Chapter 25 #3
Then jealousy gave way to dread when the monster’s eyes fell on her. “I must steal my guest back from you. Hang on a little longer, Miss Covenless. Sir Ulrech will come save you soon.”
“As he always does,” Nimue replied, chuckling.
The inquisitor escorted her out of the annex in a gloomy silence.
Trailing behind him, Semras mulled over the seeress’ warning about truths in lies. Now that she had time to ponder it, she could think of at least one instance he had been an ‘honest liar.’
“‘Not my firstborn,’ he said …” Semras muttered to herself, “and I heard ‘not my firstborn.’” She scoffed. “Pedantic.”
He halted, still steps away from the grand staircase. Glancing at her from over his shoulder, he furrowed his brow into a pensive frown.
She wanted to hold his gaze. Defy him. Stand with her back straight and show no weakness in front of her captor.
But something had broken in her, somewhere between the painful beating of her heart and the stiffness of her fingers straining against their cold iron cage. Her gaze faltered, then fell to the side.
The monster grabbed her arm, and Semras let him drag her numb body into the dark red parlour by the staircase. He closed the door behind them, and the sound of it hitting the frame startled her out of her apathy.
“Miss Covenless told you,” he said.
Semras shrank beneath his attention. “… She told me many things, but not this. I deduced it.”
His frown slowly turned into a sly smile. The mirth didn’t reach his tired eyes. “You are clever enough to know you should keep this knowledge to yourself, I presume.”
“Who could I even tell it to?” she replied bitterly. “Fear not; no one will ever know which oaths you’ve upheld and which one you didn’t. If you can even remember them after what you’ve done.”
“I do remember them,” he said quietly, his smirk quivering. “They are a heavy burden, but bear them I always do.”
Hypocrite. Liar. Oathbreaker. He had killed one of his own.
Through the window, sunrays beamed into the room, catching ambient dust in a glimmering haze. It drew around the inquisitor a divine halo.
If she was a daughter of the Night, then he was a true son of the Radiant Lord—blinding everyone to his overwhelming, searing nature until it was too late.
“Very noble of you,” Semras muttered. “How is it going so far?”
His smile collapsed. “Poorly.”
“I take it the forging of proofs is impeding your noble duty. I’d rather hoped your colleague’s testimony would have—” Semras stilled.
Something felt wrong.
Something was wrong.
“… Why did you interrogate Inquisitor Callum about his visit to the tribunal?” she asked. “Why ask Maraz’Miri to gather testimonies at all? You killed Torqedan. You know investigating won’t turn up anything you’re not already aware of.”
Glancing through the window, he shrugged. “It would be more suspicious if I did not.”
“I reckon keeping a witch locked next to your room is more suspicious.”
“Behave.” Exhaustion had hollowed out the harsh inflection of the inquisitor’s voice, but it still sent her staggering back. “I have been quite indulgent with you today. Do not push me further. Rather, think about how you will make amends for the ruckus you have caused.”
How. Dare. He.
“I am not your guest, you monster,” she growled lowly. “I am not your friend. I am your prisoner and your tool, and nothing more. If you expect me to crawl at your feet, begging for your pardon, I—”
“It is not my pardon you should seek,” he said, jaw clenched. “There are only two ways we can play this game, Semras. One, you learn to bend the knee and cast away your pride. You repent. You obey. Or two …” The monster advanced on her.
Semras stumbled backward. Her back hit a wall, and she killed a whimper before it could escape her throat.
He crowded her against it, arms slamming on each side of her. “Keep testing me,” he whispered in her ear, “and find out for how long I can put a witch to the question and still make it count as a single session.”
He meant to torture her. There was no way out.
Semras had tried everything she could, but there was no way out.
There had never been any way out.
Terror gripped her throat. Flinching, she closed her eyes—as if it would make this entire nightmare disappear. As if she’d open them and be back in her forest, home at last.
But any illusion of safety was shattered by his body pressed too close to hers and by the erratic, fearful beating of her heart.
“… Kill me then,” she breathed. “Parade my corpse around and declare to all that Semras of Yore killed Eloy Torqedan.” Her eyes opened, reflecting nothing within—no fear, no anger, no emotion.
None could hold on to the emptiness inside her.
“This … this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Then do it.”
Semras expected triumph. She expected sick joy, or a violent hand to grab her by the throat, or a blade drawn against her heart.
She didn’t expect the sheer, horrified shock haunting her captor’s gaze. Was he, too, tired of fighting?
“You are scared of me …” he said. A note of disbelief tainted his voice.
“I …” Her deepest, darkest wounds oozed out in words. “I am scared of this foreign city. Of these shackles. Of all these lies, and …”
“… And?”
Her lips trembled. “… Of what you’ll do with me. To me.”
His silence deafened her. Semras could count each beating of her heart pulsing at her ears.
And then, she couldn’t anymore.
They had faded into a sea of inconsequence. Light vanished from her eyes—not in death, but in life. The witch would have mourned herself had she been able to feel anything.
It didn’t matter. Nothing would ever matter anymore. He had broken her.
The monster stared at the living corpse in front of him. “So you admit it at last?”
“… Does it please you?”
“No,” he breathed. “No, it does not.”
“Then, free me … I beg of you … free me …” Numb, shackled wrists rose to put trembling hands on his chest. A shadow of herself moulded her body to his.
“… You want me, don’t you? I’ll be yours.
I’ll be yours to do with as you please. Just …
just free me …” Encased in cold iron, her fingers tugged uselessly at the hem of his collar.
If she could make him love her, he wouldn’t hurt her, surely? If he wanted her, she could make him love her, and then—
Her captor seized her wrists and lowered them slowly. Her words had cut him deeply. She could see it in his eyes, in the way his face fell, in the rigidity of his body as she leaned against him. She had wounded him.
“I …” he whispered, voice raw and pained. “… I cannot do this anymore.”
He ripped himself out of her embrace, then walked to the door and opened it. For a brief second, Semras felt something again. A tentative hope swelled her heart. Fresh air filled her lungs.
“Maraz’Miri, escort her back to her room,” he commanded outside.
The witch withered.
Hope was a wretched thing that lived only to die, and it didn’t matter how many times it could resurrect. It would die again.
And again.
And again.
And—