Chapter 29 #2
His childish enchantment made her look at Yore with fresh eyes. Once upon a time, she too had bumbled around trying to take it all in, dreaming of the day she’d join it.
It felt incredibly nostalgic to realize only a year had passed since she finally did.
“Semras!” called a light, feminine voice.
Diving through the crowd, a young woman hurried to join them, soon followed by the cloud of black moths hovering around her.
Semras smiled as she recognized her dark brown hair and doe-like eyes. “Blyana? It’s been a while!” Letting go of Estevan, Semras opened her arms in time to receive the witch in a hug. “I haven’t seen you in—oh, I don’t know how long anymore! How is the Lumne Coven?”
“Smaller than Adastra, but with fewer old women,” Blyana replied, winking. Her gaze trailed to the side, and she stepped back with a mischievous smile. “I’d ask what you have been doing these days, but … I should probably ask ‘who.’ Well met, Master Summoner. I am Blyana, a friend of Semras.”
Estevan smiled in an uncannily accurate imitation of his steward. “Well met, miss. I am Master Sin’Sagar. Charmed, I am sure.” Then he bowed as courteously as the real one would have done.
Blyana fanned her face with a hand. “Oh … he’s a good one.” She slyly looked back at Semras. “You secretive rascal, you never told me about him in your letters! Are you here to petition the Elders for him? I remember you used to dream of doing that. You’ve always been such a romantic.”
“No! No, no, no!” Semras flustered, fighting back a blush. “I—we, um … we’re not—I mean, Sin’Sagar is just visiting Vandalesia. He wanted to buy some exotic goods to bring back home, and he’s leaving very, very soon.”
The mere suggestion of taking him before the Elders … Oh, thank the Old Crone the inquisitor had no idea what her friend had just suggested. She’d have died of embarrassment.
“I might yet change my mind if all your friends are as welcoming as she is, Semras,” Estevan purred. “It would be a shame to leave before experiencing the rule of xenia in such lovely company.”
He was having too much fun, and Semras knew exactly what to say to make him drop his damn grin.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d love talking with Blyana.
She’s a pactwitch, you see? Very similar magic to what is studied by followers of the Diabalah, except she makes pacts with existing creatures, not with summoned spirits as you do. ”
The corners of his lips quivered, but he kept the smile on. Semras smirked too. He had visibly remembered the shrunken heads, and she remembered Blyana’s particular penchant for them. Any second now, her dear friend would bring that subject up.
“Indeed!” Blyana replied. “Oh, I’d love to show you my collection of tsantsa.
I made some of them myself!” Bringing the tips of her fingers together, she continued, oblivious to the rapid paling of the man in front of her.
“I bet a man of your knowledge could really appreciate its true value. Perhaps you have ideas of what I could add to it? My little moths so love to nest among them.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Estevan said, smile twitching. “We sadly must leave after we are done browsing the shops.”
Semras took pity on him. “What brought you to Yore, Blyana?” she asked, changing the subject. “Wares as well? I know Lumne doesn’t have a market as big as this one.”
“Oh … no. That’s not it.” Her friend’s mood turned sombre. “Lumne is … small. Vulnerable. Yore’s bigger, and it’s hidden well within Weirlaind, so … when I heard the rumours, I came here for shelter. I’m not the only one either, as you can see by the crowd here today.”
“The rumours?”
“Yes, a Yore sister sent word a few days ago. She had intel on the Inquisition—about how they were thinking of starting a new witch purge, I think.” Blyana’s voice dropped low.
The moths surrounding her flapped their wings distressingly fast. “I’ve heard the Elders tried to reach her afterward, but she had vanished from her home.
They didn’t tell anyone who she was, but we all fear for her.
No doubt a Crone-cursed inquisitor took her. ”
Oh.
That was her. Semras had sent that message right after burying the Elder’s remains on their way to Castereina. Back then, she had meant to stop by Yore and explain the situation in person before returning home.
She shifted on her feet, trying to shake off the culpability rising within her. Her innocent warning had suddenly made their trip a lot more dangerous than she had expected.
“Some of our more belligerent sisters have called for an avenging strike on their headquarters in Castereina,” the pactwitch continued. “All the Covens are on high alert now, and there’s talk of opening the Path of War to anyone interested again. I fear we all must prepare for the worst.”
