Chapter 36 #3
Cael Callum possessed the cruelty of the Fey—offering her a choice, knowing very well she couldn’t take any. She’d damn her Wyrdtwined or damn the mother he had been ready to sacrifice himself for.
“You do not wish to answer? Then I will. Look closely.” The inquisitor inclined the letter until the ink caught the sunlight filtering through the window.
It gave back a dull, matte shine … except along the line concerning the comfrey.
There, it turned into a deep, purplish black.
“It has been altered. Two different inks were used in the same letter. If you look closely, there are traces of moisture where water removed the original ink. My chemist analyzed this too; the forgery uses iron gall ink, while the original lines are written in carbon black ink.”
Carbon black ink?
A smile bloomed on Semras’ lips. “You believe Estevan forged it,” she said, eyes shining.
Her heart felt so, so much lighter now. She didn’t have to damn anyone. Leyevna had been framed, and she could easily prove it wasn’t by her own son.
The inquisitor cocked his head. “… Who else could have?”
“Anyone, but not Estevan. He exclusively uses carbon black ink,” Semras replied. “He doesn’t have any iron gall ink.”
He had told her so once, offhandedly; she thanked the Old Crone for remembering it now.
The inquisitor shrugged her words off. “He could have falsified the lines on the spot, using what Tribunal Torqedan had available in his study.”
“And risk having his obvious forgery discovered? Inquisitor Callum, look at the letter! It also uses carbon black ink. Think what you will of your brother, but Estevan is no fool. He wouldn’t have made such a mistake when he had access to the same type of ink.
If he had the package, the message, and the time to tamper with both, he wouldn’t have done it in his victim’s home. He would have planned it better.”
The inquisitor remained expressionless.
Behind her, Alaran whistled. “Not bad.”
“I’m not talking to you, Themas,” Semras snapped.
He snorted. “You kiss a girl three times and she still forgets your name.”
That shook the inquisitor from his musings. “You kissed her? We will have a talk about this later, Callhijo. You know my stance on—”
“Please don’t lecture me again,” he whined. “I still remember the last three times you did. You’re a bore, my lord Inquisitor. A man needs to live a little.”
Semras grimaced at the spy. “I don’t know how I ever mistook you for a fairy tale knight.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment to my acting skills,” he said, winking at her.
She didn’t grace him with a retort, electing instead to return her attention to Estevan’s brother.
Cael looked over the falsified letter. “This is an interesting piece of information, Miss Witch. I will pursue that lead to confirm the facts later. Nevertheless, it remains circumstantial. This is not enough to acquit Estevan beyond a reasonable doubt. He could have thought of framing Warwitch Leyevna only after the crime.”
Semras clenched her jaw. Cael’s exacting nature was beginning to grate on her. “He could not have framed her any more than he could have framed you.”
“Interesting choice of words, considering he apparently told you I killed the tribunal.”
An embarrassed blush spread across Semras’ face. She’d been painfully wrong about her initial theory. Cael had investigated a doubt and sincerely believed the conclusion he had reached.
Had he felt as conflicted about accusing his brother as Estevan had been?
“… He didn’t. Accuse you, I mean. That was my theory.” Fleeing his gaze, Semras turned her head away. “You threatened me by saying I’d have no Coven to return to if I didn’t spy for you, so when I discovered Estevan couldn’t have been the murderer, I thought—”
“I did no such thing,” Cael said, crossing his arms. “I stated what would happen were you to align yourself with my brother. It is clear his actions were meant to provoke a witch purge, and that assisting him in that endeavour would inevitably lead you to sacrifice your Coven. I hope you took more than this into account when deciding on my guilt.”
She scoffed, swallowing back her acrimony.
“You’ve been a thorn in his side for so long; it wasn’t such a big leap to think you’d be capable of escalating your hostility.
And with your worldview as a—” Semras caught herself on time before saying ‘Seelie.’ If Cael really didn’t know about his fey blood, she’d rather not tell him while still wearing shackles.
“… a dogmatic inquisitor, it made sense you’d want to revive the Inquisition through a witch purge. ”
Cael huffed a mirthless chuckle. “What you call being a ‘thorn in his side’ was me trying to set him right as his older brother. Estevan obviously does not belong in the Inquisition; he never could abide by its rules. I had hoped to convince him to leave before this led him into more trouble than he could handle, but … I was too late.” A rare show of emotion flickered in his eyes—sorrow mixed with melancholy.
Then, just as fast as it came, it left him.
“Had I succeeded, he might not have become so radical, but he keeps trying to fit where he does not belong. Now, this arrogance could lead us all to war.”
