Chapter 24
Half an hour passed before the parlour door opened—half of an excruciating hour of cold sweats and shivers of stress and jumping at shadows, expecting to be caught at any moment. When the sound of swinging hinges freed her from the agony, Semras released her breath and listened in.
“No need to escort me. I remember the way out,” she heard Cael say.
Her captor grunted. “As long as you do not get ‘lost’ like last time.”
Heavy footsteps thundered up the main stairs. Half a moment later, others walked away from it.
Semras waited. The monster might yet come back down.
When she felt confident he wouldn’t, she carefully opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
No one stood there, but she hadn’t heard Cael go down to the ground floor either, so he must have still been nearby.
She walked down the hall—at first with unhurried steps, fearing she’d attract attention, then faster and faster as she circled around corridors and corners without crossing the path of anyone. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird. If Inquisitor Callum had left already …
No, he couldn’t. He had to be inside the house. But where was he?
Semras walked past for the umpteenth time the alcoves lining the hallway, carefully keeping her eyes away from them. Its large window overlooked the front yard, and part of her feared it would only show a black and gold carriage leaving the estate with her only hope.
She bit her lip, trying to fight back the sinking of her heart. Cael might already be gone, after all.
“Well met, Miss Witch.”
Hands flying to her mouth, Semras stamped down a strangled cry.
Inquisitor Callum stood behind her, emerging from the window alcove she had just passed by. He was smiling at her, but it didn’t reach his dark, focused eyes. “I had a feeling you eavesdropped not because you missed our dear Estevan, but because you wanted to talk to me—alone. Was I wrong?”
“No, sir,” she said carefully.
Was she supposed to call him ‘sir’? She couldn’t exactly ask Ulrech which form of address would be appropriate to use right now.
Maybe it should have been ‘my lord,’ as so many called her captor, but how many lords could the Deprived peerage possibly count?
She could only hope she hadn’t insulted him into changing his mind.
Shoulders thrown back, hands casually buried in the pockets of dark trousers, the inquisitor looked perfectly relaxed, and yet …
the sharpness of his gaze and the way it caught even her every movement put her on guard.
Something in the angle of his body, and the glint of his eyes, and the edge of his polite smile felt oddly … familiar.
It hit her suddenly. If it hadn’t been for his red locks and his dark green eyes, she could have mistaken him for the madman who imprisoned her. They both possessed the same stance, the same predatory aura.
Semras suppressed a shudder. “Are all inquisitors as …”—‘nerve-racking,’ she thought—“… as imposing as you and …?”
Cael laughed amiably, and goosebumps rose on her arms. “Not necessarily,” he said.
“Estevan and I shared the same mentor back when we were mere apprentices. He taught us everything—our expressions, our manners, our methods. How to intimidate, to coerce, to compel …” He crept closer, eyes firmly set on her.
His dark green eyes were not as piercing as the monster’s icy blue ones, but his gaze was just as formidable.
Semras fought the urge to step back. He wasn’t close, not even remotely so, and yet her limbs had already grown tense and ready to sprint.
Then Cael raised his hands in front of him, and the pressure vanished. Semras exhaled deeply—she hadn’t even noticed she’d held her breath.
“… and how to soothe, to calm, to ease,” he continued. “I am not here to alarm you, Miss Witch. I have simply come to offer you my attention, should you have need of it. If my hunch is wrong, or if you change your mind, I will not pursue this matter. Take your time to think about it.”
Inquisitor Callum walked past her and entered a side room. The door stayed open, a clear invitation to follow him inside.
Semras stood still in the corridor for much longer than was wise for a fugitive like her.
She had wanted to speak to the inquisitor, to seek his help and escape her predicament …
yet something in her refused to move. Inquisitor Callum had spoken kindly, but without the warmth of sincerity, and—no, that wasn’t it.
Something else held her back. Something she had learned long ago that now tried to resurface to warn her. It couldn’t pierce through the veil of hatred and horror that had suffocated her since captivity. It couldn’t make her let go of the opportunity she risked and lost so much for.
After willing her feet to move, Semras followed Inquisitor Callum into the room.
The serene silence of a small prayer room welcomed her inside.
At the far back, an altar of crystals commanded her attention as soon as she stepped into the luminous room.
