Cael stilled at once, his arm darting in front of her. “Do not,” he whispered, jaw clenched, “make a single sound.” His gaze was fixed on the scene ahead.
Heart laden with dread, Semras followed it.
With its centuries-old ornaments, the large chamber they had walked into looked archaic. Tall arches had been carved into the walls, each of their alcoves adorned with a colourful, religious mural of sun and stars. In the middle of the room, on a single central platform raised by a step, stood a long, thin table.
Ten opulent seats lined one of its sides, their backs facing a row of windows overlooking the interior courtyard. At noon, the glow of sunlight must have haloed those who were seated at the table, blinding both plaintiff and accused standing before them.
That time had passed for the day, and only long shadows now stretched onto the red ceramic floor—drawn by the silhouettes of the four aging men sitting there.
And by the man kneeling before them.
Semras slapped a hand over her mouth—to no avail. A long, horrified whine still escaped her lips. The sound echoed through the chamber, drawing the attention of all toward the witch.
By her side, Cael clicked his tongue.
Three of the presiding judges—each of them draped in black and burgundy robes—glared at them from the height of their seats. The fourth man, dressed differently in white and gold finery, sat in the middle of them with a kind, serene smile.
Semras didn’t care for any of them—didn’t even take note of their faces. Only the man in chains kneeling before them mattered. He glanced over his shoulders at her, and her heart wept.
Hands bound behind his back, Estevan looked battered. Blood had dried on his chin, the product of a split lip, and blotches of bruises were already appearing here and there on his exposed skin.
But it was his expression that broke her. Growing increasingly despaired, his wide-eyed gaze flickered between Cael and her.
He thought that she’d been captured by his brother, that he had failed in protecting her—she could see it haunting his eyes.
Semras took a step forward, ready to run to his arm, to take him somewhere safe and far from this place of horror and death, to heal the wounds on his flesh with weaving, and to soothe the ones in his mind with kisses.
Cael’s hand fell on her shoulder, holding her back. “Do not,” he said lowly in her ear. “You stand before the assembly of tribunals. Your presence here will not benefit Estevan, but it is too late for you to leave now. Let me handle everything.”
Her brow furrowed. “Tribunals? Didn’t you say they were weeks away from here?”
“I did. Clearly, I was wrong. Now please follow me and stay quiet.” Cael walked toward the centre of the room, forcing her to march to his rhythm.
Stumbling from his fast pace, Semras looked up toward the tribunals. For a moment, her vision flashed with a memory of old women standing above them all, calmly awaiting to judge the worth of a man’s life.
But this time, there was nothing Semras could do to save Estevan. His fate lay in the hands of men now.
The man dressed in white welcomed them with a smile. Cardinal Velten, no doubt—with his greyish-black hair and deepblue eyes, she just knew he was Estevan’s father. They even had the same jaw.
“Cael,” he said warmly. “We were expecting you, but not accompanied.”
The inquisitor respectfully bowed to him. “Your Eminence,” he greeted. Then he did it again for the other three elderly men. “Your Honours.”
“Sir Sevran brought your brother here half an hour ago,” Cardinal Velten said, gesturing down at Estevan with disquieting airiness, “but I suppose you must have known that already, considering you gave the order to arrest him. Your knight is at your surgeon’s office now if you were looking for him. He will be fine; Estevan just gave him a good workout for his age.”
The cardinal’s voice held no bite or blame, yet Cael still tensed beside her. “Your Eminence, I have come—”
“This is ridiculous,” barked out one of the tribunals. With his bald head and parchment skin peppered with age spots, he looked much older than the others, yet his voice still echoed strongly against the vaulted ceiling.
“Tribunal Garza, please …” the cardinal said appeasingly.
“There is nothing to argue about here,” Garza continued. “Now that Inquisitor Callum is here, let’s put the boy to the question and hear what he has to say about the accusation thrown against him.”
Semras’ heart lurched. “No!”
All eyes snapped to her. Cael’s grip on her shoulder tightened, but she barely noticed it. Chin lifted in defiance, she stared at the old men. If they dared touch her Wyrdtwined, she’d boil the blood in their veins.
The threads of their warp shapes danced at the edge of her vision. It would beeasyto do so.
