Chapter 27 #2
Did Callum really not know? She doubted it. A fey and a human didn’t act nor think the same way. He must have noticed the difference in his nature, even if he knew nothing of his bloodline.
“There are signs,” she replied. “His are the amount of freckles and his way of thinking like a Seelie. But what really gave him away was when he touched the shackles and hissed at the cold iron.”
“Just that?” he asked, shrugging. “He is a redhead allergic to that specific alloy; that is all. It is not really damning evi—”
“Just stab him in the heart, then!” Semras huffed.
“He’ll get better, and then you will know he is fey.
Or check what else is out of the ordinary in his physical appearance—count the teeth or the fingers, just like the old folk used to say.
I don’t know what else he has that betrays his fey blood.
It doesn’t manifest in all of us the same way.
” Fumbling with a strand of her white hair between her hands, she added, “Only one thing is always true: the stronger it is, the more we look … um, enhanced.”
Cocking his eyebrow, Estevan leaned closer. “Enhanced how?”
Semras looked away. “You are an inquisitor. You know all that already.”
“Indulge me.”
The witch rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Fine … It’s beauty, mostly. There’s a reason the Deprived call us the ‘Fair Folk.’” Clearing her throat, she let her gaze wander around the inquisitor’s room.
The sun had set, and the shadows of the windows’ ornamental grates no longer drew a cage over the floor. Her eyes lingered on the door that separated their rooms.
It looked just like that—a door. So ordinary, so simple and mundane, it was hard to believe she once stood on the other side, expecting her life to be taken at any moment.
It was hard to believe she was sitting in his room now, having a surreal conversation about the beauty of the Fey.
He was still waiting for her to continue, and she did so, cheeks slightly coloured by the embarrassing subject. “We—well, the Fair Folk—always look striking next to ordinary people. There are exceptions, but—”
“Oh. So you think he is ‘striking.’ Marvellous, one more woman he effortlessly charms. And they call me a rake.” Snorting, Estevan passed his fingers through his hair. “If my benediction is what you came here for, you have it. Good for him, good for you. Let’s move on.”
Semras narrowed her eyes. Was it her, or did Inquisitor Velten sound … miffed? “As I was saying, there are exceptions.” The words escaped her lips before she could think better of it. “Like you.”
He stared back incredulously. “Ah. So you came here to insult me.”
“Don’t make me say it,” she hissed. “You know what I mean. You’re not fey nor witch, and yet, you are …” Her hand waved at him up and down.
A slow smirk spread across his lips. “… I am …?”
If he wanted to play this game, he’d be sorely disappointed. Semras plastered a sweet smile on for him. “A bastard. You are a bastard …” She let her silence hang.
He frowned but did not deny it. Good, she thought, at least he knew.
“… And?” he finally asked.
Her smile turned into a smirk—just like the one he liked so much to give her. “That’s it.”
Estevan pressed his hand over his heart. “Cruelty, thou art woman.”
Lips twitching, Semras fought back a chuckle. “Yes, you’re a bastard—”
“I heard it perfectly well the first time, thank you very much.” The inquisitor drummed his fingers on his knee. “I concede the charges against me, no need to linger on the subject any further.”
“… but one more honourable than you led me to believe,” she finished. “You didn’t murder Torqedan.”
His fidgeting stopped at once. “Ah,” he said. “You found out.”
Her breath shuddered out of her. She had known it, but hearing him confirm it removed a heavy burden from her heart. She was right.
Estevan’s face broke into a tentative grin. “I guessed as much when you exploded at me earlier. Now I know why Cael has not yet dragged me away in chains. You did not tell him my false confession, I take it?” His eyes studied her. “Did you also find out why I lied?”
“Obviously,” she said, sneering. “Spit it out, Estevan. What madness made you think you could prevent a war all on your own by taking the fall for the real murderer?”
“Now we are back on a first-name basis?”
Semras castigated him with a pointed glare. “Stay on the subject, Inquisitor.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. Then if you figured out my plan, you also know you should have followed it. You should have told Cael.” His tone had turned sombre.
“Neither your people nor mine can afford another witch purge. I admit, my plan was … not my finest. In my defence, I had very little time to muse upon it. I returned from the Anderas only to discover a murder case that could lead to the doom of us all. Quite amusing, wouldn’t you say? ”
“No, I wouldn’t. Not after the nightmare you made me endure,” she replied. “You will tell me everything, Estevan. From the very start.”
