Chapter 35
Sighing contentedly, Semras snuggled against Estevan’s chest. “Tell me …”
The soft caress of his fingers trailing down her back threatened to lull her back to sleep. Somewhere during the night, she had dozed off in his arms and woken in a small, cozy bedroom, their naked bodies kept warm by a thick blanket.
Estevan hummed as he ran his hands across her backside—clearly hoping to keep her warm another way. “Ask away.”
“That morning at camp, after you got drunk … was it magic or a potion that helped you avoid a hangover?”
He chuckled, and Semras admired the way his lips curled toward his cheeks. Her eyes trailed down his neck, his muscular chest, and lower, where the blanket stopped her from appreciating him past his hips. She pouted at the offending piece of fabric.
“It was one of Mother’s concoctions,” Estevan replied.
“She always sends me so many things. All the carbon black I use as ink comes from her, as well as the tea I prepared for you. Such are the benefits of being the son of a witch, I suppose.” He smirked, gazing at her with unveiled hunger.
“Now I am eager to experience the full range of what they are when wyrdtwined to one.”
Chuckling, Semras rolled her eyes. “Silly man. Now that I know you’re a witch too, a lot of things make so much more sense.”
“Like what?” Estevan traced patterns along her arm with the tips of his fingers. They left goosebumps in their wake.
“Like how you escaped my brambles when you walked into my home. You pulled the fire to them, didn’t you?
I thought I messed up my weave!” Semras tapped his fingers away in playful retribution.
“And how you knew when I was weaving, or when I … when I was in danger … in the inn. You heard my cry through the Unseen Arras.”
His face creased with sorrow. “Void take me; I heard it very well, and I never want to hear you hurt like that again. I slit that man’s throat so deeply I almost decapitated him.
” Under her hand, tension coursed through his shoulders.
“I do not think I let him speak in his own defence at all. I just saw red, and then … then he was dead. It took me minutes before I stopped shaking enough to return to your side.”
Estevan shivered, his eyes betraying a mind wandering to the memory of another night—one she didn’t want to go back to.
Propping herself on her arm, Semras took his hands in hers. “Hey … I’m fine. We are fine. You saved me, and—” She paused. “Oh, we forgot to count that in our—”
“Stop thinking about the tally. I clearly owe you more than you owe me.” Estevan brought her hand to his grinning lips. “But I have ideas of how to make it up to you for the rest of your life …”
She blushed. “You rake,” she said, slipping her hand out of his before he could kiss it. “You’re still an inquisitor, as far as I know.”
“A Wyrdtwined one—to the most gorgeous, clever witch of all. I will make it work, and if it does not, then I will choose you.” Fondness filled his gaze.
When he spoke again, his voice had turned mellow.
“I truly would have tried to stay away had you not wanted me. By some miracle that I still cannot quite believe, you … you do, and I am not letting you go now. Not even if the Radiant Lord Itself demanded it of me.”
A deep crimson spread over her face. To speak words like that so smoothly, Estevan truly was an unrepentant rake.
Trying to regain her composure, Semras swept her gaze over the small bedroom. Not much decorated it past a few impersonal tapestries, but it was clear that it had been carefully maintained and furnished, ready to welcome a visitor at any moment.
He shifted under the blanket. “You know, I … I felt it too … the Wyrdtwined Oath. I knew nothing of what had happened, except that it changed me irreversibly. It shook me to the core,” he said, voice low and vulnerable.
Then, a mischievous smile bloomed on his lips.
“But not as much as when you rejected me right after it. By the Radiant Lord, you really know how to crush a man’s heart, Semras. ”
“Oh, really?” Semras raised an amused eyebrow.
“I can’t have my Wyrdtwined feeling ‘crushed’ now, can I?
Let me fix that,” she said, passing her hand through his dishevelled hair.
She trailed it down his jaw, then grabbed his chin to bring him down for a kiss.
He took another one from her after, and then another, and then many more—as many as he asked her for.
Pressing a hand on his chest, she regretfully stopped him from pursuing more than just kisses.
“You need to stop doing that, witch,” Estevan said, pouting. “There are only so many times you can deny me before I shall wither away from so much teasing.”
Semras rolled her eyes. “You’re being dramatic. When did I ever deny you so much?”
“All the time!” he replied, chuckling. “The least of which happened at the glade. I am still not over it. You looked so wild and fierce back then, you tempted me into breaking my vows right there and then. I wanted to keep you in my arms and never let go until I died, Radiant Lord be damned.”
