Chapter 36 #2
Behind her, Alaran shifted on his feet. “We found out too late what he wanted out of you, Semras. I understood his motive only when you gave us your message.” He exhaled deeply.
“I turned Velten’s home upside down for almost a week trying to find out about his plan, and you knew it all along.
You know, I could have protected you if you had trusted me with—”
Jaw clenched, Semras spun to face the spy. “Trusted you?” she said, fighting the binds holding her arms behind her back. “You shackled me the second you had the chance, and you speak of protection? You hypocrite!”
“I didn’t look forward to it, trust me. I knew what these did to you the first time you had them on, but you forced my hand when you made a deal with Velten.
” Alaran creased his brow, displeasure painted all over his face.
“Even if you were desperate, that’s bloody low of you to sacrifice another witch to get your hands and freedom back. ”
Semras paled.
That was what they thought she did? It explained the quiet distaste of Inquisitor Callum and what he meant by her ‘choosing his brother.’ He thought she had betrayed her Coven for Estevan.
But it still made no sense why Callum would try so hard to convince her of her Wyrdtwined’s guilt. Either his Seelie obsession with a perfectly organized world couldn’t stand Estevan’s presence marring it any longer … or he knew he was a witch too and meant to fix both flaws at once.
That made her blanch even further.
Inquisitor Callum tutted at his agent. “Callhijo, be kinder. It is a shame she did not wait for the freedom I owed her, but it is understandable.” His gaze slid to the shackles behind her back.
“She did everything she could to escape; such is the nature of wild things caught in cages. We must not blame her for securing her return to where she rightfully belongs. Only the instinct of survival made her betray her people.”
Semras lifted her chin. “I betrayed no one. You won’t be able to manipulate me. I know the truth, and Estevan—”
“Miss Witch,” Callum said. His bland voice sent shivers of dread down her spine. “You have known my brother for two weeks. Do you know what he did right before you met him?”
She shrank under his gaze. “He … he was in the Anderas … hunting a bleakwitch.”
“So you are aware. Did you also know he burned her at the stake in a brutal, barbaric display of bloodlust? Master Torqedan used to lecture him about his hot temper in our younger days, and I went that fateful night to talk with him about doing it once more.” Crossing his arms, the inquisitor leaned against his desk.
“Instead, I discovered Estevan had killed the last thing restraining his conscience. I fear he will turn the crime into a catalyst for a new witch purge, one in which he may further indulge his madness. Do you understand what kind of man my brother is now, Miss Witch? He used you.”
So Callum was trying to shed the blame onto Estevan. Something must have gone wrong with his initial plans—but what?
“You’ve turned your lies into a convincing tale,” Semras said. “I commend you for the effort. Anyone else would have believed it.”
“I have been nothing but truthful. It is he who deceived you, not me. But I do not blame your ire; I have seen it before in other victims of what you endured. Some developed a curious attachment to their captors as a coping mechanism,” Inquisitor Callum said.
“When I learned of your captivity, I feared my brother would warp your perception of reality in order to use you. That is why I told Callhijo to keep you safe from Estevan’s guile while he spied on him. I regret to see that he has failed.”
Semras glared at the spy. “So that’s why you tried to seduce me? To keep me away from Estevan?”
The inquisitor furrowed his brow at his agent. “You tried to seduce her?”
“Hey, let’s keep that out of the investigation,” Alaran said, raising his hands in surrender. “That was not about work. I lied about who I was, Semras, but that’s it. Besides, I knew I didn’t have a chance next to Velten anyway. I get it too, you know.”
“Get what?”
“Velten’s appeal. He’s an asshole, but he’s bloody hot.” Alaran grinned at her. “And he’s a biter, isn’t he?”
“This,” Semras replied, blood seething, “is none of your affair.”
“Dear, when you display your love bites to the world, it becomes everyone’s affair.” Glancing at Inquisitor Callum, he sighed. “Don’t look at me like that. I know he’s off limits, being your brother and all.”
The inquisitor kept his blank eyes fixed on him, and Alaran quickly added, “Oh, and because he’s your mentor’s murderer too, I guess. I mean, that first.”
Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not know for which of these two reasons I should be glad. I would rather not think of my brother’s …” He eyed Semras’ neck, then cleared his throat.
She groaned inwardly. Oh, she’d make her Wyrdtwined pay for them. She’d see how he’d like a necklace of his own.
