How very Seelie of him, she thought, but also very human. So Caeldidcare—in his own fey way—about his brother.
“You don’t want him to be guilty,” Semras breathed.
“No.” Cael stood before her, arms crossed and gaze fixed on her, but he could have been leagues away by the tone of his voice. “Nonetheless, I shall do my duty. A man died, and he deserves justice.”
It hit her suddenly. Both inquisitors had been raised by Cardinal Velten, and both had apprenticed under the same mentor, Tribunal Torqedan. It made them so similar, yet so different. Estevan had wanted to shield his mother from the consequences of a crime he thought she’d committed, while Caelhad been ready to condemn his brother for the same suspicion. Both acted in the name of justice. Neither had been wrong—nor right—about it.
“He’s not guilty,” Semras said. “Accusing Estevan won’t bring anyone justice.”
Cael sighed. “Facts do not lie. He intercepted the medicine delivery and had access to the dosage instructions to falsify them. Then Tribunal Torqedan died a very short time after receiving the package from Estevan’s hands.” The inquisitor appraised her with blank eyes. “You have shown some impressive deductive abilities so far. How would you explain that?”
Semras mused for a moment. The answer was easy—revealing it wasn’t. But Estevan was in danger, and Cael wouldn’t back down without a proper explanation. “I want Themas out of here first,” she said at last.
“Alaran,” the spy replied with a huff. “My name’s Alaran.”
Ignoring him, she awaited Cael’s answer.
The inquisitor pondered a moment, then dismissed his agent. Once the door closed behind him, Semras took a deep breath, prayed Estevan would forgive her, and faced the inquisitor. “He’d never have tampered with the package. After all, what kind of son could lead his mother to the pyre?”
With slow, measured steps, Cael walked back to his desk, then sat on the chair. Resting his elbows on its surface, he laced his fingers together and stared ahead. “Pray tell again.”
Semras approached the desk, her shackles tinkling softly behind her back. “Leyevna is Estevan’s mother,” she said. “He did not intercept the package; he was always the one who delivered the remedy to Torqedan. I don’t know what happened with that forged letter, but it was the work of neither him nor Leyevna.”
“Estevan’s mother … a witch. A famous warwitch, at that.” Cael blinked. “That is … preposterous.”
“You’re one to talk,” Semras muttered.
That man descended directly from a humanoid fey—something far more preposterous in this day and age than being a witch’s son could ever be.
Deep in thoughts, the inquisitor hadn’t heard her. “Preposterous, yes … but not improbable. No, not at all, in fact. Estevan always had something wild about his person. In retrospect, it makes sense that he has a drop of the Void in him.”
A drop for one brother and an entire pool for the other, she thought. They must have been quite a challenge for the cardinal to raise during their childhood. The man had to be a living saint.
Semras shuffled on her feet. The weight of the shackles kept her arms uncomfortably stretched behind her back. “Are you convinced now?”
“I might be. I might be indeed. This claim is worth investigating, at least. I will need answers from my adoptive father before I can officially drop the charges against Estevan, but for now …” He let out a small chuckle. “To think I accused my own brother of a crime he did not commit. I owe you for opening my eyes to a new perspective, Miss Witch.”
“Will you rescind your order of arrest?”
Cael nodded slowly. “I will,” he said, walking to the door.
Behind it, Alaran was waiting with a bored expression on his face. As soon as his attention turned to them, the spy broke into an expectant smile. “So?”
“We are going to the House of Tribunals,” Cael declared. “Mister Callhijo, remove her shackles.”
“Sure. Your funeral, Callum,” he replied. After taking a set of keys from his pockets, he twirled them around his finger and approached her.
Semras snarled at him. Had she not convinced Cael of Estevan’s innocence, Alaran would have been responsible for her Wyrdtwined’s condemnation.
“Or maybe mine,” he corrected himself. “Can I toss her the keys and run while I still can? I don’t fancy being turned into a newt.”
“Enough. The witch is no savage being; she will behave.”
“Will I … I wonder …” Semras mused out loud, voice laced with an edge.
Cael clicked his tongue. “As I doubt you wish to return to my brother still shackled, you will.”
She rolled her eyes, then let Alaran remove the shackles from her. As soon as he was done, she massaged her hands, soothing the sensation of the cold iron out of them. They hadn’t stayed on long enough to hurt her, but the metal still stung.
