Chapter 23 #2
Semras strained to listen closely. In her ears, her heartbeat sounded deafening compared to the voices speaking within the room.
The monster bared his teeth in a saccharine smile. “Indeed. I called on you for my investigation of the murder of Tribunal Torqedan. Which you met—secretly and with no witness—just before he died. A curious coincidence, would you not say?”
Callum laughed.
The deep, rich sound unsettled her. It wasn’t a spontaneous laugh, but something closer to a studied, often rehearsed, one.
“Now you are the one threatening me,” Inquisitor Callum replied.
“Do you truly believe me guilty of killing a tribunal? Death is the kindest fate awaiting whoever committed such a crime.” His fingers drummed against the armrest. “Regardless of if it was accidental or not, the culprit will be tortured, drawn, and quartered in the public place. So no, even if I had done it, I would not tell you I killed Master Torqedan. I am not suicidal.”
The monster frowned. “Then tell me what you two spoke of that night. Tell me why you met with him.”
Inquisitor Callum mulled over his thoughts.
When he spoke at last, Semras could barely hear his low murmur.
“He was … incoherent. He reminisced about his past. About the grandeur of the Inquisition and what it used to mean to be an inquisitor during the great witch purges of his youth. Of what he hoped would be his legacy.” Callum threw a furtive glance at his peer.
“He spoke of you, Estevan. Of the ‘man who would follow in his footsteps,’ he told me. My turn with the question: will you?”
Her captor raked his fingers through his hair. “His ‘footsteps’? What does that even mean?” he asked. “Master Torqedan always harangued me about my ruthlessness. He certainly never congratulated me on it. You know how he was. He would not … he would not see me as following his legacy at all.”
“That stood out to me too. I came to talk to him about your last case, the one with the Anderas bleakwitch. He praised the way you handled it. And here I was, about to beg him to rein you in.” Callum clicked his tongue.
“A fool’s endeavour, it turned out. The last words I ever exchanged with him, and he admired your monstrous actions.
How odd the death throes of a man may sound like. ”
Semras quelled her excitement as best as she could. Inquisitor Callum was admonishing the monster without restraint. He could stand up to him.
He could free her.
“‘Monstrous’? I am not the monster of that story, trust me,” her captor growled. The ghost of a memory passed by in his eyes, and his mouth set into a grim line. “You were not there, Cael. You have not seen what she … what she did to Sir Jaqh.”
Velten looked so haunted, pity almost overrode Semras’ hatred for him. With their intimate knowledge of human anatomy, a fleshwitch turned Bleak could weave unfathomable body horrors.
“She walked in his skin, Cael. I will never—! … I will never forget that. I still have nightmares. Not that you would ever understand. ”
Estevan downed his drink, then stood and walked to a nearby liquor cabinet. After blindly grabbing one of the bottles on display, he poured more into his glass, then knocked it back.
Inquisitor Callum’s fingers stopped moving. “No, I would not. I do not have nightmares, and I do not have dreams. I have the law, however, and the law stipulates—”
Glass shattered on the floor at Estevan’s feet. He spun around, his cup gone. “Void take you, Cael! Can’t you act human for once? Just this once?”
Semras felt horribly out of place, listening in to such a private conversation. She hadn’t come here for that, yet the sight of Estevan mourning his friend froze her in place.
No, not Estevan. The monster. The monster who had taken away her weaving, her freedom, and her ability to love.
Even if … even if he didn’t look like one, standing there, breathing heavily while the other inquisitor still sat unnervingly still in front of him.
“I have been callous,” Callum murmured.
“Yes, you have.” Velten sat back down. “I … I still should not have said that.”
“What? That I acted inhumanely? It was true. Do not be sorry.”
“You should be angrier.”
Callum cocked his head. “I am not.”
With a sigh, Velten rested his elbows on his knees. “You should. That is exactly why people call you a—”
Inquisitor Callum sprang forth and grabbed Velten by the shirt, lifting him up from his seat. He had moved so fast, Semras wouldn’t have seen him move at all had she blinked at the wrong moment.
“Call me that word, Estevan,” he said calmly. “Do it. See how angry I can get.”
Breath stilled in her chest, Semras watched, unable to wrench her attention away. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
Velten shrugged him off, then straightened his clothes. “Now we are both looking for a fight.”
“Do you think you can win?” Callum asked as he sat back on the settee.
A bitter chuckle answered him. “I have had enough fighting my own demons these past days without adding you onto the pile. I am …” Her captor sighed. “… I am exhausted.”
Humming noncommittally, Callum swept his eyes around the room. His gaze stopped at the keyhole.
Semras twisted away from the door, hands clasped over her mouth. Had he caught her? She couldn’t see anymore—only listen as Inquisitor Callum’s voice grew stronger.
“You have travelled a lot these past few months,” he said. “Did you visit Master Torqedan upon your return from the Anderas?”
