Semras blushed furiously. “Estevan!”
“We are openly kissing in public, but you become shy at the thought of being left alone with me?” he asked, laughing. “Oh, you really are too precious for this world, love.”
Maraz’Miri giggled. “Oh, sorry, no! You won’t be alone,Ensi-il-ensi. Sir Ulrech is coming too. He bellowed that this was the last time he’d leave you without supervision. Take advantage of your time here while you still can!”
Maraz’Miri’s laughter rose into the greying skies as she left, startling the nearby sword-bearers and crowd into a nervous panic. Looking around with growing confusion, the Deprived searched for the source of the disincarnate voice.
Semras let out a long, content sigh. “I am more than ready to go home. Oh, and would you look at that,” she said, elbowing Estevan gently, “before winter too! Who would have thought?”
The day they met, he had affirmed so confidently that she wouldn’t be back before snowfall. After all the time he had teased her, she couldn’t resist doing the same—
A single, mocking snowflake fell on her nose. Raising her eyes to the sky, Semras discovered a thousand more drifting downward toward them.
She groaned. “Not a word.”
“I would never dare,” Estevan replied, smirking slowly.
His damn smirk. How dare he.
Epilogue
Flameslickedthealembicwith enthusiasm, suffusing a pleasant warmth into Semras’ hut. Spring had come a few days ago, and with it, the sight of growing leaves and flower buds outside her window. Even so, the lingering touch of winter still chilled the red stone walls of her home.
Clay bowls and glass jars of various sizes lay on the apothecary table in front of the witch. Humming a silent tune, she selected the one labelled‘dried valerian root.’Its faint, earthy scent mixed in pleasantly with the smell of dried mint and thyme that drifted down from a rope above her head.
The soothing syrup she was working on came from a newly tweaked recipe—one she was confident she’d get good results with now that she had found the right dosage.
It always came down to the right dosage, after all.
Semras carefully scooped a bit of the short, dusty brown sticks, then dropped them on a small brass scale. The weight didn’t quite balance correctly, and she added some more, tongue sticking between her lips in concentration. Just a little more, and she’d get the right …
Hands sneaked around her waist. With a sharp yelp, she stumbled back into Estevan’s arms. He kissed her nape, then her shoulder, then attempted to grab her hand to kiss it too when she playfully elbowed him.
Smiling, Semras leaned back against his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Do not resist, witch. I am in the middle of a very important investigation,” he replied, nipping at her neck.
“You insufferable man,” she said, chuckling. “Can’t you see I am working? What investigation is this now?”
“You are under suspicion of being too busy to notice your husband. This is a crime, and you should repent. Submit while I am still feeling generous.”
Eyes rolling, Semras put down her tools and retrieved her recipe book. After bookmarking her page, she closed it with an exaggerated sigh. “This is a false accusation, and I demand reparation for it.” She turned to face him. “Should I take you as compensation?”
Mirth danced in her Wyrdtwined’s beautiful eyes, brightening their icy blue shade. Even after so many days and nights spent by his side, she remained utterly blown away by the intensity of his gaze.
“Take all you want,” he drawled. “I just finished weeding the garden, as promised. Now I am here for my justly earned reward, and … perhaps for another promise of mine still left unfulfilled?”
Cocking her eyebrow, Semras mused upon his words.
Estevan once promised her all he was, and he had kept his word every single day since they left the House of Tribunals half a year ago. He hung his burgundy shoulder cloak, returned his inquisitorial insignia copies, and destroyed all the pairs of red and black gloves he possessed.
His witch-shackles and sword of cold iron, he asked a blacksmith to melt into an unusable mass of slag until nothing of the costly material remained. Semras greatly enjoyed watching flames engulf them—this, more than anything else, proved to her just how committed he was. These objects had been the sacred symbols of his office just as much as the insignia he once threw at the tribunals’ feet. Now they had melted in a blazing inferno, never to be used again.
They returned to Bevenna not long after, riding Pagan together through the hamlet under the shocked gazes of villagers. What looked like all of its population had assembled in the square to watch the return of the witch and the—now former—inquisitor.
When they passed by Keran, the blacksmith’s apprentice, Estevan smirked at him. “You were right, boy,” he said. “She is a ‘good woman,’ that one. But she makes an even better wife,” he added with a wink.
Semras almost died of embarrassment right then and there. Thankfully, she hadn’t needed to avoid the heartbroken young man for very long. Mere days later, Leyevna had insisted they move closer to her house. She wanted her pupil available at all times, she’d said offhandedly.
