Chapter 20 #2
Sin’Sagar descended from the driver’s seat, then bowed to his master without sparing her a single glance. After being sent away with a nod, the steward left, showing no interest in her or the witch-shackles on her hands. No help would come from him.
Bitter, Semras scowled at his silhouette retreating toward the house. The steward had seemed so amiable hours ago, but, in truth, he was nothing more than an obedient dog.
And now she knew what conversation she had missed when she spied on the inquisitor and his steward. Had she been more on her guard then, had she been less naive … she would have known what fate awaited her tonight. She was now paying dearly for her misplaced trust.
Her thoughts turned to Themas, and Sir Ulrech, and even to Maraz’Miri. The latter wouldn’t help her either. The agent had admitted to listening to Sin’Sagar first and foremost. Sir Ulrech didn’t like her, and Themas …
She couldn’t default trust to Themas. For all his kindness, he remained a Venator knight. He’d have to prove himself first before she could consider relying on him.
Semras studied the courtyard. The metal gate leading outside was closed shut already, but the walls running on each side of it looked reachable—if her hands were unbound, she could climb over them.
Clicking her tongue softly, the witch turned her attention to the trees instead, and to the small outbuildings littering the yard, and to the silhouettes of buildings jutting out from behind the walls.
Everywhere she looked, her bound hands ruined any escape opportunities. She needed to get out of them, and fast. Without the ability to weave, Semras was helpless.
She didn’t despair. There was time. There was still time.
The inquisitor grabbed her elbow and dragged her inside the mansion.
She would bide her time.
Inquisitor Velten led her to the second floor. No one crossed their path on their way up, and no one saw her bound hands—it was as if the staff had deserted the mansion. Old Crone be praised for sparing her this humiliation at least.
They stopped before two doors standing next to one another. The sight of them brought back to the surface of her mind an earlier conversation about a master and side bedroom. Semras paled. He would be close to her.
Sin’Sagar was waiting there, his face as impassive as it had been before.
“No changes to the plan,” the inquisitor told him.
The master steward nodded once, then moved aside to open the door. Her captor shoved her through the doorway.
Semras stumbled forward into a dark crimson room lined with walnut panelling. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, searching for a way out.
Against the right wall and its little door connecting to the master bedroom was a wide canopy bed; on the opposite side, a dressing table and a wardrobe furnished the relatively luxurious room.
Facing the door she had come from, a thin-paned window looked into the inner courtyard of the mansion.
A black ornamental grate with intricate patterns of scrolls embellished it.
She knew the metal only served as decoration, but it still looked like the bars of a prison to her.
Gas fixtures in the shape of wall sconces and a hanging chandelier bathed the room in the same eerie orange light as the rest of the city. Semras shuddered at its soulless glow. Would the flames of her pyre burn with the same colours?
The door closed behind her, and her shoulders fell. Alone at long last, she took a cautious step further into the room.
A throat cleared behind her.
Startled, Semras spun around to face Inquisitor Velten. Her shoulders rose at the sight of him.
“You will stay here until I need you again,” he said. His voice sounded cold, detached. “Do not think of leaving without my approval. Someone will stay at the door at all hours. You may knock if you need something, but do not expect an answer. For tonight, Master Sin’Sagar will attend to you.”
Semras’ stomach dropped. “… You said you wouldn’t throw me in a cell …”
Hope bled out of her, blanching her face with the pallor of death. She wouldn’t be allowed to roam. She wouldn’t be allowed to find a way out.
Her captor looked around the room. “This could hardly be called one. You will be kept comfortable here, with meals brought to you at regular hours.”
She wouldn’t let any of her tears fall while the bastard could see them. “How long will you keep me here as … as your pet?” she asked, lifting a quivering chin to him.
“However long will be needed.”
He hadn’t denied her role—a pet, kept in a pretty, gilded cage. Chained down so she couldn’t fly away ever again.
Raising her hands, Semras shook her shackles. “Will you remove these at least?”
He wouldn’t—of course he wouldn’t—but she had to ask.
“I will.” A cold sneer spread across his lips. “If you beg.”
Whipped by the echoes of her own damn words, Semras staggered back. Tears welled up in her eyes. Merciful, they turned the monster’s face into a blur, sparing her the sight of whatever perverse delight her reaction gave him.
“I—”
“Get out,” she rasped. Her throat felt tight—too tight. “Get. Out.”
A pause. Then, after a torturous eternity, he stepped back and retreated outside the room.
Semras stood alone.
For the first time since the inn’s attack, she was finally alone.
Had it been a single night ago? It felt like a lifetime, one that had left her drained and wizened.
To think she had spent the previous night comforted by that monster’s arms. How absurd.
Now she’d spend it in the gilded cage he had prepared for her long before they ever met.
She’d been so naive. The Coven Elders would be so disappointed in her when they’d learn of her foolishness.
If they ever learned of it. Perhaps the monster would come to appreciate the exotic bird he had trapped so much, he would never let her fly away. He had told her so himself: ‘Live for me, or die for me—your choice.’
It hadn’t been her heart that failed her. It hadn’t been her trust that betrayed her. It had been him. It had always been him. His lies. His smiles. His touches. His scorn. His taunts. His praises. Him.
Gripping her head, Semras collapsed to the floor. Tears fell freely from her eyes, a barrage broken now that she was alone and free to feel. Between heaved breaths, a long mournful wail escaped her. It echoed through the night.
Her chest hurt. It hurt so, so much.
Had nothing been true at all?