Chapter 37 #2
With a shudder of disgust, Semras recoiled at his leering attention.
“Who’s this?” the old man said at last. “Inquisitor Callum, did you bring into these sacred halls your brother’s newest whore? Is she a witness or an accomplice to be put to the quest—”
“No!” Estevan cried out. He tried to stand, but the chains at his feet made him stumble back onto his knees. “I-I do not know her. Your Honours, I submit to the question. I submit to it, so let’s just get this over with.”
“Estevan …” Semras murmured. Dread strangled her voice—she could barely raise it past a whisper.
The witch made to move toward her Wyrdtwined. With a pointed gaze of warning, Cael pulled her back to his side, his hand still firmly gripping her shoulder. “No need, Tribunal Whitmore,” he said. “I—”
“Get your filthy hands off her,” Estevan growled lowly, tugging at his chains. “Void take you, Cael. Get your hands off her!”
“Order in the chamber!” The oldest judge—Garza, she recalled—hit his gavel on the table. The sound echoed loudly through the vast chambers.
A shuffling of feet behind her answered it, and Semras looked back in alarm toward the approaching Venator sword-bearers. They had been standing guard inside the room, and she hadn’t even noticed them, too caught up in her desire to save her Wyrdtwined.
Faces fixed into a neutral mask, the armed men were still keeping their distance, but if Estevan kept struggling, they’d step up, and then …
With urgency, Semras caught her Wyrdtwined’s attention. ‘Trust me,’ she mouthed silently.
Estevan stilled, then stared at her and his brother, confusion plain on his face.
“Do not interrupt me again, brother,” Cael said with a disquieting, blank face. He turned to the tribunals. “I rescind my accusations against Inquisitor Velten, Your Honours.”
“… What?” Estevan muttered. His voice was barely audible over the wave of bemused whispers coming from the judges seated at the high table.
“Thank you, Cael,” Cardinal Velten said. “Please state your reason.”
“While previous evidence justified my formal accusation at the time,” the inquisitor began, “new information brought to me by this woman present here has changed the course of my investigation. I no longer believe Estevan to be the murderer of Tribunal Eloy Torqedan.”
Tribunal Garza frowned at her. “A ‘woman’? You mean a witch. The testimony of this creature is worthless. In my time, we would have put her to the pyre for daring to meddle in our affairs.”
Pressing her mouth shut, Semras grew a sudden interest in arson. Her fingers flexed into curling claws, and she forcefully willed them away from any tempting threads. Estevan was still in the building, after all.
Later, if the irritating old men in front of her didn’t see fit to shut their mouths, she told herself. The world would benefit from the early departure of such elders. It would be her pleasure to speed up this process.
And it would be so easy. One pluck of a weft here, and that decrepit old man would succumb to a heart attack. As for the one who leered at her, she could rip the warps off his eyes and upset the delicate balance of fluids within. They’d burst, and he’d never look at anyone like that again.
“Well,” Cardinal Velten said in a loud, pleased voice. “Both the order of arrest and the accusation have been rescinded. There is no need to continue this session.”
“I disagree,” the oldest tribunal said. “I, Tribunal Alonzo di Garza, put forth a motion to deny the request.”
Semras snapped her wide-eyed gaze to him.
Another tribunal, one with dull brown eyes veiled by cataracts, spoke with a shaky voice. “I second it. Tribunal Hans Pajov.”
“This is my investigation, Your Honour,” Cael said quietly. “As such, I respectfully demand—”
“We have all read the preliminary reports you submitted to justify the arrest, and it is our belief that the accusation stands,” the last tribunal declared, slipping his glasses up his nose.
“Thus, it shall be duly examined. Regrets are not a good enough reason to stop the march of justice, Inquisitor Callum. As such, I, Tribunal Gale Whitmore, ratify the motion.”
“Let me go, Cael,” Semras growled. “Let me.” Her fingers itched to answer the old men in the only language they understood: violence.
The inquisitor ignored her. “Your Honours, I assure you it is not regret that guides my request. I beseech you to reconsider.”
Pursing his lips, Tribunal Garza leaned over the table.
His gaze darted between Estevan and her, then shifted toward Cael.
“The request is denied. The accused will be put to the question until a confession has been collected—or until his body gives way. Throw in the witch as well; I suspect she gave you a false testimony, Inquisitor Callum. A few hours on the rack shall strip it of falsehoods. Sword-bearers, take them both away.”
