Chapter 31 #2
“Oh, do forgive me, Inquisitor,” she said mockingly.
“What should I call him? The Hammer of Witches, maybe, like Tribunal Torqedan was called thirty years ago?” Semras sneered.
“Because that’s how witches will name him as soon as Callum starts his precious witch purge, and then he’ll be his mentor’s perfect heir. ”
The inquisitor dropped his eyes to the flames. “It will not get to that.”
“Will you kill him yourself, then? Because we’re not any closer to stopping him.”
Heart beating wildly against her chest, Semras prayed he would finally speak to her. That he’d tell her of his plan and of what he found at the coven grounds. That she wouldn’t have to feel the sting of his betrayal once more, and that she could put her doubts to rest, and—
Instead, he grimaced in pain. “I … I cannot kill family.”
“Uh.” Leaning closer to the campfire, Semras peered over the flames straight at Velten. “Glad to hear I didn’t make you break your vow, then. Seems like you already broke it, placing family above your Elumenra god.”
He winced but didn’t correct her.
Semras looked down at the gloves he had given her. They were too big to fit her properly, but they hid her damaged hands well. And they’d be useful later if her doubt proved to be true and he tried to leave her behind.
She wouldn’t let him. If he was still keeping secrets from her, that meant he intended to interrogate the comfrey buyer in a manner she’d never approve of.
Chasing away the thought of the small vial in her pocket, Semras gazed at the campfire. Plunging her hands into its flame would probably feel better than the throbbing, raw pain of her newly woven core—and of what she needed to do to stop her treacherous Wyrdtwined.
She’d be the last witch he ever hurt. She’d make sure of it.
Heart aching violently, Semras turned her eyes away from the tempting flames.
Night had fallen by the time Themas came back on Pagan with the other horse trailing behind them.
Both steeds panted loudly, and Velten strode away from the campfire to join them at once. With a growing frown, the inquisitor examined each animal while the knight dismounted.
“My apologies, my lord,” Themas said after a curt bow. “Your horse bolted a short time after you left, and I rode the other one to bring him back here. It took a few hours to track him down and convince him to return. Stubborn beast.”
“I will care to hear your excuses later, Maldoza,” Velten said. “Step away; you have done enough to the poor horses already. I will take care of them.” The inquisitor waved him away, muttering curses under his breath as he rubbed Pagan’s neck.
Semras observed him fret around the mighty stallion. She could reproach the inquisitor for many things, but not his dedication to those he cared for.
Not to her, though. He’d rather die than be bound to her.
Scoffing to herself, Semras turned her attention back to her evening meal—if stale red bread and hard cheese could count as one. Themas sat next to her, and she passed him some of her travel rations.
He nodded gratefully. “Thank you. Did … did anything happen? While you were both scouting ahead?” At her questioning glance, he cleared his throat and added, “You look sad.”
“Sad? I’m angry. At this useless trip, and at him and his constant lies,” she hissed lowly. “He’s fomenting something, Themas, I can tell.”
The knight scooted closer. “I’m listening.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Semras made sure that Velten was still out of hearing distance. “He will leave us behind. I’m sure of it. There’s a witch he’ll go see. I don’t know exactly what he wants to do to her, but I won’t let him.” She eyed the knight. “Will you stop me?”
Themas shook his head. “Tell me how I can help.”
“Stay here. Keep the camp and keep acting normal. If he leaves, let him. I’m a woodwitch—I can track him down through the Arras. If he takes the horse, I’ll take Pagan, so—”
The knight winced. “Don’t. I worked with horses before, and that stallion has the nastiest temper I’ve ever seen. He nearly bit my head off this afternoon. I had to coax him into obedience by giving him all the sugar cubes I had on me.”
Semras threw a look over her shoulder. In the dark, the kelpie’s eyes were two black pits within which no light reflected.
Themas shuddered. “That beast is unnerving. Never riding him again if I can help it.”
“That’s the Fey for you. Velten told me blood might placate him.”
With a perturbed frown, Themas mouthed ‘blood?’ to himself.
“I’ll give him some of mine,” she continued, “and he’ll—”
“No, don’t hurt yourself. I will do it.”
Semras sent him a pointed look. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Themas, but your blood won’t be as tasty as mine. The Fey are cannibalistic, so Pagan will want witch blood more than yours.”
And she wouldn’t let him strike a Fey Bargain, not when that was her penance for leading an inquisitor onto her coven grounds.
“… If you insist. You know better.” The knight furrowed his brow. “And then what?”
“Then I stop Velten. With whatever means it takes.”
Themas grimaced. “That’s not a plan …”
“I have one. It’s …” Semras glanced back.
The inquisitor was arranging blankets over both horses; he was almost done with their care.
“No time,” she whispered hurriedly. “He underestimates me. I’ll use that.”
“Semras, you can’t turn to the Bleak …”
“I won’t.” Her smile held no warmth within. “I promise.”
Her maimed fingers couldn’t weave fast enough to make it an option anyway, so she planned to use something else. Just one little seed from one of the deadliest plants she happened to have collected recently.
Inquisitor Velten walked back to the fire. “I will take the first watch,” he announced. “You both go to sleep. Maldoza, you will be next, so be ready.”
Never one to heed his demands, Semras spent the next hour wrapped in her bedroll, perfectly still and waiting—waiting for the inquisitor to make his move.
By the time he did, she had refined her plan, considered the risks, and disregarded them all.
“Maldoza,” Velten called. Through the quiet of the night, his low voice sounded like thunder rolling in, announcing the coming storm.
Themas stirred from his sleep. “W-What …?”
“I must leave. I should be back within two or three hours, but if I am not, bring Semras back to her home, and then return to Castereina to await more orders.”
Semras heard a bedroll shuffle, and then Themas said, “Oh, I will, my lord. I have always watched over her, after all.”
A pause, broken by the knight’s surprised exclamation. Semras wanted to peer through her eyelids but didn’t dare to. If Velten caught her awake, it would arouse his suspicions, and her plan would fail.
“Only watch, Maldoza. Remember that she rejected you.”
“Sounds to me like she rejected you as well, my lord. No need to grab me; I have manners. I wouldn’t leave the marks that you did on a lady knowing I couldn’t marry her,” Themas said, taunting him.
“You think no one noticed them at camp that night? I did, Sir Ulrech did, and that sword-bearer who attacked her the night after d—”
The knight yowled. Semras tensed and risked a half-lidded glance.
Standing a few feet away from her, Themas was pinching his bloody nose. Velten was holding him by the collar of his brigandine, but the younger man only snickered at the threat. “You put her in danger, my lord. Do not worry; I will keep her safe as you requested. I have orders, after all.”
Themas was playing with fire. Lips quivering, Semras shut her eyes, unwilling to see what violence the inquisitor would inflict on his knight in retaliation.
Instead of another scream, she heard Velten’s voice drop and say, “Thank you.”
Dried leaves shuffled, a horse neighed, and then … Inquisitor Estevan Velten left her behind.