Chapter 19 #3
The disturbing levity in his voice only enhanced its viciousness. The inquisitor’s smirk, snarling in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for innocent mirth, chilled her very soul. Semras trembled; her legs threatened to fold beneath her.
Before they could, the inquisitor pinned her against the desk. Lips trembling, Semras stared at the man she never truly knew.
He grabbed her jaw. “Something to say?”
His touch startled her, and she twisted her head away from his touch. “Madman! Murderer! Don’t touch me!” Reflexively, her hands flew up, ready to weave.
But they couldn’t. Her fingers struggled in vain against their cold iron prison. Shackle-bound, she couldn’t weave.
She. Couldn’t. Weave.
With a cold rictus, the inquisitor grabbed her wrists and slammed them backward onto the table, dragging her down forcefully. The inkpot wavered and fell, spilling its cold black liquid on the surface. From the corner of her eye, Semras watched helplessly as the void-like mass crept toward her.
Black seeped into her hair and skin, chilling her.
She struggled against the murderer. “Release me!”
Laughing, he slammed her wrists back onto the table.
“Oh, must I remind you that I did not demand you wear these lovely shackles on your hands? Do not accuse me of being responsible for this. This was a folly of your making. If only you had trusted me less …” He pierced her with his inhuman, icy gaze.
“I found it quite endearing, you know? Your determination to make me trust you. Adorable, but foolish. You were a tool, and I told you so from the start. The one time I did not lie to you, and you did not heed my warning. No, no … instead, you chose this.”
“You bastard, you lying bastard! You deceived me! From the very start, you—!”
“Correction, witch. You deceived yourself. I only played along. And how could I not, with these pretty golden eyes looking at me with so much desire?” He sneered.
“But really, now that all pretenses are gone … you did not truly believe an inquisitor could ever love a witch, did you?” His rictus widened at the tears of rage welling in her eyes.
Semras’ jaw chattered painfully. “I’ll kill you!”
“I would love to see you try in these shackles. Come on, sweet pet, come at me. Do your worst.”
Held down, helpless, Semras struggled with all her might. It only served to amuse him. The murderer increased the pressure of his hands around her wrists.
“You cannot?” He hummed. “How sad.”
“There never was a witch I could help save, was there?”
He tutted. “I did not lie about everything. There is a witch. You. If you want to save yourself, you would do well to help me find a scapegoat to take the fall for me. Or else …you will.” His cold sneer froze her in place.
“You should have returned home when I gave you the chance, witch. Now all you can do is choose me or the pyre.”
Semras couldn’t feel her limbs anymore. Terror had robbed her of all sensation. “A … a scapegoat?”
Her horrified murmur made him snicker. “I do not fancy paying for that old man’s death, but someone needs to. It could be you. It is my word against yours, of course, but I can easily fabricate evidence and let prejudice fill in the blanks.”
The witch shuddered. He was right. Even if she told the Venator guards outside what he just confessed to her, they’d only laugh at her.
“And you …” The inquisitor seized her throat in a cruel caress. “You have such a pretty neck. Pretty enough, in fact, that I will allow you to find someone else to frame for me. Be my accomplice, witch. You can live for me, or die for me—your choice. I was not kidding about the pyre.”
“You won’t get away with this …” Semras’ voice came out hoarse, strained. And far too weak.
His fingers dug into the side of her throat.
“Oh, I will. Look at my gloves. I killed before, and the tribunals sanctified me for it,” he purred.
“I can and will do it again.” A mad, arrogant triumph lit up his gaze.
The inquisitor had her exactly where he wanted her—but not for long if she could help it.
Semras crashed her forehead against his. Grunting in pain, he stumbled back.
Her head throbbed. Teeth gritted, Semras slithered past him and ran as fast as she could toward the door. Beyond it lay freedom, safety. She’d reach it, and then she’d—
Arms seized her from behind. They lifted her from the floor, and she thrashed her legs in the air, trying to squirm out of their grip. “Hel—!”
A hand muffled her. She bit it, but neither pain nor blood stopped the murderer.
He lowered her down only to crush her against the floor with his frame, pressing her belly against it. She was trapped—trapped between him and the polished wooden planks beneath her.
Semras struggled, and the pressure on her increased. Dry sobs of despair ripped through her throat as he spread her wrists apart, crushing them against the floor. She was defenceless now.
She had always been.
“Hush,” the inquisitor murmured in her ear. “There is no need to cry. My men heard the scream of that man too, and they did nothing. What makes you think they will come to save you?”