The Venator guards unsheathed their weapons and stepped forward, their blank faces as hard as statues. Semras watched them approach with horror; there was no reasoning with these men of stone and steel. They obeyed a will other than their own.
That will could be overridden, a pernicious voice in her mind said. It could be wrestled out of the control of the men waving gavels as weapons. Turn it against them, and then—
“Halt,” Cardinal Velten said lowly. His single word froze the Venator guards in their stances—along with her trail of thoughts.
Plunged into a quiet, tense atmosphere, the entire room turned to him.
“I am,” Cardinal Velten said, smiling again after a chilling pause, “the superintendent of the Vandalesian Peninsula’s Inquisition, and I do not ratify this motion. There are regulations and due procedures that must be observed, Honourable Tribunals.”
Pinching his index and thumb together, Garza shook his hand in the air. “They are observed. With all due respect, Your Eminence, this is no mere family matter you can step into. Inquisitor Velten stands accused of conspiracy and murder, if I must remind you.”
The cardinal still smiled on. “And yet, as it involves both of my sons, I do consider it to be a family matter. Accordingly, I will not ratify the order. Estevan will not be put to the question, and neither will this young lady over there.”
Cardinal Velten glanced at the tribunals, then turned his gaze to her. His dark blue eyes remained obscured, veiled against any attempt to read his thoughts.
One gesture of his hand sent the sword-bearers retreating to the back of the room. They stepped out of Semras’ line of sight, and she breathed more easily again.
“Far be it from us to question the purity of your familial piety, Your Eminence,” Tribunal Pajov said, squinting his bleary eyes, “but it seems you might be dangerously close to putting family above the Radiant Lord. Per the accusation of Inquisitor Callum, Inquisitor Velten must be prosecuted with the full juridical power of the Inquisition. If he is blameless, the Lord shall convey it through his resilience. If he is not … then he must be punished to the extent our laws demand.”
“We are not talking about another one of his petty scandals,” Whitmore added. “This is nothing like when you shielded your boy from consequences for the babe he sired out of a witch. This time, he stands accused of killing one of us. His crime has weakened the Inquisition. Justice must be served.”
In the face of all the attacks, Cardinal Velten kept his cool. His smile never wavered. “Justice shall not come from the hands of torturers. In this day and age, this interrogation technique is but a relic from a past too violent to return to.”
Tribunal Garza sneered. “That is no longer your choice to make. Three tribunals are enough to reverse the decision of a cardinal, Your Eminence, and you know it. I suggest you do not try to override our decision, lest—”
“Of course, I do not mean to abuse the powers of my office—”
“Lest,” Garza repeated more loudly, “you find yourself questioned for breaching your vows to the Church. We must put no one above the Radiant Lord, Your Eminence. No one. Speaking out in your son’s defence now will not change our decision; it will only bring the legitimacy of your continued involvement with the Inquisition into question.
Your authority on this matter is thus limited to how much you are willing to ‘abuse the powers’ of your office. ”
This time, the cardinal stayed silent, his eternal smile frozen on his lips.
Cael stepped forward. “Honourable Tribunals, if you insist on proceeding ahead with the accusation, then I request to act as Estevan’s defence in his trial.”
From atop the high table, the elderly judges stared at Cael. He stood still, unflinching.
Semras sucked in her breath. She turned to Estevan, and their gazes crossed.
For a brief instant, the world returned to being reduced to them, and only them.
Just as it had been hours before, when they’d embraced each other at long last and forgotten about all the madness and violence and bigotry that threatened to separate them.
A throat cleared, and her attention snapped back to the tribunals.
“You realize that to act as your brother’s defender, you must exclude your own testimony on the case?” Garza asked.
“I do.”
“Very well, then,” the eldest tribunal replied. “We shall proceed with the trial now.”
“Now?” Cael paused. “I need time to properly build the defence of—”
“Did you not say that new information just came up?” Tribunal Pajov asked. “Then you must already have solid proof of his innocence. Or are you suggesting your evidence does not stand on its own?”
“… Of course not, Your Honour,” Cael replied blankly.
Semras paled. Panic fluttered in her chest. They were not ready.
The trial of Estevan Velten was happening now, and all they had to prove his innocence was evidence that would turn Leyevna into the culprit—or worse, lead both mother and son to the pyre.
Just as her Wyrdtwined had feared and tried so hard to avoid.