Semras nodded, and Themas left to hail one of the many carriages advertising rides for a fare on their side.
Standing still, Pagan glared at her.
“I’ll get him back,” she told it. “You need to warn Sin’Sagar that something has happened, because I’m not returning to his house without him. Can you do that?”
Speaking so publicly to a horse would have made her feel a little silly had it not nodded its head at her words.
Smiling, Semras reached out her hand to rub its neck. “Thank—”
It pawed, and she startled away. Ah, yes—the Fey disliked being thanked. She had forgotten it. “Sorry,” she said, chastised.
Themas returned in time to see the stallion trotting off alone into the streets. “Woah, the horse—!”
“Don’t bother. Pagan is going back to the house. We’re not. We”—she lifted her chin—“are going to that House of Tribunals the brute at the gates spoke of. Now.”
“Inquisitor Velten said—”
“And I say otherwise!” Semras replied, snarling. “Bring me there now, Themas, or I will scour this city with flames until I get my Wyrdtwined back!”
Eyes resolutely fixed on the knight, she awaited his answer. If he gave her the wrong one, she’d leave him behind. She didn’t need the fine mind of Sin’Sagar nor the dogged loyalty of Sir Ulrech to save Estevan.
Semras was a witch of Yore, and she was getting her Wyrdtwinedback.
With a resigned sigh, Themas nodded, and Semras embarked on the carriage while he informed the driver of their new destination.
The witch paid no attention to the drive. Deep in thought, she focused her mind on coming up with strategies for how to approach the House of Tribunals—some violent, some more diplomatic. Words of pleas and threats rolled on her tongue as she searched for the ones who’d give her back Estevan. Her fingers flexed, relaxed, and flexed again with nervous energy.
Her Wyrdtwined would get out of the House of Tribunals intact, or the House would no longer stand come dusk.
Then, it would be the city’s turn to burn.
Oblivious to the Bleak Path her thoughts were straying onto, Themas pushed aside the window curtain and peeked outside. “We’ve arrived.”
He exited the vehicle first, then offered Semras his hand. Eyes glued to the House of Tribunals, she took it idly and stepped down from the carriage.
The building was … smaller and more private than she had expected. Surrounded by a low wall of red stone, a facade of white blocks devoid of any unnecessary ornament framed the entrance to the House of Tribunals. In a way, it reminded her a little of her Wyrdtwined’s house.
“This is where Estevan is being held?” Semras asked.
“Should be,” Themas replied, staring at the front door. A hint of worry lurked in his eyes. “Come with me.”
He gently pushed her toward the main door. As she walked, her eyes scurried left and right, taking in her surroundings. No one stood in or strolled through the courthouse’s small front garden. The odd silence unnerved her.
It felt like walking into a wolf’s den.
Her shoulders tensed as she turned her attention to the entrance. Beyond the heavy wooden door, her Wyrdtwined awaited her. He needed her.
Themas opened the door and hurried her inside. Frowning at his abruptness, Semras stepped through the threshold, and then came to a halt.
Inside, a wide, luminous hall faced a tall staircase in a layout similar to Estevan’s home. On the ceiling, a coloured glass dome looked down on the foyer. The sun flooded inside from it, throwing prismatic rays of light over the staircase landing above her.
Semras’ eyes drifted upward to the large painting hanging on the wall there: an idyllic countryside view of sheep grazing in a golden field next to a forest. Dissimulated within the undergrowth, the yellow eyes of wolves peered at them, a silent menace known only to those who knew to pay attention to it.
Shudders ran down her spine. This wasn’t the House of Tribunals.
Semras stepped back—and stumbled against the Venator knight waiting for her there. A strong, unforgiving grip seized her hands and twisted them behind her back.
She startled. “What are you—!”
