Chapter 36
Smiling with practiced politeness, Inquisitor Callum leaned against the desk of his personal study. “This is quite a surprise,” he said, blinking indolently. “I expected you would have escaped back home already. How curious that you did not.”
“What is really curious here,” Semras replied, voice as sharp as the edge of a blade, “is why I have the displeasure of standing before you now.”
He clicked his tongue. “Still so hostile. I do not remember giving you cause for it. Perhaps it was my agent who lacked courtesy toward you?”
“The traitor Themas, you mean?” Semras struggled against her shackles. “I’ll let you guess.”
The Seelie’s smile split far too wide. “The real Sir Themas would be disconcerted to hear this level of undue ire from someone he never met.” He raised his hand and brought her attention to the man behind her.
“May I introduce you to Mister Alaran Callhijo, my most efficient infiltrator—and the man you have been calling Sir Themas de Maldoza for the past couple of weeks.”
With disconcerting nonchalance, Themas—or rather, Alaran—gave them a lopsided grin, then picked at the seams of his clothes.
His mask finally off, the spy had discarded all the poise and gentleness Semras had grown to expect from Sir Themas. His face, once noble and kind, now showed only detached interest in the scene happening before him, an actor in a play whose part ended already.
The jarring difference perturbed her. She had let that man kiss her.
Forcing down her ardent desire to spit at his feet, Semras turned to the half-fey. “Why am I here? Did you want to gloat before throwing me into a cell?”
Callum circled around her leisurely, studying her with unnerving interest. His mannerisms made him look so similar to Estevan—to the man he had been before she pried open all his secrets, revealing who he truly was beneath—it brought back painful memories of another pair of shackles on her hands and of another kind of trap she once walked into.
But Estevan had done it to save her people in his own obtuse, self-sacrificing way, while the Seelie meant to erase them to achieve his perfect world.
Eyes blazing with scorn, Semras stood with her back straight in front of Inquisitor Callum. There was nothing he could do to her she hadn’t already gone through. “Imprison me while you still can. It won’t last.”
Callum cocked his head. “I have always been,” he said in a low, chilling voice, “fascinated with Estevan’s ability to inspire loyalty. It did not have to end this way, Miss Witch, and yet you chose to side with him against all logic.”
“As if you were the better option!” Semras spat at his feet.
Alaran lunged forward to seize her.
Callum raised his hand, and the spy went still, fingers stretched toward her. “It is alright, Callhijo. We cannot fault the petulant manners of a witch in chains, no matter how much she deserves them.”
The agent leaned back against the wall. “Happy to hear it. Brutalizing people is on Sir Sevran Galdeli’s paycheck, not mine.”
Semras tensed, her chest tightening with concern. Her Wyrdtwined had faced that brute alone.
Alaran continued. “Speaking of which, your brother resisted arrest at the city’s gate. Galdeli might need our surgeon once he’s done dragging him to the House of Tribunals.” Chuckling to himself, he added, “Bet she’ll have a field day patching up her favourite Venator knight.”
Callum stared at him with the uncanny stillness of the Fey. “I anticipated it; Madam Mormara is already on her way.”
“Of course you did. Again. Why do I ever bother mentioning anything?” Alaran said, smiling. He looked entirely unfazed by his master’s quirks.
“I simply had a hunch,” the inquisitor replied placidly.
Semras scoffed with unease. It wasn’t Callum’s lack of human movements that gave her shivers of anxiety; it was the blatant, eerie display of power he had unknowingly just let slip.
Only the strongest of Fey could intuitively gather hints of what might come from the Unseen Arras, foreseeing the future with a disquieting accuracy—and yet Callum had done just that. His Fey bloodline was more powerful than she had expected.
“Just like I had a hunch you would bring our guest here today,” he continued.
His guest? Semras clenched her jaw. Her hands yearned to curl into fists, yet couldn’t, bound as they were in cold iron. “Remove my shackles, Inquisitor Callum,” she said with a venomous smile, “and see just what kind of guest I can be.”
Callum cocked his head, looking at her like she was some curious creature. “This hostility is why they are needed and why they will stay on until you are returned to your rightful place.”
“A cell, you mean.” She scoffed. “Charming.”
“No, not a cell,” the inquisitor replied flatly. “You may have chosen my brother, but I am a man of my word. You have fulfilled your part of our bargain, and it is now my turn to complete mine.”
