It was the second or third time she had heard this name in his voice. “You seem to know him well. How is he as an inquisitor?” Semras tapped on the alembic, then scribbled down a note onto the paper in front of her, mouthing the words to herself as she did so.
“A boring one, with not a single strand of his red hair out of place. Cael keeps putting his nose in my cases to criticize every instance where I slightly bend our laws.” Passing his fingers through his hair, Estevan huffed. “He is a pain in my side, and he cannot be reasoned with, but I suppose that I would rather the Inquisition count on more men like him than not. At least he follows the rules to the letter.”
Bubbling sounds came from the alembic, and Semras looked at the result of the poison’s distillation. Her brow furrowed. Returning to her notes, she scribbled several more lines. “As opposed to you, who follows the rules in spirit only? Forgive me for saying so, but somehow, I doubt they’d want more of you.”
Estevan chuckled. “The Inquisition can no longer afford to be picky with how few of us remain. I do not think we are more than a dozen left in all of Vandalesia, and I am counting the tribunals in that number.”
The witch blew out the flame of the alembic, then left the apparatus alone to cool down. “You don’t seem very concerned,” she said.
“Why should I be? The Inquisition is a dying institution; denying it will not change that. There are those who want to see it live on, like Cael, but I am not one of them. At least, not as it is now. It needs to adapt, evolve.”
Semras hummed distractedly, tapping her quill pen against her cheek. Tiny drops of carbon black ink spattered onto her skin.
Part of her mind worked on the puzzle in front of her, while the other kept being drawn to the subject of their conversation. She couldn’t fully concentrate on either, but shushing him wasn’t an option—any drops of information inadvertently given to her could be useful for her Coven. She hadn’t forgotten about the threat of an upcoming witch purge.
“Hard to tell how the Inquisition should do so, however,” Estevan continued. “As of now, each time a witch is burned, we grow in power. Fear is our most efficient instrument, you see. It makes us powerful, respected.” The inquisitor walked around the desk, circling around her like a bird of prey. “And there is nothing the common people fear more than what they cannot fight back against. When the Deprived are violently reminded of your kind’s existence, the Inquisition receives more donations, more public support … and more recruits.”
Unnerved by the implication, Semras stilled. Her wary eyes slipped away from her task and toward the inquisitor.
He had wandered to one of his bookcases—the one she had taken the report from earlier. “You may imagine then how burning a witch can become a political tool,” he said, running his fingers where hers had done the same before, “and an opportunity for propaganda. So you see, some inquisitors are just dying to provoke another witch purge and revive the Inquisition from its embers. Create the reason you are needed for, and you will always remain relevant. I am sure you understand what I mean.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “What’s your position on that matter?”
He turned to face her. “My position is that, one day … there will be no more witches left to burn. And then what? Then what, indeed …”
Delightful; Semras gave him a scalding glare. “That’s a lot of words to say you’d like us to keep existing for your own profit, Inquisitor Velten.”
He shrugged, then resumed circling around her. “I only meant to underline the delicate balance of our ecosystem, witch. Perhaps you will find more interesting the position the victim held for your kind: he was a staunch defender of your right to exist. He even tried to promote your pagan medicine by takingsome himself, to the greatest consternation of all of Castereina’s doctors. Master Torqedan was an outlier among the tribunals, however.”
Her chest tightened uncomfortably at that name. “Did you just say Torqedan?” she asked. “He’s the man who died?”
“I said that several minutes ago. Were you not listening? That wounds my pride.” Estevan leaned against the desk and grinned. “And here I thought I was a charming conversationalist.”
Shuffling the papers in her hands, Semras needlessly inspected her notes, determined not to indulge him with her full attention. “I was concentrating. And I didn’t expect to hear a name I knew of. My Coven spoke of him from time to time.”
“All on good terms, I suppose. In the past few years, that tribunal advocated for many ecclesiastical laws in favour of witches,” Estevan said, glancing at the extinguished alembic with a cocked eyebrow. “You have him to thank for allowing no more than a single session when putting heretics to the question.”
That brought a scowl to her face. “The ‘question’? You mean torture. Charming. And no, not on good terms at all. We didn’t know he spoke favourably of us to the Inquisition. He’s known among us for … for something else.”
The inquisitor tilted his head. “What for, then?”
“For razing the Esdara Coven to the ground during the witch purges. He left no survivors behind.” Resting her chin on her linked fingers, Semras waited for Estevan’s stunned reaction.
The inquisitor didn’t disappoint her. “Ah.”
Speechless at last—how satisfying.
“‘Ah’? Just ‘ah’?” The witch arched her eyebrow. “Come on, Inquisitor Velten, you have a cleverer tongue than that. Go on, use it.”
He smirked, and the glint in his eyes made her instantly regret her choice of words.
“Brazen witch,” he drawled. “Do not challenge me to show you all its uses. You might yet come to appreciate it.”
Face twisting into a grimace, Semras threw him a dark glare. “You still have time to go see Nimue, if you have …” She waved down in the general direction of his groin, trying hard not to glance there or let a blush colour her cheeks. “… energy to spend.”
“But I am here with you and not with Miss Covenless.”
“First you forget your firstborn son’s name, and now you call his mother so coldly? Either I didn’t understand Sir Ulrech’sproprietyrules correctly, or you are being a … a …”