From the window behind it, the sun’s rays hit the transparent gems; they bloomed into thousands of small reflections across the room, projecting their rainbow lights over the religious plasterwork of sprawling suns decorating the white walls and vaulted ceiling.
Slumped like a cat over one of the settees facing the altar, Cael was waiting for her.
The warm, bright glow of sunrays fell on his closed eyes and freckled cheeks.
He seemed relaxed, unhurried. His rolled-back sleeves revealed arms of wiry muscles and even more of the reddish-brown dots dusting his skin.
He looked surreal—a classical painting come to life.
Shaking off the odd reverie, Semras carefully approached and sat on the settee closest to him.
A lazy smile drew across Cael’s lips. “I know Estevan’s house as I know my own.
This private worship room was constructed at the request of Cardinal Velten, back when he resided here.
Estevan has its exclusive use now, but as you might imagine, he is not inclined to pray very often.
No one will disturb us here.” The inquisitor opened his eyes and stared at her.
He blinked slowly. Paired with his blank smile, it made him look like a cat in front of a mouse—or, rather, a Senan tiger hiding its nature beneath a faked placidity before the attack.
And she was trapped with it in a room no one knew about.
Semras flew toward the door.
“My apologies,” Cael said, his calm voice piercing through her panic. “I did not intend to alarm you. You are free to leave, of course.”
She stopped, hand hovering close to the handle.
The monster would have thrown himself in her way and caged her against the wall. He’d have wielded veiled threats and cajoling words like a noose around her throat, suffocating her into obedience.
Cael was different; his offer to leave or stay came with no pressure toward either choice.
That was enough for her to extend some grace to him, but not too much—until she knew for sure he could be trusted, she’d keep her guard up.
An inquisitor abused her trust once; she’d never let another do it again.
Wordlessly, Semras returned to her seat.
Cael observed her from the corner of his eye, then turned his face toward the sun. Eyes half-lidded, he gave her no more direct attention. “Take your time. I am not in a hurry.”
“I … I don’t know where to start.”
“Ignore the timeline, then, and answer the important question first. Are you held here against your will?” The casual tone he spoke with felt like a discordant note against the alarming nature of his inquiry.
Semras shifted in her seat. “I … I shouldn’t be here,” she finally settled on. He’d have half a truth, for now.
“Ah.” The inquisitor hummed. “I had hoped Estevan was a better man than this. I see now he has strayed even farther than I feared.”
“Than you feared?”
A click of the tongue answered her first. “As Estevan’s senior, I tried many times to set him right, but he was never one to listen to me.
I always suspected he did not belong in the Inquisition’s ranks.
He disregards the rules too easily when they stand in his way.
” Cael shook his head, sighing. “And now, he is openly flaunting multiple witch mistresses and even an illegitimate child. Oh, if our old mentor could have set him right.”
“Perhaps,” Semras said, eyes brimming with hope, “if your mentor could come talk some sense into him, he would—”
“I am afraid he cannot.” Cael turned his gaze to her. “Tribunal Eloy Torqedan was, unfortunately, murdered two weeks ago.”
Her blood turned to ice.
Eloy Torqedan. The name brought forth an unpleasant memory of a putrid, bloated corpse—along with a chilling realization. The monster had murdered his own mentor.
“But he—” Words tangled in her throat before they could come out. Lost in thoughts, she looked down at the shackles hidden behind sleeves and gloves. “He …”
What else had he lied about and concealed from her?
“Yes,” Cael said, “Estevan is handling the investigation. There are too few inquisitors left on the peninsula now, so, despite his relationship to the victim, the duty fell on him. Has he talked to you about it?”
That was an understatement.
“… He did,” she replied.
“I had guessed as much. Is that why you wanted to speak to me? Is there something Estevan told you about that you needed to tell someone else, perhaps?” The inquisitor leaned closer to her. “Something that you felt compelled to tell to someone else?”
“… Yes,” Semras breathed. She lifted her gaze to the beautiful marble of Cael’s face. “He … he said—”
A soothing empathy oozed from his dark green pupils. On his face, a mask of open encouragement looked back at her. The perfect picture of sensibility and support—he looked exactly like what she needed to feel at ease.
And he had said exactly what she wanted to hear from him. As if he already knew her predicament.
As if he already knew Estevan Velten had killed Eloy Torqedan.