Her eyes widened.
It wasn’t paper; it was the corner of a canvas roll. Velten’s handwriting had scrawled her name next to ‘Yore’ and the words ‘use her’ in its upper corner. Next to it, long flowing lines of ink surrounded a half oval with a dot of gold dropped in its uppermiddle. More than half of the canvas had been ripped, and the greater part of the drawing was lost now. It was half a face, drawn in a stylized way that left much open to interpretation, yet it was still recognizable.
As hers.
Bile rose to her lips. Back when they first met, the inquisitor had told her that he neededawitch. That he had spoken to others before her. He had lied.
He chose her—specifically. She hadn’t simply been the only witch to accept his offer out of the many he had visited from a list of Nimue’s acquaintances. She had been selected. Watched, perhaps.
It sent shivers of dread down her spine. Doubts she had once foolishly cast aside now reawakened within her. Semras stared at the closed doors.
Inquisitor Velten had been talking to his steward for a long while now … About what?
Rushing to the door, she stuck her ear against the thick wood. Faint sounds filtered through from the other side, but nothing comprehensible. Semras took a step back and concentrated on the surface. The woven threads of the wood faintly danced before her, and she impatiently unravelled some of them, turning the wood into a more porous surface.
Once more, she rested her ear on the door. This time, the conversation outside rang as loudly as if it were happening next to her.
“With all due respect, my lord,” Sin’Sagar said, “if you do not explain to me what you aim to achieve with all this, then I cannot in good conscience—”
“I have thrown away any scrap of good conscience I ever had for this damn case, Sin, and so will you,” Inquisitor Velten spat out. “Tell me it will be done.”
A pause. Semras held her breath, straining her ears. What were they talking about? Old Crone curse her; she’d been a fool to trust an inquisitor. He was scheming something, and had she started listening in earlier, she’d have known what.
“I understand, my lord,” the steward replied at last. “You have my complete trust, as always. I will give leave to the servants for the night and personally prepare your requests. The carriage shall be ready to leave at your earliest convenience.”
“… If there were another way, Sin, I would have taken it.”
“I know, my lord.”
“I will brief the knights myself once we have returned. They have yet to be privy to …” Velten paused.
A loud bang shook the door on its hinges.
Semras reeled back, ears ringing from the unexpected impact of a fist on wood. In shock, she covered them with her hands.
The door flew open. Beyond it, Inquisitor Velten stood, nostrils flaring with anger. Next to him, Sin’Sagar arched an eyebrow.
She froze in place under their cold, hard gaze.
“I see there is no trust lost between us, witch,” the inquisitor said, sneering. “Sin’Sagar, send me your sister at once. I want her full preliminary report on my desk as soon as possible. This all ends tonight.”
Sin’Sagar bowed. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“For now.”
A storm was brewing behind Inquisitor Velten’s calm voice. He sounded cold. Hardened.
He was mad—but so was she.
Once the steward left, the inquisitor crossed the threshold of the room and closed the doors behind him, eyes still trained on Semras.
The silence that followed was deafening. They stared each other down, neither of them willing to give an inch to the other.Under the icy fury of the most dangerous man she knew, Semras held her head high.
At last, he addressed her. His voice could have sharpened a knife. “Now is the time when you beg for forgiveness.”
Her heart pounded in her ears, but she wouldn’t cower. One mustn’t run in front of wolves—he’d told her that himself.
“Am I truly the one here that should fall on their knees?” she asked, waving her portrait at him. “Explainthis.”
