It waslaughing.
Semras’ breath grew shallow.
‘A handful of blood.’ She had considered the price she’d offer while waiting for Velten to leave. It had seemed like an appropriate, quantifiable amount she could afford to lose. But now, in front of its sinister reaction, it suddenly occurred to her that a ‘handful of blood’ sounded horribly like … like ‘ahandfull of blood.’
Pale as death, Semras took a step back. The kelpie advanced, nipping in the air toward her hands. Its eyes glowed with hunger. Teeth too sharp to belong to a prey animal glinted in the dark. From its mouth, thick ropes of saliva dripped onto the soil of the forest.
A deep, primal terror rooted her in place.
Twisting its head to the side, the half-fey darted its pupil all over her. Any moment now, it would take her hand, and Semras would lose her ability to weave. For good this time.
Her mouth dried up. She wanted to scream—but no sound could make it through her tightening throat.
Its eye fell on her chest, where her heart beat jarringly, and the kelpie went still. One beat, two beats, three and ten succeeded while it gazed at her. Then Pagan snorted and shook its mane. With barely restrained frustration, it pawed at the ground.
Semras released her breath.
The Wyrdtwined Oath. The half-fey had seen her warp shape, had seen Velten’s threads entwined around her heart, and deemed her its master as well. It wouldn’t—couldn’t—take advantage of her poor choice of words, not while it believed her to be one of its Court’s lords.
Hurriedly, Semras slit her palm with a small knife, then presented her hand. A long, too long tongue came to lick at the blood pooling within. Once the kelpie had taken exactly a ‘handful,’ it bowed its head and dropped its front knees to the ground, ready to fulfill its end of the Bargain.
Amazed and shaken, Semras glanced back to Themas.
“Well done,” he said, softly clapping his hands. “I got scared there for a moment, but you handled it well.”
A curt, shrill chuckle floated out of her. “I think I used up all the luck you wished me. I’ll go now. If I’m not back by dawn … assume that Velten has killed me.”
“Don’t joke about that, Semras.”
She didn’t. If the inquisitor caught on to her plan, he’d kill her in retaliation. No wordplay or plea could ever justify her feeding him wolfsbane.
Twirling its mane around her fist, the witch climbed atop the stallion’s bare back. It stood smoothly, then carried her away, its dark coat blending into the night.
The half-fey moved silently through the Vedwoods. Semras would have sworn it passed through the Unseen Arras at times, diving into Weirlaind’s endless Night to travel faster. When Inquisitor Velten appeared further ahead much sooner than she had expected—his dark silhouette atop his steed, guiding it over a thin dirt path through the woods—she knew it had done so.
Good. It worked in her favour.
“Let me down here, Pagan,” she whispered into the kelpie’s ear. “I need to confront your master for a moment. We will keep tailing him after that, so wait here for me.”
It stopped and dropped its front legs, and Semras climbed down its back.
All she needed to do now was to prepare and pray that everything would go exactly as planned. After drinking half of her waterskin and making sure the gloves protected her hands from the wolfsbane, Semras slipped one of its seeds inside her cheek. If she swallowed it accidentally, the activated charcoal would help absorb most of its side effects, but she still had to act fast. And soon too, before the poison would start affecting her through the soft tissues of her mouth.
Semras bit her lip, then strode toward Inquisitor Velten. “Where are you going?” she hailed as she caught up to him.
Startled, Velten tensed in his saddle but kept on riding slowly into the night. “You should be sleeping.”
Semras picked up the pace to keep up with him. “Did you think you were clever?” she asked. Even to herself, her voice sounded oddly detached. “You found out who bought prickly comfrey at the coven’s grounds. You’re going to confront them alone.”
“I did not, and I do not have to explain myself to you.” Velten kept his eyes fixed in front of him, his horse at a slow walk. “You have been useful, and I am grateful for it, but this is my investigation, and I will pursue it on my own. With my authority as inquisitor, I release you from—”
“You have no authority here,” Semras replied with a sneer. “You stand upon the land of my people, and I will not let you harass my coven sisters. Bring me with you, or I will stop you. This is your last chance, Velten.”
The inquisitor pulled the reins, and his horse stopped moving.
Looking down at her, he stayed silent for a moment. Then, a scowl spread across his face. “I said go back, witch. I will not tolerate your meddling any longer.”
Semras sucked in a breath. “My … meddling?”