One by one, burning tears rolled down Semras’ cheeks. This was how she’d die, killed by the madman who somehow convinced her to trust him.
She was never returning home.
Against her will, a loud, pitiful whimper escaped her throat. It was a cry of mourning—for herself, for her home, for her heart. How foolish she’d been.
How could she have ever trusted an inquisitor?
The crushing weight on her vanished, and Semras was left alone on the floor.
Her body instinctively crawled toward the door, still holding onto the vain hope of surviving.
But there was no hope. Even that pathetic escape attempt would soon be thwarted, and she’d die hearing his laughter in her ears.
The floor smelled of old, rotten blood. It smelled of death. Her fingers raked over the grain of the wood, scratching at her own coffin.
When the murderer reappeared in front of her, cutting off her way, she stopped moving. Her body slumped against the floor, surrendering at last.
“Where are those defiant eyes that stared me down in the glade?” he asked, crouching before her. “Where is that wild spirit that made you hold your ground against me?”
A hand raised her chin, and Semras met his gaze.
Through her blurred vision, she imagined Estevan standing there instead of the murderer. His gaze had turned soft, subdued. Was that shame lurking within, or did she long so much for some humanity that she was hallucinating it?
“Semras?”
The sound of her name on his lips broke her. The fragile pride holding onto her dignity burst, and her tears came pouring out. Semras sobbed; her body quivered violently from the strength of her weeping. She felt cold, so, so cold.
And terrified. Helpless. Alone.
So damn alone.
“Be my tool, Semras,” the inquisitor murmured. “I can be good to you, but only if you serve your purpose.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and Semras met his gaze. More violent shivers seized her body.
He had always been watching her ever since they met. In her mind, she had unconsciously started cataloging all of his stares, from the disdainful to the mocking. This one was new. It felt tender, vulnerable even, and patient. He looked at her as if he were beholding something precious and fragile.
But he was beholding her—his tool.
The disparity shook her. Semras wrenched herself out of his grip and fell backward, elbows slamming against the floor behind her.
She expected strong arms to seize her again, yet this time, the murderer stayed crouching in front of her, apparently content to stare.
His eyes shone so brightly, she found herself unable to break free from his gaze.
A heavy silence stretched between them.
“Why did you kill him?” she whispered in a hoarse, small voice.
Glancing away, he shrugged. “Why not? I have my reasons. You do not need to know them.”
“Then why choose me?” Semras fought back a mournful frown. Her brows quivered under her strained effort. “You have loyal people who would have helped you without question. With me, you’ll never be able to turn your back. You will always fear I’ll stab it in revenge.”
And rightly so—beyond the fear, the horror, and the pain, an icy rage started simmering deep within her.
The murderer lifted the corners of his mouth in a poor imitation of a smile.
“You have much more to lose than I do if you betray me. If I fall, so will you. After all, who else could I have bought the poison from but you? My accomplice: an herbalist that many witnesses could attest to her presence by my side. One who so obviously had a close relationship with me.”
The witch suppressed a shiver at the memories of playful banter and furtive touches, and of heated glances and heady kisses.
Semras wanted to forget about these the most. They once made her feel intoxicated; now they only left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“You planned everything,” she said quietly. “You could plan to dispose of me, too. What guarantees do I have that you won’t turn against me?”
“Nothing. This is a chance you will have to take. Or you may yet think of a way to be rid of me.” The murderer chuckled lowly. “You are clever, brilliant. It is only a matter of time before you do.”
“Do not mock me,” Semras snarled.
She knew she was stalling for nothing; no one would come save her. From the moment she agreed to follow him, her life had rested in his hands. Now she needed to take it back from him, and that meant going along with the murderer’s plan—for now.
Semras let out a shrill, distressed chuckle. “What must I do?”
“Accompany me. Counsel me. Assist me. Do it well, and I will return you to your home once this is over.”
The witch forced her lips into a smile. She only managed a sneer. “Old folk believe that witches make deals with devils,” she said. More words dragged themselves out of her, each of them sandpaper on her tongue. “Tonight, they are right, Inquisitor.”
He replied with a light hearted chuckle, and Semras forced the corners of her lips to relax into a half-smile.
No true mirth reached her widened eyes. Horror had sunk its talons into her spine and stiffened her limbs. Semras felt sick. She broadened her smile in spite of it.
Rising to his feet, her own personal devil smiled warmly at her. “Now that you and I are close friends, call me Estevan.” He offered his hand.
Fighting back a shiver of dread, Semras took it.