“A terrorized farmer delivered me your latest report last night, Callhijo,” the inquisitor continued. “You believed Estevan had manipulated the witch into leading him to her Coven. Did they go?”
Semras glowered at Alaran. “So that’s what you had gone to do when you said Pagan bolted.”
And how Callum knew to send orders of arrest ahead of their arrival, she reckoned. He knew they had left Castereina and when they’d be back.
Alaran shrugged at them both. “I wasn’t with them. Velten was onto me from the very start. He kept me at arm’s length, so I didn’t get much information out of him.”
Inquisitor Callum looked pensive. “I see. Are you disposed to tell us what happened, Miss Witch, or do you still believe the lies of Estevan?”
As if she’d tell him anything so incriminating. That trip had included meeting Estevan’s mother and discovering they had the same eye colour—the one Torqedan died lamenting about.
Absentmindedly, Semras bit her lip again, reopening her wound.
Between the tribunal’s last words and his history with the warwitch, that information would perfectly tie Leyevna to Torqedan’s death. The Seelie would jump at the opportunity to use it against them all.
She bit deeper still.
“You are nervous,” the half-fey said. “You have no reason to be.” His attention was fixed on the fresh blood seeping from her lip.
Unnerved by his obvious hunger, Semras hissed, “Do I really? You’re inhuman.”
A cool anger flashed in his eyes, but Inquisitor Callum betrayed no other sign of being affected by her words.
His tone remained even, controlled. “Now you are being unreasonable. I am offering you a way out before charges can be brought against you. Do not make the mistake of thinking this is out of compassion.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Semras said, sneering. “I know better than to expect that from a murderer like you. You tried to twist the truth around, but I won’t fall for it. You won’t cover your crime by using me or Leyevn—!”
She paled. A gasp of horror strangled her throat. How could she have let the warwitch’s name slip from her mouth?
The inquisitor observed her pensively. “Leyevna. You know that name,” he murmured.
She staggered back. “I-I …”
“Semras mentioned her before,” Alaran said, betraying her once more. “But she has never met her, so I didn’t dig deeper into it.”
Callum studied the witch. “Never met? No … that does not sound quite right. She reacted too strongly.” The inquisitor walked behind his desk, retrieved a paper from a drawer, and then returned to Semras. “Read this,” he said, holding it in her face.
Short instructions—on how to dose willow bark concoctions and comfrey ointments for managing the pain of inflamed joints—were written on the paper.
Leyevna had signed the letter with the same handwriting Semras read on the potion she’d gifted her and Estevan, but …
what it contained didn’t corroborate what the warwitch had told them.
“That can’t be real …” she whispered.
It just couldn’t be. Because if it was, it meant Callum hadn’t killed Torqedan, and that she’d been wrong all along. So it just couldn’t be real.
Yet the merciless script didn’t care for what it ought to be. It proved her wrong, regardless of how many times she read the words over.
Observing her closely, the inquisitor let her absorb the shock before speaking again.
“I found this openly displayed on the tribunal’s desk.
Tell me, was this part”—the inquisitor tapped over a specific line—“indeed written by the witch Leyevna? That this is the dosage and application she intended for Tribunal Eloy Torqedan to take? Think before you speak. You are in the presence of an inquisitor, and your testimony will be used in its entirety. Tell me the effect of following these instructions on a human body.”
Semras read the paper again, searching desperately to make sense of it—of why Leyevna had written what she did.
She found nothing.
By the time she answered the inquisitor, her mouth had gone dry.
“C-Comfrey can be made into a tea,” she began with.
She was stalling, trying to find an angle that wouldn’t incriminate the warwitch.
“It’s useful against chest pain, painful breathing, and …
um, stomachs. Upset stomachs. That—that would be one reason to drink it. It’s also useful for sore throats and—”
“Focus,” he murmured, and she startled as if he had shouted. “This letter does not mention tea, but an ointment. I have a chemist in my retinue. He identified the exact plant variety, so you will gain nothing by lying about which one.”
Semras’ voice dropped into a pained whisper. “This amount of prickly comfrey, if … if swallowed as written here, would lead to acute liver failure and visceral bleeding. And then … then death.”
“Precisely. In your opinion, could the witch Leyevna have written this herself? Upon your answer hangs the fate of Estevan Velten.”