“What are you …?” Semras paled.
He was talking about the papers she lost in her laundry. It was obvious now that Alaran had retrieved them before they ever made it to the cleaning room. How had she been so blind to his true nature all along?
Inquisitor Callum studied her closely. “You are going home, Miss Witch. Count yourself lucky. Had it not been for our deal, this meeting would have ended quite differently.” His voice stayed flat, as if this entire nightmare didn’t involve him.
“As it is now, I need one last thing from you, and then you shall be released.” He retrieved a document from his desk and held it for her to read.
Semras only made it past the first few lines before her brow furrowed in confusion. “This … is a testimony against Estevan …?”
Before her eyes, printed letters stated in black on white that the witch Semras of Yore had heard the accused’s murder confession and reported it to Inquisitor Callum.
Her mind couldn’t make sense of it. It should have been her name next to that line identifying the accused—or rather, Leyevna’s.
While the Bargain she unwillingly honoured compelled the half-fey to return her home, the older witch had no such promise protecting her from his scheming.
He must have had her letter, so he knew the warwitch was the most natural suspect of the two—the perfect scapegoat to start his purge plans.
So then, why was he accusing Estevan?
“It is,” he replied with a hollow smile. “I need you to sign it before Mister Callhijo takes you home. Do return my agent to me intact; I still have use of him.”
Nothing made sense. “Why are you framing Estevan?” she asked.
Callum tilted his head. “Framing?”
“He didn’t murder Torqedan. You and I both know that.”
“Do we? Your own message told me otherwise.”
Semras remained stoic. It was plain to see that Callum was trying to confound her, but she couldn’t fathom his plan nor the angle he was trying to trick her with. Racking her brains for an explanation, she could only hazard one shaky guess.
After spending years trying to kick Estevan out of the Inquisition, the Seelie might have lost patience and resorted to more drastic measures … but she couldn’t make sense of why he’d sacrifice his grand war plans to gain so little in exchange. It felt illogical—even for one of the inscrutable Fey.
The inquisitor clicked his tongue at her continued silence.
“Perhaps you believe you can retract your testimony by pretending you never gave it,” he said.
“Or maybe Estevan told you that I framed him. Yet the facts do not lie: he killed Tribunal Torqedan. Everything I investigated pointed to him as the culprit.”
His stoic confidence staggered her. “What? No! No, you’re lying!”
Behind her, Alaran let out a frustrated groan. “We’re not the liars here, Velten is! Dammit, Semras! We’re trying to help you, so please listen to Callum!”
Inquisitor Callum arched an eyebrow. “I can attest to his guilt myself. I witnessed Tribunal Torqedan’s last moments; I heard his last words.
At the time of his death, he was erratic, confused even, but I clearly heard him ramble on about icy blue eyes.
About how he knew he would die one day because of them.
” The recollection of his master’s last words didn’t seem to faze the half-fey.
His stare remained blank and impenetrable.
“He repeatedly complained of stomach pain too, saying that this was not what he wanted and not what he had been told. I understood quickly he was referring to his medical prescription. And, of course, to Estevan.”
The witch chewed on her lip. Inquisitor Callum had been wrong about which pair of eyes the tribunal had referred to. At least, it seemed like Leyevna was safe from his scheming. Perhaps he didn’t even know about her?
Or if he did, then maybe the Seelie hadn’t found the warwitch’s letter either, and now had nothing to accuse her with—that might explain why he had changed his plans.
“I followed that lead,” the inquisitor continued, “and discovered Estevan had dropped a package of medicine shortly before my visit. My leading theory is that he intercepted it, then tampered with its content before delivering it himself.”
Semras bit her lip until her teeth broke skin. “This alone is no proof.”
Blood pearled out of her wound. Hungry, dark green eyes flitted to it, and she recoiled, heart jumping to her throat.
The half-fey ripped his gaze away. “It is not indeed, but his following actions were suspicious, so I sent Callhijo to infiltrate his inner circle.” Callum resumed circling around her, giving her a wider berth this time.
“He reported that my brother had requisitioned your services as an herbalist. It made me curious, and I used his official summons to meet with you.” His eyes stuck once more to her bloody lips.
Unnerved, Semras wiped her mouth on her shoulder. The Seelie craved her blood; she could tell.