“… I had no time. He was declared dead the second I arrived in Castereina.”
“So you have not reported the death of the bleakwitch to any tribunal of the Inquisition, then?”
“What need is there to hurry? She is dead,” the monster spat out. “I watched her burn with great delight.”
“Maybe it is these footsteps he spoke of.”
Silence answered Inquisitor Callum. Then her captor broke it brusquely. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing. I feared for a moment you had brought back a trophy for yourself, considering your history. I was wondering if our little spy over there was her.”
He had seen her. Callum had seen her.
Semras paled. She needed to run.
She tried, but her legs had turned to lead. Fear weighed each of her steps down, as if the air itself conspired to hold her back. Before she could reach the servant’s staircase, the door flew open. Semras spun to face it, heart brimming with horror.
In the doorway, he was staring at her. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his cheeks were hollower than she recalled. The inquisitor looked gaunt. Haunted.
The witch looked worse, but not by much.
They hadn’t met, hadn’t spoken in days. And he was just … staring at her.
“It wasn’t—” Semras said, voice small. “I didn’t weave, I swear.” Somehow, her mind had decided that this was crucial information. He had always reacted so violently to being spied upon before.
“Another witch?” Callum called out from the room. “That makes two now. You will soon be running your own coven at this rate, Estevan.”
“Shut up, Cael.” Running his hand through his hair, her captor looked down at her. His voice dropped. “I wish you had; then I would have known sooner you were spying. Again.”
“I-I wasn’t spying,” Semras said lowly, matching his tone by reflex. “I was—I was just …”
The monster stepped toward her, and a violent shiver coursed through her limbs. Her throat closed up as terror numbed her mind.
Eyes wide with despair, Semras stared past him to Inquisitor Callum. He was leaning against the doorway and watching her with unconcealed curiosity. With the gloves and long sleeves still hiding the shackles binding her hands, he had no way of knowing she was a captive.
Semras shuddered. Before her eyes, her plan turned to rot.
Her credibility had died when she was caught spying.
The second she would open her mouth to speak the truth, the monster would gag her and use the shackles on her hands to present her as a murder suspect trying to run away.
Inquisitor Callum would believe none of her words after that, no matter how much she’d scream at him that Velten was the true murderer.
How could he, when she looked so suspicious now?
Light faded from her eyes. The monster would now drag her back to her cell and then find another, darker, more secure cage for his pet, and she’d never escape him.
He grabbed her jaw. “So you missed me,” he said at last, voice louder than before. “Have I neglected you so much? How rude of me. I will rectify this as soon as possible. Just wait for me, Semras.”
She blinked. What?
His thumb drew circles on her jaw, leaving a searing trail on her skin. “Once Cael is gone, I will be all yours. We will talk then, privately. Just you and I.”
The monster had covered for her. He laced threats within his false words of affection, warnings that this wasn’t over, but he had not taken the opportunity to frame her for his crime.
It would have been so easy to do it, and he should have wanted to.
By escaping her room, she had revealed that she never intended to cooperate with him.
And yet … he had chosen not to frame her. Not now, at least. And his words, as repugnant as they sounded, kept her credibility intact—and her plan, still doable.
“Until then …” He lifted her chin up, forcing her to cross his gaze. “Take some time to stretch your legs before you go back to our room, Semras. I will find you later.” After lingering for a second too long, his hand released her, and a shiver of revulsion ran down her spine.
The monster threw a heavy glance over her shoulder, conveying silent orders to whoever stood there. Then he gently pushed her away, returned to the parlour, and closed the door.
Semras shuddered.
She was in trouble, but her opportunity wasn’t yet lost—if she could catch Callum before the monster got back to her, she might still escape. It all depended on who stood behind her. If it was Themas, she was safe. If it were anyone else …
Semras breathed deeply, then forced herself to turn and face her fate.
But no one stood there.
She blinked. Was this a trap? She had heard no one behind her—not while listening in on the inquisitors’ conversation, and not even when she had tried to run after being caught. And neither had she when her captor threw a glance over her shoulder.
Maybe … maybe there was no one. Maybe the monster hadn’t wanted Inquisitor Callum to know he had a prisoner and had tried to intimidate her into returning to her cage on her own.
The witch swept her gaze through the hallway once more.
Still empty and silent. Only a light waft of air coursed through it, rippling through the curtains and tapestries hung on the walls.
Semras took a few hesitating steps, then some more—still no one. Trap or no trap, she’d never willingly return to her cage.
She slipped into the servant staircase and hid there, ears strained for any hint of a newcomer. Body taut and ready to snap into a run, she waited for the inquisitors to finish their conversation. An incessant draft blew on her skin, raising goosebumps of cold over goosebumps of fear.
The monster wouldn’t let her slip through his fingers again. If she did not catch Inquisitor Callum, if she could not convince him to help her …
Then Velten would break her.