Satisfied, Velten prompted his horse to move, and the stallion started trotting down the road, wholly unaffected by the forest’s cry.
“What if the witch is trying to lead us into a trap?” a sword-bearer asked.
Velten halted his horse, and the witch looked back at the speaker.
His deep-set eyes and frowning mouth were familiar. Semras had seen him up close before; he’d been among the guards that swarmed her the previous day—the one who wanted to turn witches into ashes.
Inquisitor Velten stared back at him. His arms tensed protectively around her. “How could she? She has not decided the path we take. I did.”
“She could have cast a spell on …” The guard’s voice fell, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, we all know she was in your room last night, my lord, so—”
“I suggest you think over your next words very carefully,sword-bearer.”
“Lorencio,” he said weakly. “It’s—my name, it’s Lorencio, my lord Inquisitor.”
“I was not asking for your name.” Velten threw a meaningful gaze at Ulrech, then urged his horse forward once more. “But I shall remember it.”
“Sword-bearers of the Venator Choir,” Sir Ulrech barked behind them. “Get in formation! Anyone who disagrees may step off the road to be charged with desertion and contempt of the Inquisition.”
A sharp, metallic sound floated to Semras’ ears, and she glanced over her shoulder.
The knight had unsheathed his sword. “No one? Then shut up and ride on!”
In silence, the company followed them.
Semras tried to focus on the cry—to no avail. Her concentration kept faltering at the sensation of eyes burning and prickling the skin on her nape.
Glancing behind her, the witch saw who they belonged to. She shuddered.
They were Lorencio’s.
Chapter 08
“It’sstrongerhere,”Semrassaid. “We’re close.”
After nearly two hours of tedious riding, they had reached another fork in the path. A tall wooden pole directed travellers to the town of Calcierra to the southwest, and to the city-state of Castereina further east.
“Wonderful,” Inquisitor Velten mumbled. “Let’s get this over with.”
He called for a break, and the sword-bearers spread out on the road to stretch their legs. Velten deftly dismounted without sparing her a glance, then rummaged through his saddlebags.
Semras looked at the ground below her feet. With her lack of experience, she’d probably break her ankle if she attempted to get down on her own. Lifting her head, the witch found Themas dismounting from his horse nearby.
Examining the kelpie with a growing frown, the young knight drew closer. “Your steed could have overheated from carrying two riders for so long, my lord Inquisitor,” he said, tone laden with accusation. “It was reckless to—”
“Do not needlessly fret, Maldoza,” the inquisitor replied. “Pagan can handle it.”
Semras blinked. Velten had named his half-fey stallionPagan. He either had a terrible sense of humour or a great one, and she couldn’t decide which.
Atop the steed, she called out to Themas. “Could you help me down, please?”
Smirking, Velten lifted his gaze to her. “When you ask so sweetly, witch—”
Themas cut him off by stepping in front of him, souring the inquisitor’s grin. With a soft smile, the knight raised his arms. “May I?”
After she nodded, he lifted her out of the saddle. Through the layers of her dress, his hands felt warm and reliable. He wouldn’t drop her.
“Thank you, Themas,” she said once back on the ground.
