He had promised he’d keep her safe.
Her eyes widened when they met dark brown pupils instead of ice blue ones. Ulrech was the one holding her, soothing the pain of her throat away. “The inquisitor is busy,” he said quietly.
Busy?
“… Where?”
The knight hesitated. “He … is outside with the man who attacked you. You will not meet that man again; the inquisitor is dispensing justice as we speak. Sir Themas is assisting him.”
They stayed in silence in the room, waiting for … Semras didn’t know. Her body shivered uncontrollably.
She had done nothing. Had provoked no one through words or weaves. So why had the man attacked her? Who was he? Why her?
Why?
Ulrech broke the silence. “My—um, my apologies. I should have realized sooner you were under attack. I failed in my duty, and you suffered for it.”
“… You … came.” Her voice was rough, painful. It hurt to talk. “Thank … you. For sav—”
She coughed. Ulrech grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand and helped her tip it down into her mouth. She drank with difficulty.
“Do not speak,” he said. “It will take time for your throat to recover. You are … Suffice to say, Inquisitor Velten was enraged when he saw the state you were in. I would normally call the target of his ire a poor wretch, but that criminal deserves what is coming to him.”
“Why … me?” Semras couldn’t manage more. Pain flared out each time she spoke, but she had to ask. She wanted to know. Needed to know.
Even if she knew already.
Sir Ulrech looked at her with pity. “You are a witch. That is all he needed, I suppose. I am not saying he was right—this judgment belongs to Inquisitor Velten—but that is the most likely reason.”
A single tear escaped her eye. It slowly slid down her cheek, then crashed along the knight’s thumb.
He stared at it, astonished. “You have never experienced this before, have you? Never left your coven grounds much until now?”
Semras shook her head. She’d heard plenty of stories of bigotry from older witches, but they had remained just that—stories. Cautionary tales to warn her of the worst that could happen. None had measured up to facing it herself.
No words could have ever prepared her for the sheer terror of feeling her life being squeezed out of her by the hands of another.
“I see. You are quite … innocent. That is … that is surprising.” Ulrech let out an embarrassed laugh. “I do not mean to mock you. I meant innocent as in naive. No, that does not sound better. I—never mind. I have never been good with words.” He shut up, seemingly deciding that speaking was not in his best interest.
She’d have laughed, if she could. It wasn’t only her throat that stopped her; mirth seemed to have deserted her mind entirely.
Instead, she settled on staring at him. Only when Ulrech looked at her with panic in his eyes did she realize her tears had returned.
“Oh no, I am not good with that. Try, um, try not to … cry?” he asked. Muttering to himself, he continued, “Dammit, what would Nimue say?”
Nimue.Again.
Semras was starting to hate that name. Even Ulrech seemed to like her, whileshewas only a necessary evil to his eyes. In her weakened state, she couldn’t repress the bitter jealousy simmering deep within. What did Nimue have that she did not?
Ulrech struggled with his words, then gave up. “Forgive me. I am not used to talking to witches. Or people.”
“What … about Nimue?”
A rare, dreamy smile bloomed on his lips. “She is different. Easy to talk to. Any man would kill for her smile.” Then his face slowly fell into a frown. “How do you know about her?”
Semras shrugged.
“What do you know about her?” he barked a bit more harshly.
