“Why did you? Knowing you’re a witch yourself, it’s … hard to understand,” she said cautiously. They were treading on neutral ground now; any wrong probing could make her stumble once more into an unwanted conflict.
He mulled his thoughts over. “The Inquisition enforces its laws on anyone and anything wielding powers beyond the ken of simple men. It is old, weighted down by traditions and prejudices …” He paused, twirling the cold tea within his cup. “But it serves its purpose in the fight against the Void and Its servants. It helps protect those who would fall prey to threats they cannot fight back against. However, the Inquisition forgets too often that witches count among that number too. So I joined to make a difference as a man part of both worlds, hoping to advocate for the wrongfully accused.”
“… People like your mother,” Semras said. “Although … you thought at first she had poisoned Torqedan, didn’t you? She was the ‘witch of Yore’ you wanted to save from the murder accusation. That’s why you were so desperate to have me accuse you in her stead. Not just because of the war the tribunal’s death could lead us all into, but because you thought your mother was guilty.”
He smiled weakly at her. “What son could drag his own mother to her pyre? Yes, I intended to pay for the crime in her stead. After all, it has always been my fault that she stood in a position to be accused at all. I worked all my life to break the barriers separating our people, and I … I thought Mother and Master Torqedan’s reconciliation would finally prove that coexistence was possible.” His smile turned bitter. “And now myown fey brother has framed her. Everything I ever believed in proved foolish in the end. They plot for war, they rejoice at each other’s death … My life’s work has all been in vain, but I cannot allow it to be. I will not.”
Something harsh and resolute in his voice alarmed her. “… What do you mean?”
“I mean, it is over. Cael won. He plotted all this and did so in a way I cannot prove.” Estevan curled his hands into fists. “If we want to avoid war, I need to take the fall. I need to deny him the stage he had prepared for my mother by taking it for myself. There is no other way.”
“It’s a stupid plan!” Semras leaned in her chair to face him. “I thought we agreed not to pursue it. Think up something else, Estevan. You’re an inquisitor; you must have other ideas.”
Shrugging, he smiled weakly at her. “It is the only one I can consider. What else could I do? I have nothing to accuse Cael with and no concrete proof that he is a Seelie to discredit him.” Estevan exhaled, then passed his hand over his drawn, tired face. “If I tell the tribunals that the infamous Warwitch Leyevna made the remedy that killed Tribunal Torqedan, they will decide on her guilt and condemn her to death. Then the Covens will rise in retaliation, and so will the Inquisition. We have a new war on our hands, just as my brother planned.”
“Not an option. What else?”
“I lie and tell them he died by suicide,” he replied. “Or I tell the truth—that a witch is being framed for his death. They ask on what basis I declare it, and without proof, my conclusion is overthrown. The case is given to another inquisitor—perhaps Cael himself—who will trace it back to my mother and discover our familial link.” A mirthless chuckle escaped him. “We get the same ending … except, this time, I join her on the pyre. Then war comes, but I suppose that would no longer be my problem.”
Semras scoffed. “Find something better. None of these scenarios is a choice we can make.”
“There is only one we must follow. Think about it, Semras. You go to the tribunals; you tell them I framed Warwitch Leyevna. I am taken for questioning, and I confess to everything, as if Cael’s plan was mine. He cannot start his war if I tell everyone I did it first. And that incident would be so embarrassing for the Inquisition that they would not dig into the case any further. They will just bury it quietly and hope the public never learns of that pathetic attempt at demonizing the Covens. This way, we get no war, and a single person dies so thousands may live. The end. Thegoodend.”
Her heart throbbed. It felt too stiff, too hollowed out. “No … There must be another way … Think—think of me!” she pleaded anxiously. “Think of our Wyrdtwined Oath! Don’t you know what your death will do to me?”
“… I do,” Estevan said quietly. “That was why I asked Mother if it could be reversed. I am sorry. I wish … I wish there were another way, Semras, but I do not see it. I am just … desperate.”
Semras lunged to grab his collar and pull him closer. “You’re a fool, that’s what you are! Have you no idea of what I sacrificed for you? I won’t let you throw your life away so carelessly!”
“I—”
Glaring at him, Semras cupped his face and brushed her thumb over his lips to silence him. Her eyes burned with all the quiet scorn and fury she could muster.
Still, he leaned against her hand, eagerly chasing her touch.
“For you, I gave up on love, Estevan,” she said coldly. “I gave up on someone who could have sworn before the Old Crone and the New Maiden to stay with me and live for me. Forme! Truly sworn and meant it!”
“I know,” he breathed. “If I die, you will be free of me.”
“You think it works that way? My threads are yours, and yours are mine! I would spend the rest of my days feeling your absence like a gaping hole, just like my mother did after my father was gone. That’s how she died—heartbroken! Is that what you want for me? Do I disgust you so much you’d wish me a living death?”
Unable to bear the sight of him any longer, Semras looked away. Her anger dimmed to embers, and she continued in a softer voice, her lips graced by a bittersweet smile. “I dreamt of true love when I was a child, you know? I wanted a good man—akindman—who’d love me, and I’d love him in return. He’d keep me safe, and I’d keep him hale. We would grow old together, have children. I had thought of names already. One for a girl with her father’s eyes, and one for a boy with his hair.” Her smile fell, dragging down her heart along with it. “I’ll never have use of them now.”
Transfixed on the image of the future she’d dreamt of but would never have, Estevan stood still. His mouth was agape, left hanging after the impression of her thumb on his lips.
Her face twisted into a snarl. “Instead, I haveyou,” she said, tracing with her fingers the line of his jaw. “You, who would rather die than be wyrdtwined to me. And if death hadn’t felt so convenient to you, you would have deserted me in the name of your Inquisition—denying our oath in the arms of countless women courting your favour, planting the seeds of as many children as you would never meet. Either way, you will leave me alone with nothing else than resentment to keep me company. All alone and bitter: an old spinster living half the life she hoped she’d have.”
Taking advantage of his shock, she pushed his chest back onto the chair. Semras rested one knee between his legs and then leaned closer, caging him between her arms. She stared him down coldly. “I can never take another as I took you. Never. So damn you and cherish this life of yours I paid so dearly for.”
Once more, silence fell between them—though this one seemed different. It felt heavy, electric.
Slowly, hesitantly, Estevan grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him. Semras let him sit her on his lap, her thighs spreading across each side of him. Her dress rolled up around her hips, and one of his hands sneaked beneath it to caress her leg. The other rose to rest against the side of her neck, grazing her skin.
“I would have given you children, had you wanted mine,” Estevan said, voice deep and coarse and uncharacteristically gentle. “A girl with your hair, and a boy with your eyes.”
Deep somewhere in the back of her mind, Semras heard herself gasp softly.
His fingers played with a stray strand of her hair. “I would have wandered no more for you. I would have been faithful.” Then he gently took her hand and kissed her palm, gaze fixed on the blush tinting her cheeks. “I would have stayed by your side and given you all that I am. All of me.” Estevan brought her hand to rest over his heart.
