“Give the report to me, Maraz’Miri,” Estevan said, presenting his palm. “And do not call me that. I told you to address me as ‘my lord’ if you want to be respectful. None of that ‘Ensi-il-ensi’ nonsense. I am not your master, or priest, or whatever that word is supposed to mean in Andakkadian. You know Sin dislikes being called that too.”
His harsh interruption didn’t deflate her enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, I will. And I won’t. You are theEnsito myEnsi, and thus you areEnsi-il-ensi,and neither of your opinions on that subject matters to me. Oh! Before I forget—”
Estevan sent her a dark glare, shutting her up with an impatient flip of his hand, and she passed him the papers with a dramatic huff before raising her hands in silent surrender. Flipping through the report, the inquisitor skimmed through the content of each page.
The veiled woman turned to Semras. “You really collect the most curious things,Ensi-il-ensi!” A nervous laugh shook her, and she leaned toward the witch. “You’re a poisoner? You selling? I’d like to buy—”
“Maraz’Miri il-Ninzalag.” The inquisitor’s eyes did not lift from the report.
“Sorry, sorry,Ensi-il-ensi. It’s just professional curiosity,” she said, shrugging at Semras. “I was an assassin before. You see those bells? I spookedEnsi-il-ensione time too many, andEnsiasked me to wear them at all times around him. They’re such bores, the both of them.”
Semras blinked. An … assassin …?
“Ensiis Sin’Sagar,” Maraz’Miri whispered, voice hushed as if she were sharing a great secret.
Estevan dropped the report on the desk, then turned, holding a blank piece of paper. “More exactly, you and your brother tried to assassinate me,and I made you both a better offer. Which I am now reconsidering. Why am I holding a blank testimony file, Maz?”
Bringing her hand to Semras’ ear, the assassin loudly whispered behind it. “I’m no longer suffocating people, but I’m still quite good at listening to them. Biddenandunbidden!” Then she spun to the inquisitor in a jingle of bells. “This,Ensi-il-ensi, is what I wastryingto say earlier. I caught wind of anunregistered visit to the victim on the night he died. I couldn’t stalk the suspect; hence, a blank page. Still quite exciting, I’d say!”
“And why, pray tell,” he said, exhaling, “could you not?”
“Upper right corner. I wrote it there,” she replied. Estevan widened his eyes at the small spiderlike letters, and Maz snickered. “Yes, yes! The plot thickens!”
Estevan let out an obscene curse. “Why would Inquisitor Callum visit so damn late at night? What washedoing there?”
Shrilling with delight, Maraz’Miri clapped her hands, and the bells sewn on her sleeves rattled joyously in support. “He’s always lurking around! Every time you do something, he shows up! It’s incredible! Why is he obsessed with you like that?”
“He must have wanted to talk with the victim about how I handled the Anderas witch case,” the inquisitor replied, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. “Now I need to determine if the death occurred before or after that meddling prick’s visit. Great.” He scoffed.
Semras arched her eyebrow. “You’ve mentioned him before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Cael is the one who thinks I do not belong in the Inquisition. He has been trying for many years to convince the tribunals to discharge me over that ‘fact.’”
“Trying …” the agent singsonged, “and almost succeeding when he heard Nimue got pregnant! Oh, what a fight that scolding turned into, haha! The cardinal himself had to personally step in! I wonder who would have won if he hadn’t?”
The inquisitor huffed. “Irrelevant. He may be an inquisitor, but you still should have infiltrated his home, Maraz’Miri. At least to gather some information.”
“Oh, no. I am not doing that, not even ifEnsibegs me to. Callum is scary. I am a bit, you know,mad,” she said, bouncing on her toes, “but I am not ‘let’s infiltrate the house ofthatinquisitor’ mad. I don’t fancy being caught spying on him. And trust me, I’m good, but hewould.”
Sighing, Estevan walked behind the desk and dropped into the chair. “Fine. Tell your brother to send in an official summons. If we are lucky, he will answer it before the end of the month.”
With a click of the heels that sent her bells jingling, Maraz’Miri bowed. “Yes,Ensi-il-ensi!” Then she sauntered toward the door, humming foreign words to herself in the singing tone of Al’Andakkad.
“Wait,” he called her back. “Hand it over.”
Whining loudly, the agent walked backward to drop a small bottle into his open palm, then slipped out of the room with a jingle.
Estevan placed the flask on his desk and grabbed Maz’s report again. After organizing the papers in a manner only he understood, he took out a feather pen and jotted down notes in the margins.
Semras sat in the plush seat in front of the desk and observed him working, searching for the right words to break the silence.
She didn’t find them first.
“I do not like having my privacy violated,” Estevan said, still scratching the papers with his quill pen. “I do not appreciate being spied upon, nor having to stay on my guard in my own house, where I have, I remind you, welcomed you in.”
“Have you now?” Semras retorted. She didn’t recall drinking or eating since her arrival. The rule ofxeniawas still unfulfilled.
Quill resting over a dot, the inquisitor stared at her. “And I forbade you from weaving magic days ago. You have broken your word twice now.”
