She was too late.
In the basin’s reflection, gaunt eyes filled with dread looked back at her. While the water could have eaten the papers, something in her knew she couldn’t be so lucky. Callum’s secret hands had most certainly seized them.
And left her no other choice than to involvehim.
Chapter 27
Fisthanginginfrontof the inquisitor’s bedroom door, Semras took a deep breath and then knocked.
Attempts at forming a coherent explanation for what had happened ebbed in and out of her mind, yet no words seemed sufficient to alleviate her fault in advancing Callum’s plans. Inquisitor Velten would be mad about it, but she didn’t care to hear his opinion. If it weren’t for the sake of her witch sisters, she’d never have come to him.
And if it weren’t forhimand his Crone-cursed lies, she would never have made such a mistake to begin with. So he’d let her in, hear her out, and then help her without complaining. He owed her after all he made her go through.
The hinges swung softly, the door opened, and, suddenly, before she felt ready, the inquisitor stood in front of her.
Her throat closed up. Sweat began to run down her spine, sending shudders coursing through her limbs. Trying to gain back control of herself, Semras clenched her entire body into a rigid stance. It only served to root her in place underneath his cold, guarded blue eyes.
She knew he hadn’t killed his mentor. She knew he had imprisoned her only to act as the villain he needed to be. Sheknewit.
But the deeply rooted dread coiling around her guts didn’t.
Velten stared at her. His gaze roamed over her flaring nostrils and trembling lips, then moved to her body frozen between fight or flight.
For a brief moment, pain flared in his eyes. Then his expression morphed into affected scorn, and he cleared his throat. “If you intend to repeat your earlier offer, I will still not consider it. So you can tell …” he said, gaze flickering toward her door, “… whoever should have been guarding you that I am docking their pay for letting you out. Do not think I will let your little stunts today slide so easily.”
“… My …?” She blinked.
Terror turned to indignation, turned to resentment, turned to rage. Pure, blinding, vitriolicrage. Her fear drowned in it.
“Mylittle stunts?” Semras snarled, stabbing her index finger into his chest. “How about we start withyours? You bastard, you jerk, you disgusting scoundrel! How could you! How could you do this to me? I trusted you! I trusted you like a fool, and you tried to—!”
Wordlessly, Velten grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside his bedroom. After looking down both sides of the corridor, he closed the door just as quickly.
The inquisitor’s room was surprisingly sophisticated. Painted in dark blues and framed by darker wood trims, simple plasterwork decorated the ceilings and walls with a sombre elegance. The furniture was the same as in her room, except for a desk he kept covered in paperwork, with a colourful Andakkadian carpet lying beneath it. The dying, golden rays of the twilight sun filtered through tall windows, throwing the room into a mellow atmosphere—broken only by the shadowsof ornamental grates stretching over the floor like the bars of a cage.
The illusory prison touched her feet, and the witch’s frayed mind screamed at her to leave before he could trap her in it too.
“You should have escaped while you could,” the inquisitor said.
“Your threats mean nothing to me anymore,” Semras replied, voice as sharp as a blade. “I know what you did.”
“It was not a—” He paused, then stood straighter and cleared his throat. “I do not make threats, only promises. You will regret betraying your word.”
The ridiculous, cliche statements shook off the remains of her fear.
Now that she knew of his lies, she could clearly see through Velten. Destabilized by her unexpected arrival, his villainous act sounded forced, unrehearsed—ridiculous, even.
A cruel, curt laugh escaped her. “All bark and no bite. Trust me, if I had any other choice, I would not be here.” Semras paced around the room, gaze jumping everywhere but on the inquisitor. “In fact, I really shouldn’t be. After all you dared do to me? After imprisoning me, and threatening me, and making me believe you’d frame me for your crimes, and making me spend all week in shackles, all alone, going crazy at—”
Hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her until she faced Velten.
“Sit,” he ordered. Gently, he pushed her back until she sank into a seat—the edge of his bed, she realized belatedly.
Semras looked down at her shackled hands. They were shaking; maybe some fear still lingered deep within her.
After dragging a chair in front of her, Velten walked back to the desk—or maybe to the dressing table or the wardrobe. Eyes still fixed on her trembling hands, she couldn’t see what he was doing.
Steps approached her again, and a cup of warm tea appeared between her hands. Looking up, she saw Velten holding it.
