the general direction of his groin, trying hard not to glance there or let a blush colour her cheeks. “… energy to spend.”
“But I am here with you and not with Miss Covenless.”
“First you forget your firstborn son’s name, and now you call his mother so coldly? Either I didn’t understand Sir Ulrech’s propriety rules correctly, or you are being a … a …”
He shouldn’t be smirking like that. She was trying to insult him, not flirt with him!
“… A rake? A dissolute man? ‘Lecherous’ is the word you seek, perhaps. You did call me that once,” he supplied helpfully. “If it changes anything, I never said he was my firstborn.”
“Wonderful. How many children have you sired, Inquisitor?” Semras replied, smiling through her sarcasm.
“Who knows? I travel so much.” He looked far too amused. “Did you wish to contribute?”
Looking forlornly at the vial she had just analyzed, she sighed. If only she could have shut him up forevermore with its content. Old Crone knew she wished so dearly to poison him.
One day she would, she promised herself. With something violent—wolfsbane, perhaps. She had some seeds in her bag; she could use them. Their purple flowers would look so beautiful on his grave, growing out of his corpse after she’d fed them to him.
Semras pushed the delightful vision away with a deep exhale. “I don’t know what Nimue sees in you,” she lied. “You are the worst bastard I’ve ever met.” That part wasn’t a lie.
“You are so adorably easy to tease,” he said, chuckling.
“And you are so infuriatingly—!” Semras paused. Something was wrong.
Estevan was dancing around the subject, never entirely admitting to his relationship with Nimue … and he had called his own mistress with the polite title of ‘miss.’
“Oh,” she muttered. The bastard.
“Just ‘oh’?” An irritating grin spread across his lips. “If you need help to untie that sharp tongue of yours, I have been told mine was clever.”
She rolled her eyes, refusing to meet his bright gaze. “Nimue is not your lover.”
He laughed. For a man caught in yet another lie, he sounded far too entertained. “Finally letting go of your preconceived opinion, I see. I have to admit, it entertained me quite a lot. You looked very miffed about it all.”
“Very funny, inquisitor,” Semras seethed. “Is the child a lie too?”
Estevan cleared his throat. “Ah … no. I cannot deny his existence.” He raised one hand to silence her retort. “He is an unexpected accident. I take care of them both, of course, but his mother is not interested in a relationship with me, and neither am I.”
So she had understood it all wrong. Casting her gaze down, Semras stared quietly at her notes. An odd mix of relief, bitterness, and trepidation flooded her heart, drowning it in confusion.
“So that’s why you don’t care about your child’s name …” she murmured—to him, or to herself, she couldn’t tell. The truth hurt more than she had expected.
It wasn’t as if Inquisitor Velten—of all the men she could have ever wanted—would be the one to indulge her childish dreams of eternal devotion. He had his title and his oath, and she had … she had an analysis she should be returning to.
His fingers drummed against the desk. “I do care,” he replied quietly.
“I think I know what she chose, but I do not want to be presumptuous. It is her decision, not mine. All the involvement she expects from me is to provide a house and an annuity for her and the baby. Nothing more—and it suits us both perfectly.”
The confusion in her swelled even more. Estevan was doing the right thing, and they both seemed perfectly fine with that situation … but her heart still wilted. There had been something between Estevan and Nimue, and as fleeting as it turned out to be, it … it still confused her.
“Am I still the worst bastard you have ever met?” he asked.
Semras fidgeted with her quill pen. “Not the worst, I suppose.”
The inquisitor slid his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. Wordless, she stared at Estevan and that smile of his—the one with a corner slightly raised higher than the other. He did that one often around her.
“But still a bastard?” Estevan winked. “Clever witch.” He let go of her, and his touch left her with a tingling, burning imprint on her skin.
Before it could burn her alive, Semras busied her hands with blotting paper, tapping it lightly over the long-dried ink of her notes.
It changed nothing, she told herself. Estevan was an inquisitor, and she was a witch.
If anything, his and Nimue’s lack of mutual interest despite the child between them only served as further proof that such a relationship could only be a passing tryst and nothing more.
Semras would return home after analyzing the cause of Torqedan’s death, and then she’d never see Estevan again. So it changed nothing.
And it certainly did not change the fact that she’d have to face a corpse before sunrise. They had more important matters to address than daydreaming of vows and love and black-haired children with yellow eyes.
