She really,reallyhoped this was the last time she’d ever have to suffer them.
“So,” Alaran drawled, “if it wasn’t Velten, who killed the old man?”
Chapter 37
TheHouseofTribunalsstood in the middle of a vast, sterile park devoid of any flowers or trees. Stepping down from the carriage, Semras pursed her lips at the sight of it. Everything before her seemed designed to repulse her kind.
Built between opulence and austerity, the building of red blocks commanded both dread and awe. With its intricate facade of carved columns and arches, it focused all the attention on its tall entrance and away from the windowless, brick-covered sides.
But the witch could still see the prison it tried so hard to conceal—could almost hear the lingering screams of the countless people dragged within its halls over the centuries, never to reemerge again.
Shaking off her nerves, Semras followed Cael through the enormous black doors and into an open outdoor space framed by four walls.
“Where is Estevan held?” she asked, sweeping her gaze through the galleries overlooking the inner courtyard.
Spread over four floors, the rows of arches loomed so high above that the sun couldn’t reach the gallows lying in the middle of the grounds. It looked drab, a grim reminder of the violence sanctioned within these halls. Even the baroque exuberance of the stone sun-cherubs decorating columns and archways didn’t lift Semras’ mood.
Neither did the Venator sword-bearers standing guard in strategic places all around—their presence dredged up to the surface of her mind memories she’d rather forget. Steeling her resolve, she held her head high and stilled the shaking of her hands.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let them stand between her and her Wyrdtwined.
“Come this way,” Cael said as he walked toward a staircase to the left, paying no mind to the grim architecture or the men reverently dropping their heads at his passage.
Semras followed him close behind. Her eyes flitted over the Venator sword-bearers, anxious at the thought of recognizing one of them.
At one of them recognizing her.
They returned her gaze, scrutinizing her every move until a single click of Cael’s tongue sent their attention away.
“They are kept in the cells below, in the basement.” Cael said without looking back at her. “I mean the men who attacked you.”
“So you know about that too.”
“I had to. In the absence of an officiating tribunal in the city now that Master Torqedan is dead, I reviewed Estevan’s official complaint and ratified it.”
Trailing behind him, Semras stared at his back. “… Thank—”
“Do not thank me. This legal battle will be fought later, but there should be no issue in getting justice for you. Estevan built a damning report against them. You have him to thank, not me.”
A sigh escaped her lips. Of course, the half-fey wouldn’t want her gratitude, yet part of her wondered if his refusal didn’t have something to do with his human side instead—Cael wasn’t as driven by his Seelie legacy as she had first expected, after all.
“Estevan should have been kept in the cells too,” the inquisitor added after a pause, “but I doubt this is where we will find him. I know my brother. Hence, we shall go to the Chamber of Judgment right away.”
“Another one of your hunches?”
Cael gave her a rare, genuine smile. “Just the intuition of an older brother. Estevan is prone to causing trouble, as you may have noticed, and the cardinal should be there today on his routine inspection. I am certain my brother is there with him, complaining about me. I shall ask His Eminence to rescind the order of arrest once I have confirmation about the identity of Estevan’s mother. A tribunal should be the one lifting such orders, but as the remaining ones in Vandalesia are weeks of travel away, His Eminence may take care of it.”
After climbing multiple flights of stairs to the fourth floor, Cael led her into a large hallway with walls decorated with mosaics of crystal. At its end, sword-bearers and their long lances guarded the entrance to the Chamber of Judgment.
Two vast slabs of mahogany wood served as its doors. In their centre was a relief sculpture of the Radiant Lord Elumenra keeping at bay the Ever-Encroaching Void—both of them represented in their headless humanoid forms. Other smaller scenes adorned the rest of the carved panels around them.
Before her eyes, figures of mystics and witches burned on pyres. Next to them, fey peeked out of a visual representation of the Unseen Arras, their mouths snarling at limbs caught in traps of cold iron. On some of the other panels, diabalhs with long and graceful necks lay at the feet of men, their ripped-out wings strung on the ground around declawed paws.
Semras shuddered. These visions were no threat but a promise of the world that awaited her beyond these doors.
A single glance from Cael made the guards step aside and open the way for them. Taking a deep breath, Semras followed the inquisitor into the jaws of the Chamber of Judgment.
A thunderous, elderly voice floated to her ears. “Be reasonable, Your Eminence!”
