Silently, treacherously, sleep sneaked up on her.
Chapter 13
Semraswokeuptothe loud chirping of birds, still stuck in the arms of the inquisitor.
Thankfully, their chatter hadn’t yet roused him, and that small blessing felt like all she needed to consider it the start of a great day. Had Estevan woken up before her, she shuddered to think of the awkwardness that would have followed.
Because they lay togethercuddling.
Holding her close against his chest, Estevan breathed softly on her nape. Their legs had somehow tangled together during the night, and her head now rested against one of his arms. In an embarrassingly intimate gesture, Semras had joined her fingers with his and laid their hands over her stomach.
It wasnotcomfortable.
Wincing, she tried to extract herself from his embrace without waking him. One wrong move, and she’d ruin her only opportunity to escape with her pride still intact.
After much patience, luck, and a silent prayer to the New Maiden, Semras slipped out of his arms and rolled onto the dew-covered tarp, grimacing at the cold, damp ground. Estevanwas still asleep when she finally stumbled out of the tent, eyes blinking at the brightness that welcomed her outside.
Fresh, clarifying morning air blew on her face. Sunrays piercing through the canopy of trees warmed the forest, covering it in a thin, rising fog. Bathed in it, sword-bearers were busy packing up the camp for the journey ahead. Left and right, campfires were doused, and tarps were rolled and tied. A ruthless, disciplined efficiency moved the company. They were clearly eager to leave.
Themas caught sight of her. “Miss Semras!” he said, greeting her. His light, cheerful tone felt painfully forced.
Undue guilt gnawed at her conscience, and she defensively raised her hands in front of her. “It’s not what it looks like, Themas.” Semras glanced at the tent behind her. “I didn’t want to spend the night, especially after what you told me. He—he just trapped me in there.”
The knight’s smile vanished. “The inquisitortrappedyou?”
She waved his concern away, smiling awkwardly. “No, no. Not like that. It’s not as bad as it sounds. He just said it was safer in the tent, and I had no opportunity to slip out earlier,” she lied.
Probably best to avoid mentioning he had accidentally pinned her against him—and that she had fallen asleep in his arms.
Themas looked at her with indecipherable eyes. “If it’s protection you seek, Miss Semras, say the word and I will gladly dedicate all my nights to you.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, a violent blush spread across his cheeks. “I-I mean—!”
Semras laughed. “Back with the ‘miss,’ and yet so forward. You are trying to confuse me,SirThemas.”
Hand scratching his nape, he gave her an apologetic smile. “Ah. Sir Ulrech spoke to you too. He insisted this morning that I had to address you more properly.”
“And he told me I should call you ‘Maldoza’ if I, and I quote, ‘insisted on beingtoofriendly’ with you.” A thought crossed her mind, and she frowned. “Um. Does it mean every time Inquisitor Velten calls me ‘witch,’ he means …?”
“I rather think he means it in a more disrespectful manner,” Themas replied, “like he does when he calls me by my family name rather than my title.”
“Yes … you’re right. He’s just being rude, but that’s to be expected, knowing the man.” Semras gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Between you and me, I think these rules of propriety are useless. Call me as you usually do, and so will I. What can Sir Ulrech do? Stitch our mouths as if we were warwitches? I’d like to see him try.”
He returned her smile with one of his own, dimpled and lopsided. “I don’t think I’d like to have my mouth stitched, but I shall do as you say.”
Themas led her to the campfire, wordlessly offering the contents of the metal pot hanging over it to break her fast. Peeking inside it, Semras stared at dried-up oatmeal.
Lips pursed, she poured herself a bowl, then sat on a log. “Neither would I. The War Path is harsh. Warwitches suffer a lot of privation so they may not grow comfortable walking it.” Eyeing the contents of her bowl, she wrinkled her nose. “Delightful. This gruel is making me feel like I am one already.”
He shrugged. “We made do with what we had. We used to have better fare, but it was all consumed on the way to your home. There is not much else left after four days of nonstop riding.”
Glancing around, Semras could see what he meant. Eyes tired and clothes dirty, the sword-bearers all bore the marks of travelling for too long with too little rest.
“How far are we from the city now?” she asked.
Themas hummed. “If we hurry, I think we might make it to Castereina after nightfall, though I do not recommend ridinghorses in the dark. Besides, the sight of the citadel is worth waiting for the sunrise to witness it. Have you ever seen Castereina’s keep?”
“No. I’m a woodwitch. We don’t tend to leave our forests often.”
“Ah.” Themas sat next to her. “I gathered witches walked ‘Paths’ from our talk yesterday, but I am not sure what yours really entails. You said it was the … Wood Path, correct?”