The glare of Inquisitor Velten burned her nape. “That’s …” Semras said, voice quivering. “That’s … worrisome. Thanks for letting me know.”
Her friend patted her shoulder. “I’ll send you one of my moth familiars if I learn anything new. You live at the edge of Yore’s lands, Semras. If a war breaks out, you must take shelter here with me.”
“I-I will.” Forcing a smile for Blyana, Semras clenched her gloved hands, hoping it would hide their red palms and make them look ordinary.
Next to her, the inquisitor’s stare anchored her down. She didn’t need it to keep her mouth shut—if anyone in Yore discovered she had sent that message, there would be a commotion, and the Elders would then learn that Semras was back.
And she couldn’t afford for them to know that.
“I’ll leave you two alone. I can tell when I’m intruding,” the pactwitch giggled. “We’ll catch up next time, Semras. Stay safe until then! Don’t think I haven’t noticed these gloves. I must know the story behind them.”
“Oh, they’re … just a silly trophy.”
Blyana hummed with a wink, then waved her goodbyes. Chewing on her bottom lip, Semras watched her friend leave.
She needed to be more careful with the gloves.
And she needed to get out of Yore before the Elders discovered she was back.
They’d have questions for her, and she wouldn’t be able to lie to them—elderwitches always knew when someone did.
If they caught her, they’d learn she had sneaked an inquisitor onto their sacred coven grounds.
A cold sweat ran down her spine.
“Well done, witch,” Estevan mocked in her ear. “I am sure this will not escalate tensions at all.”
“I didn’t intend for this to happen,” she hissed.
“You know this is how the last witch purges started, don’t you?”
“That’s not—! That’s not similar at all! And your people started it, not mine!”
Estevan rolled his eyes, scoffing. “It does not matter who did. Only that it happened, and that you just might have contributed to the next one. Stopping my brother’s plan will be for naught if witches get agitated into … what did your friend say? A ‘preemptive strike’?”
Semras gritted her teeth. “‘Avenging.’ Because an inquisitor took me away.”
“You followed me out of your own volition!”
Around them, passersby began turning their heads. Semras groaned in frustration, then dragged the inquisitor into a dark recess between shops. Pushing him against a wall of mossy stones, she grabbed his collar. “You manipulated me into it, you bastard!”
“Yes, I did! Are you happy I admit it now? I am not proud, but I cannot afford to regret it. There are a lot of things I need to repent for, but not this. Not for trying to spare us all from a war your reckless action might have started anyway!”
“I’m so sorry I ruined your idiotic plan by warning my Coven, Estevan!” Semras threw her hands in the air. “Should I also be sorry centuries of oppression have made my people a little nervous about yours?”
“You think this is about me?” he asked lowly.
“If these witches make good on their threats, hundreds of would-be witchfinders will turn villages upside down trying to hunt your people down! Town squares will turn into makeshift courts of law for all the widowed goodwives and all the reclusive midwives of Vandalesia!”
“Glad to hear how concerned you are for the wives! How about showing some care for the witches burned on makeshift stakes by the dozens because of your precious Inquisition!”
“How about you remember how warwitches hid among the common populace and used them as shields during the last purge? Thousands of citizens caught in a deadly conflict with no way to defend themselves—they are the only innocents in all this!”
“How dare you? Look around you, Estevan, look!” Semras swept her hand around.
“Yore survived by being unravelled from the Unseen Arras and woven back together in the space between time. We stand on fey ground here—ground we still have to pay for dearly to this day! Do you think the other Covens were as lucky? Barely a fifth of our numbers survived back then, and those who fell weren’t all warwitches! ”
Estevan somberly watched the waves of witches passing by the alley they were hiding in. “I do not want this conflict to be reignited either, Semras.”
Crossing her arms, she scoffed. “You can’t blame me for being a little suspicious when you told me yourself that the Inquisition grows in power during witch purges. You have everything to gain from a new one.”
“I have things to lose too …” Estevan turned his attention back to her. “My father, for one. He helped facilitate the negotiations that ended the last purge. If a new one arose, he would rush to the front lines again to stop it.”
Brow furrowed, she asked, “Could he?”
“Not alone. Not if both the Inquisitor and the Covens want blood. Besides, he is growing old. This fight should not be his burden to bear.”
Semras looked up at the starless sky of Weirlaind. Far above their heads, where the Night stretched between worlds beyond anyone’s ken, darkness loomed and waited for them all.