She smirked, pleased with herself. “Why? Can’t afford the dye I asked for, Inquisitor? Would you prefer I choose the imitation sold by Freran swindlers instead?”
“Oh, no need; I can afford it. But I can also do better than mere Dharati dyes. I have heard that logwood extracts imported from Mundomera are all the rage these days among the ladies … Difficult to procure, but it creates a beautiful, dark lilac colour.” His eyes shone with amusement.
Semras snorted, then looked away. “Fine. Logwood lilac, then. And it must be made of silk velvet. WithrealSenan silk.”
“Senan silk … during the monsoon season that halts all sea trade,” he said, musing out loud. “You wish to bankrupt me.”
She glanced at him, hoping to see the colour vanish from his face. Instead, she found him grinning. A corner of his lips rose higher than the other, she noted.
“Anything else, witch?” Estevan asked. She scoffed instead of replying, and he laughed. “Duly noted. Now go, before you think of something that would truly empty my pockets.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Semras walked to the wolfsbane. Slipping on her protective gloves, she crouched next to the plant, then started extracting its seeds.
A branch cracked somewhere behind—Estevan had followed her.
“Don’t step any closer, Inquisitor,” she warned.
Every part of the devil’s helmet was poisonous, and she no longer had charcoal to treat any handling mishaps. If he touched it or—Old Crone help him—tasted it, he’d be severely incapacitated.
Or dead, depending on the swallowed quantity.
“I was only curious,” he replied, crouching by her side. “I will not interfere.”
“Come to oversee me, then? Make sure I do not waste too much time picking flowers?”
“I do not mind you picking flowers, but that is not what you seem to be doing.”
Eyes strained on the small bottle in her hands, Semras poured the seeds into it. “Why should I kill it by plucking it from the ground? It belongs here. I have no right to take it away.”
“It is only a plant, witch, not a—”
“It is only a plant until it isn’t anymore, Inquisitor. Life demands balance. You must take only as much as you can give back. If you do not, you soon forget the cost of a life.Anylife.” Semras pushed a little cork seal into the bottle’s neck. Her eyes caught the red palms of his gloves. “How many have you taken yourself?”
The inquisitor shrugged. “Too many.”
“Then you must regret—”
“No, I do not.” Semras stared at him in silent shock, and he added, “Each one I took was to protect the innocents. The blood on my hands is no mark of honour, but it is a necessity. The world is not balanced, witch. It is a violent place, where you have little choice but to take first before you are taken from it.”
“… This … this isn’t the way of witches,” she breathed.
“Is it not?” Estevan studied her with a strange, shielded expression. “You would speak for all of them with such conviction?”
Understanding dawned on her. “… You’re talking about your investigation … I thought you didn’t believe a witch had poisoned your victim.”
“What I believe is irrelevant,” Estevan said, standing. “What you believe, however, is beautiful. I wish I could live in that world of yours.”
After offering her his hand, the inquisitor helped her back on her feet. A soft smile floated on his lips.
She blushed slightly. “What?” she asked, hands fiddling with the small bottle. “Do I have something on my face?”
The small seeds rattled quietly against the glass.
“You do.” Estevan brushed his fingers across her cheek. They left a trail of heat behind them.
“W-What is it?”
A small, tiny part of her worried about the wolfsbane having touched her, but the rest of her mind was far too consumed by his gentle caress to think about it any further.