Semras frowned. “Don’t speak of dying; I told you to never speak of dying again. I don’t want peace if it steals you from me, Estevan. I would gladly stitch my mouth and become a warwitch for you.”
“Do not,” he said, tilting her head to brush his lips against hers. “I love your lips just the way they are.”
Semras chuckled, cheeks reddening once more. “You certainly showed plenty of appreciation for them earlier. Be serious for a moment.”
“I do not want to.” Resting his forehead on her shoulder, Estevan muttered against her skin, “This is my dream, and I get to do what I want in it. I will not wake up.”
“Tell that to Cael.”
“Do you have to speak my brother’s name when I hold you in my arms?” he grumbled. “Fine. If we are to talk about other men while in bed, it should be about Maldoza. He will find two empty bedrolls if we do not hurry and return before dawn.”
“Old Crone take me,” she said, paling. “I forgot about him!”
Estevan grinned victoriously. “Finally!”
She slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled. Springing out of bed, Semras quickly gathered her clothes from the floor. “You don’t get it. He’ll think you killed me! We must go back now.”
“Well,” he said, musing out loud, “the Freran call it the ‘little death,’ so he would be right about—”
“Estevan!” Semras whined, face flushed. “Get dressed!”
The thought of Themas wasn’t the only thing driving her urgency. There were other things she had forgotten besides the knight—such as being under the roof of the illustrious Warwitch Leyevna. Semras could never look the matriarch in the eyes again if she was caught in bed with her son.
Behind her, Estevan took his time dressing himself, openly admiring her instead of hurrying. It slowed him down significantly, but Semras couldn’t find it in her to stop him—it delighted her too much.
Adjusting her dress down her hips with one hand, she combed her fingers through her hair with the other. “Listen, I have been thinking—”
“Have you?” Estevan asked, mischief lighting up his eyes. “This never happened to me before with other women … I will work harder next time.”
Her eyes rolled, but her lips smiled. “I said, ‘Be serious.’ You know very well this isn’t what I meant.
I have been thinking about what we should do.
No.” She hushed him with a finger. “Don’t you dare speak of dying again.
I won’t allow it. We have other options.
We now know that Callum stole your mother’s dosage instructions.
It’s far-fetched, but maybe he still has her letter hidden in his home. We should search for it.”
Her plan was dangerous, but she wouldn’t back down in front of the half-fey. For Estevan, for her people, she’d even crawl back into the tumulus of Adastra and face down its nightmarish Seelie lord once more.
Between that fey and Cael Callum, she saw no difference.
Humming, Estevan rubbed his jaw. “It is worth a try, at least. It will not be easy, but Maraz’Miri might get past his vigilance if we provide an adequate distraction.” His gaze found hers. “Well done, love.”
Her heart bloomed. “W-We should go,” Semras said, moving a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear. “Am I presentable? What do I look like?”
Her Wyrdtwined slowly drew closer. Once standing in front of her, he looked her up and down, then caressed her neck with the fleeting tips of his fingers.
“Mine,” he breathed.
Her heart skipped a beat. His smooth tongue would be the death of her—in more ways than one. Turning away, Semras walked out of the room before she did something that would significantly delay them.
Making her way down the stairs, she found the parlour they’d sat in hours before. The tea tray was gone now, replaced with a glass vial sitting next to Estevan’s insignia and a small piece of paper on the table.
Frowning, Semras went to grab the small brown glass. A mix of raspberry leaves, stinging nettle, and red clover floated within its clear liquid.
Her face burned with mortification.
“What is this?” Estevan asked behind her shoulder. He retrieved his insignia, then picked up the paper and read it out loud. “‘For my new daughter-in-law. Do not make me wait for too long.’ Hmm? I do not understand.”
“I do …” Semras said in a small voice. “These … these are fertility herbs … She heard us. Old Crone take me; she heard us.”
Estevan picked up the bottle from her hand and slipped it into a pocket. She glared at him, and he cocked his eyebrow. “What? I made you a promise. This might be useful once we plan to fulfill it.”
“You’re an idiot,” Semras said through gritted teeth, face flushing even more, “and I am never setting foot in this place ever again. In fact, I am leaving the Yore Coven. No, that won’t be enough.
I am leaving for the Continent. I can create a new identity there and spend the rest of my life lying awake at night thinking about this. ”