Head nodding, the inquisitor linked his fingers together and mused silently. Semras raised her cup to her lips for a last sip.
Before she could drink it, he snatched it from her hands. “My turn to get something to calm down,” he said, then knocked it back.
“You—!” Her face turned beet red. “Don’t—don’t do that again!”
With a loud groan, Semras threw her face into her hands.
Old Crone curse the inquisitor! He might as well get on his knee and ask for her hand at this point.
His act was so close to the final step of a sacred Wyrdtwined Oath—the binding of two souls together.
All that was missing was speaking the ritualized words with the Elders in attendance.
“If you wanted more tea—”
“This isn’t about tea!” A deep mortification kept her hands over her face, shielding its redness from his view.
“Suit yourself.” Estevan hummed. “Where were we …?”
When Semras felt mildly confident her blush had vanished, she raised her head and replied, “You agreed to tell me the truth. All of it.”
The slight tremors of a held-back chuckle shook the corners of his lip, and her face flushed deeper.
There was no point in trying to hide the obvious anymore; Semras sat as elegantly as she could, hands resting on her legs and back held straight, desperately trying to ignore the heat emanating from her face.
Estevan gracefully didn’t mention her blushing.
“I visited Master Torqedan the afternoon I came back from the Anderas to pay my respects and warn him my report on that case would be late. I left him fully healthy, and then, mere hours later in the evening, his maid found him dead.” He furrowed his brow.
“I immediately thought of his witch remedy … and of the consequences the tribunal’s death would bring if it was responsible for it. ”
“A new witch purge,” she breathed.
His expression turned contrite. “Indeed. Most people think your kind are extinct, but that murder would bring you back to the forefront of actuality—along with all the sordid stories of the past. If the Inquisition did not declare a witch purge to avenge Eloy Torqedan, then the masses would have clamoured for it. As a preemptive strike, of course. And these tend to escalate quickly.”
A shiver ran down her spine—her neck still remembered the noose around it. “An old, defenceless man, killed in the safety of his own house by the witch he had entrusted his health to?” she said. “I can see how that would be perceived. And how it would end. In blood.”
“In blood,” he repeated, nodding. “And enough to bathe the entire peninsula in it for years to come. War would have gone on until only witches or inquisitors would remain.”
“Most probably neither …” she said. “Then you came to me so I could confirm the remedy killed him?”
Exhaling deeply, Estevan buried his face in his hands.
“At first, yes. Every night I prayed that you would prove me wrong, that the second part of my plan would not be needed. But in case my prayers went unanswered—as they were—I still acted like an arrogant bastard you would show no pity for.” He lifted his head, eyes filled with longing.
“But the second I walked into your home, the second I saw you … I—”
“I know,” Semras interrupted, wincing. “You wanted me to lie so your fears wouldn’t come true. I should have lied. Would have spared me so much pain.” She glanced down at her bound hands.
“No, I mean—” He followed her gaze to the shackles, then blanched.
“I … Never mind. It is not as important as …” He gestured down at the binds.
“… as this. Semras, I-I have no words to convey the depth of how sorry I am for doing this to you. Circumstances forced my hand. It is no excuse, I know, but I still wanted to say—”
“I do not want excuses.” Semras lifted her hands. “I want action.”
At once, Estevan took a set of keys from his pocket and fiddled to find the right one.
“I never intended to put you in these at all. You gave me an opportunity, so I took it. I meant to remove them that night once we were back, but then …” He picked out one small key from the lot.
“Then I realized I had pushed you too far, and while I knew I would never hurt you … you, of course, did not.”
Under the gas lighting, the key in his hand shone with the same iridescence as the cold iron shackles. Its sight repulsed her, but Semras stayed still as the inquisitor approached with it.
“You looked murderous that night. I needed you to accuse me of murder, not kill me yourself,” he continued, sliding the key into the lock.
“It was safer for you to stay bound, or else this entire charade would have been for naught. Still, just in case my instincts were wrong, I asked my seeress if …”
Estevan’s voice faded to the back of her mind as she heard a click, then a heavy thud. And then, fresh air hit her hands.