What else had he lied about?
She thought back to their first conversation. He had said, ‘pretend to know nothing’ about what had killed the murder victim … Was he already certain the poison came from a witch, and only needed another one to confirm his suspicion? He had been particularly tight-lipped about his investigation too, sharing almost nothing of it with her. Maybe this entire trip was a trap, but even if that was true, a simple murder would never warrant so much scheming.
Then, it could only mean it wasn’t one. It was a high-profile assassination.
Semras shuddered. The weight of morality suddenly felt very heavy on her shoulders. She wanted to believe no witch of Yore could have murdered someone, and yet … if one had done it … if one had betrayed the peace the Elders had paid so dearly for and doomed them all to face a new era of prejudice …
Whose justice should she uphold? The Inquisition’s or the Coven’s?
Questions swirled and twirled and went nowhere in her mind. She knew too little, and her worries had yet to grow a legitimate foundation.
For now, she’d focus on reaching the city-state of Castereina. Then, she could reassess the situation and plan around what awaited her there. Besides, if it was a trap, it was too late to escape it by now. Either she’d reach no conclusive answer, and then she’d look like she was hiding something, or she’d discover a witch had indeed killed a man and have to lie to spare her.
Or … she could tell the truth instead—like he didn’t expect her to do.
When Semras arrived at the tarp, she groaned in frustration.
It hung on a large tree limb and would shield her from sight, but it was an improvised latrine more than anything else. She found the bucket, looked at the water inside, and recoiled. No way she’d wash up withthat.
Looking left and right, the witch searched for prying eyes. No one else stood around.
Good.
She stripped out of her dress and picked another one from her bag—a heavy frock of deep burgundy velvet, with a high neckline to cover Estevan’s bite. Velvet in a forest was a bad idea, but at least it would keep her warm.
And she felt so cold. As Estevan’s threads slowly unravelled from her core, her vigour returned to her in a more worn-out shape than she had lent it. A good night of sleep would do her some good. For now, she’d power through her fatigue and weave the dirt out of herself.
The thought of finally refreshing herself after the day she’d had made her smile.
Semrasreturnedtothecampfire, ready to probe Sir Ulrech for more answers while he was still alone. Instead, she found Estevan and Themas sitting around the fire with him.
A shame. He had proven to be far more talkative than she had expected.
The witch drew closer, waving silently at Themas after catching his eye. Sitting side by side with their backs turned to her, the inquisitor and his other knight hadn’t seen her yet.
“We should have taken the mountain pass,” Sir Ulrech said. “Would have been safer. And with fewer ‘distractions.’”
Her, he meant. Jaw clenched, Semras walked past him and joined Themas on the opposite side of the fire. She sat directly across from Ulrech, then lifted her head and glared at—
Icy blue eyes. Not brown.
She froze.
Estevan sat across from her, not Ulrech as she had intended. She had mistaken the two men and now faced the one she hadn’t wanted to look at. It didn’t stop her traitorous eyes from roving all over him, taking him in.
The inquisitor had changed his clothes for cleaner ones, but his lips still sported a bruise, and his face, the scratches she gave him. Eyes fixed on the flames, he didn’t acknowledge her arrival.
“Be silent if you have nothing interesting to say,” Estevan said.
Ulrech grunted, then lifted a flask to his lips.
Hand darting toward it, the inquisitor stole the bottle from him, then knocked it back. “Where do you keep that swill, you rascal? Give me more,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve with a grin.
Ulrech grimaced. “An inquisitor should not drink in excess, my lord. I am afraid it must stay all mine.”
Miffed, the inquisitor frowned, and a rare chuckle lifted Ulrech’s face before falling again into his usual, morose expression.
“I do a lot of things inquisitors should not do,” Estevan grumbled.
