“Madra’s just partial to redheads,” she lied. “Don’t think too much of it.”
Cael hummed, drumming his fingers on the table. “I do not. I have no interest in pursuing a paramour. They would only stand in the way of my duty.” He paused, then added, “She did not seem to understand that part very well. Usually, the Inquisition’s insignia acts as a good deterrent for such unrequited attention.”
Flushing deeply, Semras dropped her gaze to her cup, then took a sip of tea—for courage. “About that … I might have started a … a trend.”
When she had finally gathered her courage and revealed the true identity of her Wyrdtwined to her Coven, her witch sisters hadn’t reacted the way she had expected—with scorn and rejection or anger for betraying them with their natural enemy. A few did show outrage, but Leyevna’s public support helped quickly smooth things over. The fearsome warwitch still held a lot of sway over the Yore Elders, and once she’d had a private meeting with them, Semras had only been lightly admonished for her reckless actions, rather than punished for bringing an inquisitor inside the coven’s grounds.
So instead of rejection, Semras saw Blyana shriek with laughter—hollering about understanding now the source of the‘trophy’ she’d seen on her hands—while Madra had stared at her with newfound respect.
“Well done, Woodwitch,” the fleshwitch told her. “That is a mighty catch, and one that helps us all. There is one less inquisitor to pester us now.”
Some among the Coven joked they’d follow her example and try to seduce their long-standing enemies into allies. A few had seemed oddly serious about it.
Her Wyrdtwined spent weeks teasing her afterward, calling himself her ‘trophy’ husband.
Said trophy now looked far too smug. “Beware, Cael,” he said. “You will now be solicited more than ever. I bet you shall find your own happy matrimony before the end of the year.”
“Highly improbable,” Cael replied. “Forgive me, Madam Velten, but once you have seen as many of the Fair Folk as I did, their beauty no longer makes them stand out.”
“Don’t worry, I get it. I’m also far too used to our unusual appearance. I don’t really realize myself what we must look like in the eyes of the Deprived.”
Estevan leaned toward her. “I will tell you what you look like. A wild goddess, made to be worshipped,” he whispered. Her ears reddened, and he continued in that low, seductive voice she could never resist, “Help me get rid of our pesky visitor, so I may pray at your feet.”
Semras’ blush deepened. “Estevan! Your brother—”
“—can hear you.” Cael cocked an eyebrow. “You cannot wait for me to leave, can you, Estevan?”
Her Wyrdtwined smirked. “We were very busy. You interrupted.”
“I gathered as much.” Cael finished his drink. “Well, you shall be rid of me for a long while. A string of deaths up north came to my attention, and I intend to solve that mystery.”
“Up north,” Estevan said, musing out loud. “Is that where Maldoza has been all this time? You made him disappear before I could have words with him.”
Semras snorted. “‘Words,’ as if we all don’t know you mean to talk with your fists.” She stood and then gathered the empty cups around the table. “Leave that man be. Alaran was only following orders, and he thought you meant to hurt me. I forgave him already, and so should you.”
“I will not. He kissed you three times, and I have not forgotten it.”
Rolling her eyes, she walked toward the kitchen counter and stopped before a vast sink. Delicate red mandala flowers decorated the pale ceramic in the distinctive style of Dharati art. She’d seen it three months ago in Castereina, in the window display of an antique shop far above her means, and left it behind with a disappointed sigh. Somehow, it appeared the week after in their home, a surprise left for her by a grinning Estevan.
She still hadn’t figured out how he had learned of what she wanted but suspected Maraz’Miri to be involved. Either that, or the influence Estevan still held in Castereina as the son of the cardinal came with greater boons than she had expected.
Semras dropped the used cups within, then returned to the brothers.
“Sir Themas de Maldoza has been abroad, accompanying Inquisitor Grimani to the Continent weeks before you returned from the Anderas, brother,” Cael said. “However, Mister Callhijo—if that is who you mean to refer to—is indeed currently away on a mission up north.”
Estevan narrowed his eyes. “Hiding from me, you mean.”
“Mister Callhijo is a man of many talents. I am sure he can do multiple things at once.”
Her Wyrdtwined groaned, and Semras stifled a laugh.
“I still cannot believe he has been part of your retinue for years,” he said. “I must have met him once or twice at least, yet I never recognized him.”
“No, you had not met him before,” Cael replied. “I kept him well away from you.”
“Why?”
Cael’s smile stretched a bit too wide. “Because you are a bad influence, brother, and he is still young enough at twenty-two years old to be impressionable.”