She sighed. “May I remind you we were speaking of murders?”
“Ah yes, Tribunal Torqedan’s murder.” Estevan scratched his nape. “You were saying witches wanted him dead.”
Semras paled. “No! No, that’s not what I said!
I just—he’s remembered for something terrible he did to us.
No Coven will mourn him, but we wouldn’t kill him.
You said yourself he had passed laws in our favour.
It’s the first time I’ve heard of this, but the Elders must have known.
It wouldn’t be in our best interest to see him die now, despite the history between us. ”
“The poor man. He did so much for your kind, but even in death, witches will not forgive him,” the inquisitor said, smirking.
His damn smirk again.
The witch seethed. “He burned the grounds of Esdara until nothing remained. Not even those who lived there. Not even the children. It will take decades before the Arras recovers from the fire. I don’t think anyone could be forgiven for that. Or have a change of heart that drastic.”
Swallowing back her anger, Semras looked away, refusing to cross his gaze.
She hadn’t been born during the purges, but her heart, and the heart of all the peninsula’s Covens, still mourned for Esdara to this day.
A cruel, fanatical act of savagery took it off the map over thirty years ago, but it would never be forgotten.
“It was long ago. Men change.” Inquisitor Velten’s voice sounded hollow to her ears.
“Men do not change that much.”
“I am not suggesting to forgive his actions. He was once called the Hammer of Witches for a reason, after all. I am only saying that he changed,” he said.
“And I know he did. Master Torqedan bashed me over the head often enough, trying to make me see his way. He kept saying how he regretted his foolish youth, how the Inquisition needed to make reparations for its past wrongdoings, and how I should cast the sword aside and take up the pen instead, as he did.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” she asked brusquely. “He’s a war criminal.”
The inquisitor lifted his hands in surrender. “I am simply considering all the angles of the case. And now I see the Covens have kept their grudge against him well alive. One that is certainly justified, but it still remains a grudge, and thus a motive.”
“It’s—it’s circumstantial. You cannot possibly use that against—”
“Relax, witch. We are just talking.” His appeasing smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Are we really?”
Inquisitor Velten’s smile fell. “No.”
Semras seized her neglected notes and started ripping the paper into small thin pieces, one for each line. A formality, now that her doubts were well beyond confirmed, but the habit was so deeply ingrained in her, she couldn’t break it.
Once done separating all the tidbits of information into their own note, she rearranged them around the desk, then grouped them by a logic only she understood.
“What are you doing now?” A dispassionate curiosity laced the inquisitor’s voice.
“It’s my method of research,” she said, moving a few pieces of paper around.
“When I study a plant or a potion, I take notes of all its relevant characteristics, and then I rip the papers into pieces to rearrange my thoughts. It helps me gain perspective and discover connections between what seems to be unrelated.”
The scent of musk and wood essence suddenly filled her nose.
“Did it work?” Velten leaned over her shoulder to look at her technique.
Electric jolts coiled around her guts at his proximity. She ignored them. “Of course it worked. I know what your poison is now.”
“How confident are you?”
Semras stared at him. “This confident.” She took the vial, then knocked it back.
Inquisitor Velten grinned slowly, like a cat pleased with its game. “Is the gin to your liking?”
“Not really. I prefer tea,” she replied, wiping her mouth.
“Though with the amount of juniper berries and cardamom within, it isn’t too far from an herbal tea, I suppose.
I detected a hint of Senan orange too. Quite pleasant.
” She placed the vial down on the desk. “Why would you tell me it was poison? If I didn’t know any better, it would have tainted my perception of it.
A lesser herbalist would have searched endlessly for what wasn’t there. ”
Estevan took the small vial and examined it. “Maz’s own little mix. She makes it for her brother, and he likes it spicier than what is sold in Castereina.” He put it back down. “It seems you are quite the competent herbalist, witch. You might not lie to me after all.”
Semras frowned in irritation. “‘After all’?”
“A shame.” The inquisitor rubbed his jaw, looking pensive.
Then he steeled his eyes. It startled her. Nothing was left now of the levity they had shared in the past few minutes. “It is time. Come, you will redo your little trick for real once we reach the crime scene. Take whatever you need with you.”
Taking a deep breath, Semras smothered any lingering feelings from her mind. She needed all her focus, more than ever before. Soon, she would fulfill the reason she had come so far from all she knew.
And then.
Then she’d go home and never see him again.