“I … know.” She struggled to get the words out—because of her throat or her heart, she couldn’t tell. “Lover.”
Ulrech’s scowl darkened. “I am warning you. You are putting your nose into things that do not concern you. Keep well out of them, and we will have no problem.”
Was he really picking a fight with her over this? From what Themas had told her, the rumour mill was already well aware of Estevan’s lover. It was a little late for his guard dog to protect that secret.
Unable to argue back, Semras rolled her eyes instead.
The Venator knight leaned closer. “If you dare utter to anyone about—”
“Sir Ulrech,” Estevan called from the doorway.
The inquisitor stood there, watching them with a face devoid of any expression. Blood soaked his white shirt, blending into his burgundy shoulder cloak. A pungent, metallic smell hit her, and Semras looked away, nose wrinkling.
So much blood. It made her stomach lurch.
“This is neither the moment nor the place,” Estevan continued. “Cut it out.”
“Yes, my lord.” Ulrech stood, averting his shame-filled eyes from her.
The witch shivered violently. A pervasive chill had seeped through her bones. How she longed to curl up far away from the world of the Deprived, back into hers where warmth and safety had been so easily found.
Her eyes fixed on the wall next to her. There—that was where she’d been trapped earlier, between the noose and the wall. There, the man had approached her. Had grabbed her throat. Slipped the noose around her neck, and pulled, and pulled, and—
“—emras?”
Estevan’s voice. It brought her back to the present.
Semras turned her attention toward the door. The inquisitor still hovered at its threshold, as if he didn’t dare come closer. Her gaze fell on his blood-soaked shirt. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she fought to keep them at bay.
“Void take me …” Estevan muttered. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Sir Themas, please bring her to my room in a few minutes. I need … I need to clean up.” After one last glance toward her, he vanished into the hallway.
Themas stepped into the room. “Semras, can you stand? I will assist you. Here, grab my arm.” She did, and he smiled softly. “Yes, that’s good. I won’t move, so rise when you feel ready. Sir Ulrech, I think I can take it from here.”
“… Yeah,” Ulrech replied quietly. “Best you do that.” The older knight exited the room, leaving them alone.
On the nightstand, the flame of a small candle vacillated. It threw shadows vaster than life onto the walls, painting all around her a world far bigger and darker than she remembered it.
It took minutes before Semras felt strong enough to move. When she finally stepped outside of the room, an invisible weight lifted from her. She hadn’t realized just how unnerving it had been to remain in the same place where she almost … had almost …
Themas led her to the inquisitor’s room. After knocking on the door, he opened it.
Arms crossed, Estevan was looking through the window. The flames of a burning fireplace nearby bathed his profile in an amber glow. “Thank you, Sir Themas,” he said. “You may retire.”
Semras had never heard him speak so politely to the young knight before.
After helping her sit on the bed, Themas left. Behind him, the door closed with a dry thump.
Estevan sighed deeply. “I have failed in our deal,” he said, voice grave. “I promised you protection, and you did not have it when it mattered the most. My decision to … to leave you alone tonight was a risk I carelessly bestowed upon you without yourassent, and you paid for it. Speak up, and I shall escort you back home. Damn the investigation.”
She hadn’t expected it. “You take … oaths seriously,” she rasped. Slowly, word by word, her voice was improving.
“Shouldn’t we all?” he replied, still watching out the window. “When you work with lies as I do, you crave every moment of genuine honesty.”
That was honourable, she thought, but not what she needed. “Sleep first. Please.” Once she’d recovered more, she could think his offer over. Not now. Not when the world still felt wrong. And numb. And colourless.
Estevan faced her. He had swapped his bloody shirt for a fresher one, and his shoulder cloak was nowhere to be seen. He looked just like any other man now—not like an inquisitor. “Of course, my apologies,” he said softly.
“Cold. Keep me … warm?”
