Semras studied them. Between the aggravatingly superstitious, distrustful men, who’d surely be given the cheapest fare for dinner, and the smirking inquisitor with his gleaming eyes and rude manners, the choice was easy to make.
“Oh, Ilovegruel! I shall join them as you suggest,” she declared loudly.
As intended, her words reached the guards’ ears. One turned to look at her, and she waved at him. Was that Raphene? He looked away, visibly disturbed, but she didn’t care. Now, the inquisitor would have to honour his own offer or risk losing face.
Turning her victorious gaze back to him, Semras found him staring silently at her.
Loath as she was to admit it, she struggled to hold his gaze. Inquisitor Velten’s eyes were unlike any she’d ever seen. Ice blue and set behind a well-defined brow, they’d make anyone squirm beneath them.
What did he make of her yellow eyes? He’d probably say something about how they reflected the taint of the Night, or some other nonsense.
“As you wish,” he said at last, jaw clenched. “I shall see you later tonight, then.”
After a curt nod, Inquisitor Velten strode to the inn’s front door. His knights awaited him there to requisition rooms for the company.
Themas had told her earlier that the innkeeper would comply with the inquisitor’s demands, even if it meant throwing other guests out. The Church of Elumenra still exerted great influence over the population; they wouldn’t dare defy a servant of its most feared institution.
Semras sighed. To think that this man held such power over so many people, just because of a little sun-shaped pin of gold and a cloak of dark red.
Sir Ulrech opened the inn’s door while the inquisitor exchanged a few words with Themas, gesturing toward her. By the uneasy expression on his face, Themas didn’t seem to like his orders at all. He bowed, then walked toward her, while Inquisitor Velten and Sir Ulrech vanished into the inn.
“Miss Semras,” Themas hailed her, “I have been chosen to accompany you for the evening. If you require anything, be it for your comfort or your safety, let it be known and I shall fulfill your request at once.”
The knight had fallen back into speaking with rigid politeness. His wall of practiced manners hid something from her; she’d bet on it.
“That does not sound like Inquisitor Velten at all,” Semras said, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, what exactly did he say?”
His embarrassed, lopsided smile revealed a dimple on his right cheek, making him look like a mischievous child about to be scolded. “Oh, um. I might have … reformulated his exact words. The inquisitor said that, considering you were ‘acting like a petulant child,’ you needed a … a nanny to watch over you tonight.”
“Charming,” she scoffed. “I hope he won’t give you trouble for revealing this to me.”
“Not at all! He, um … he said he expected you’d demand to be relayed my orders and told me to do so truthfully. The idea … amused him, I think.”
“Oh. Really?” she replied through gritted teeth. “How … ‘gracious’ of him.”
Shifting on his feet, the knight dropped his eyes to the ground. “I have offended you. Miss Semras, I—”
“It’s not you.” She huffed. “Forgive me; my temper is short when it comes to that man.”
“Nevertheless, allow me to ask forgiveness properly.” Dropping to one knee, Themas presented his open hand and looked at her expectantly.
With some hesitation, Semras extended her arm, imitating his palm turned to the sky.
This was how it worked, right? She had only ever witnessed that Deprived practice from afar once, almost two decades ago in a small town she had sneaked into with Blyana, a childhood friend.
They were young teens back then. An older witch had dragged them back to the coven grounds by the ears, and they had received quite the scolding from the Elders. Blyana had been terrorized into never going out again without permission, but Semras had kept fond memories of their escapade.
For weeks after, her mind played the scene, substituting the graceful lady she’d seen with herself. A man dropping on his knees before her, taking her hand while declaring grand oaths of love and devotion, and …
What came after this? Time had erased it from her mind.
Themas took her hand in his, and her breath hitched. Softly, he turned her wrist, presenting her palm to the ground, then pressed a fleeting kiss on the back of her hand.
Semras’ face bloomed red.
The palm! Of course, the palm was supposed to be toward the ground! Oh, she had made a fool of herself.
Still kneeling before her, Themas smiled gently. “I beg forgiveness for my offence. It is my honour to serve you tonight, Miss Semras.” His eyes were a soft hazel, devoid of mockery or contempt. They drew a bashful smile across her lips.