How very Seelie of him, she thought, but also very human. So Cael did care—in his own fey way—about his brother.
“You don’t want him to be guilty,” Semras breathed.
“No.” Cael stood before her, arms crossed and gaze fixed on her, but he could have been leagues away by the tone of his voice. “Nonetheless, I shall do my duty. A man died, and he deserves justice.”
It hit her suddenly. Both inquisitors had been raised by Cardinal Velten, and both had apprenticed under the same mentor, Tribunal Torqedan.
It made them so similar, yet so different.
Estevan had wanted to shield his mother from the consequences of a crime he thought she’d committed, while Cael had been ready to condemn his brother for the same suspicion.
Both acted in the name of justice. Neither had been wrong—nor right—about it.
“He’s not guilty,” Semras said. “Accusing Estevan won’t bring anyone justice.”
Cael sighed. “Facts do not lie. He intercepted the medicine delivery and had access to the dosage instructions to falsify them. Then Tribunal Torqedan died a very short time after receiving the package from Estevan’s hands.
” The inquisitor appraised her with blank eyes.
“You have shown some impressive deductive abilities so far. How would you explain that?”
Semras mused for a moment. The answer was easy—revealing it wasn’t. But Estevan was in danger, and Cael wouldn’t back down without a proper explanation. “I want Themas out of here first,” she said at last.
“Alaran,” the spy replied with a huff. “My name’s Alaran.”
Ignoring him, she awaited Cael’s answer.
The inquisitor pondered a moment, then dismissed his agent. Once the door closed behind him, Semras took a deep breath, prayed Estevan would forgive her, and faced the inquisitor. “He’d never have tampered with the package. After all, what kind of son could lead his mother to the pyre?”
With slow, measured steps, Cael walked back to his desk, then sat on the chair. Resting his elbows on its surface, he laced his fingers together and stared ahead. “Pray tell again.”
Semras approached the desk, her shackles tinkling softly behind her back.
“Leyevna is Estevan’s mother,” she said.
“He did not intercept the package; he was always the one who delivered the remedy to Torqedan. I don’t know what happened with that forged letter, but it was the work of neither him nor Leyevna. ”
“Estevan’s mother … a witch. A famous warwitch, at that.” Cael blinked. “That is … preposterous.”
“You’re one to talk,” Semras muttered.
That man descended directly from a humanoid fey—something far more preposterous in this day and age than being a witch’s son could ever be.
Deep in thoughts, the inquisitor hadn’t heard her. “Preposterous, yes … but not improbable. No, not at all, in fact. Estevan always had something wild about his person. In retrospect, it makes sense that he has a drop of the Void in him.”
A drop for one brother and an entire pool for the other, she thought. They must have been quite a challenge for the cardinal to raise during their childhood. The man had to be a living saint.
Semras shuffled on her feet. The weight of the shackles kept her arms uncomfortably stretched behind her back. “Are you convinced now?”
“I might be. I might be indeed. This claim is worth investigating, at least. I will need answers from my adoptive father before I can officially drop the charges against Estevan, but for now …” He let out a small chuckle.
“To think I accused my own brother of a crime he did not commit. I owe you for opening my eyes to a new perspective, Miss Witch.”
“Will you rescind your order of arrest?”
Cael nodded slowly. “I will,” he said, walking to the door.
Behind it, Alaran was waiting with a bored expression on his face. As soon as his attention turned to them, the spy broke into an expectant smile. “So?”
“We are going to the House of Tribunals,” Cael declared. “Mister Callhijo, remove her shackles.”
“Sure. Your funeral, Callum,” he replied. After taking a set of keys from his pockets, he twirled them around his finger and approached her.
Semras snarled at him. Had she not convinced Cael of Estevan’s innocence, Alaran would have been responsible for her Wyrdtwined’s condemnation.
“Or maybe mine,” he corrected himself. “Can I toss her the keys and run while I still can? I don’t fancy being turned into a newt.”
“Enough. The witch is no savage being; she will behave.”
“Will I … I wonder …” Semras mused out loud, voice laced with an edge.
Cael clicked his tongue. “As I doubt you wish to return to my brother still shackled, you will.”
She rolled her eyes, then let Alaran remove the shackles from her. As soon as he was done, she massaged her hands, soothing the sensation of the cold iron out of them. They hadn’t stayed on long enough to hurt her, but the metal still stung.
She really, really hoped this was the last time she’d ever have to suffer them.
“So,” Alaran drawled, “if it wasn’t Velten, who killed the old man?”