Another tribunal leaned forward, pushing glasses down his aquiline nose to squint his eyes at her. They swept over her exposed neck—and over the bites Estevan had given her.
With a shudder of disgust, Semras recoiled at his leering attention.
“Who’s this?” the old man said at last. “Inquisitor Callum, did you bring into these sacred halls your brother’s newest whore? Is she a witness or an accomplice to be put to the quest—”
“No!” Estevan cried out. He tried to stand, but the chains at his feet made him stumble back onto his knees. “I-I do not know her. Your Honours, I submit to the question. I submit to it, so let’s just get this over with.”
“Estevan …” Semras murmured. Dread strangled her voice—she could barely raise it past a whisper.
The witch made to move toward her Wyrdtwined. With a pointed gaze of warning, Cael pulled her back to his side, his hand still firmly gripping her shoulder. “No need, Tribunal Whitmore,” he said. “I—”
“Get your filthy hands off her,” Estevan growled lowly, tugging at his chains. “Void take you, Cael. Get your hands off her!”
“Order in the chamber!” The oldest judge—Garza, she recalled—hit his gavel on the table. The sound echoed loudly through the vast chambers.
A shuffling of feet behind her answered it, and Semras looked back in alarm toward the approaching Venator sword-bearers. They had been standing guard inside the room, and she hadn’t even noticed them, too caught up in her desire to save her Wyrdtwined.
Faces fixed into a neutral mask, the armed men were still keeping their distance, but if Estevan kept struggling, they’d step up, and then …
With urgency, Semras caught her Wyrdtwined’s attention. ‘Trust me,’ she mouthed silently.
Estevan stilled, then stared at her and his brother, confusion plain on his face.
“Do not interrupt me again, brother,” Cael said with a disquieting, blank face. He turned to the tribunals. “I rescind my accusations against Inquisitor Velten, Your Honours.”
“… What?” Estevan muttered. His voice was barely audible over the wave of bemused whispers coming from the judges seated at the high table.
“Thank you, Cael,” Cardinal Velten said. “Please state your reason.”
“While previous evidence justified my formal accusation at the time,” the inquisitor began, “new information brought to me by this woman present here has changed the course of my investigation. I no longer believe Estevan to be the murderer of Tribunal Eloy Torqedan.”
Tribunal Garza frowned at her. “A ‘woman’? You mean awitch. The testimony of this creature is worthless. In my time, we would have put her to the pyre for daring to meddle in our affairs.”
Pressing her mouth shut, Semras grew a sudden interest in arson. Her fingers flexed into curling claws, and she forcefully willed them away from any tempting threads. Estevan was still in the building, after all.
Later, if the irritating old men in front of her didn’t see fit to shut their mouths, she told herself. The world would benefit from the early departure of such elders. It would be her pleasure to speed up this process.
And it would be so easy.One pluck of a weft here, and that decrepit old man would succumb to a heart attack. As for the one who leered at her, she could rip the warps off his eyes and upset the delicate balance of fluids within. They’d burst, and he’d never look at anyone like that again.
“Well,” Cardinal Velten said in a loud, pleased voice. “Both the order of arrest and the accusation have been rescinded. There is no need to continue this session.”
“I disagree,” the oldest tribunal said. “I, Tribunal Alonzo di Garza, put forth a motion to deny the request.”
Semras snapped her wide-eyed gaze to him.
Another tribunal, one with dull brown eyes veiled by cataracts, spoke with a shaky voice. “I second it. Tribunal Hans Pajov.”
“This is my investigation, Your Honour,” Cael said quietly. “As such, I respectfully demand—”
“We have all read the preliminary reports you submitted to justify the arrest, and it is our belief that the accusation stands,” the last tribunal declared, slipping his glasses up his nose. “Thus, it shall be duly examined. Regrets are not a good enough reason to stop the march of justice, Inquisitor Callum. As such, I, Tribunal Gale Whitmore, ratify the motion.”
“Let me go, Cael,” Semras growled. “Let me.” Her fingers itched to answer the old men in the only language they understood: violence.
The inquisitor ignored her. “Your Honours, I assure you it is not regret that guides my request. I beseech you to reconsider.”
Pursing his lips, Tribunal Garza leaned over the table. His gaze darted between Estevan and her, then shifted toward Cael. “The request is denied. The accused will be put to the question until a confession has been collected—or until his body gives way. Throw in the witch as well; I suspect she gave you a false testimony, Inquisitor Callum. A few hours on the rack shall strip it of falsehoods. Sword-bearers, take them both away.”
The Venator guards unsheathed their weapons and stepped forward, their blank faces as hard as statues. Semras watched them approach with horror; there was no reasoning with these men of stone and steel. They obeyed a will other than their own.
