Glancing away, he shrugged. “Why not? I have my reasons. You do not need to know them.”
“Then why choose me?” Semras fought back a mournful frown. Her brows quivered under her strained effort. “You have loyal people who would have helped you without question. With me, you’ll never be able to turn your back. You will always fear I’ll stab it in revenge.”
And rightly so—beyond the fear, the horror, and the pain, an icy rage started simmering deep within her.
The murderer lifted the corners of his mouth in a poor imitation of a smile. “You have much more to lose than I do if you betray me. If I fall, so will you. After all, who else could I have bought the poison from but you? My accomplice: an herbalist that many witnesses could attest to her presence by my side. One who so obviously had a close relationship with me.”
The witch suppressed a shiver at the memories of playful banter and furtive touches, and of heated glances and heady kisses.
Semras wanted to forget about these the most. They once made her feel intoxicated; now they only left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“You planned everything,” she said quietly. “You could plan to dispose of me, too. What guarantees do I have that you won’t turn against me?”
“Nothing. This is a chance you will have to take. Or you may yet think of a way to be rid of me.” The murderer chuckled lowly. “You are clever, brilliant. It is only a matter of time before you do.”
“Do not mock me,” Semras snarled.
She knew she was stalling for nothing; no one would come save her. From the moment she agreed to follow him, her life had rested in his hands. Now she needed to take it back from him, and that meant going along with the murderer’s plan—for now.
Semras let out a shrill, distressed chuckle. “What must I do?”
“Accompany me. Counsel me. Assist me. Do it well, and I will return you to your home once this is over.”
The witch forced her lips into a smile. She only managed a sneer. “Old folk believe that witches make deals with devils,” she said. More words dragged themselves out of her, each of them sandpaper on her tongue. “Tonight, they are right, Inquisitor.”
He replied with a light hearted chuckle, and Semras forced the corners of her lips to relax into a half-smile.
No true mirth reached her widened eyes. Horror had sunk its talons into her spine and stiffened her limbs. Semras felt sick. She broadened her smile in spite of it.
Rising to his feet, her own personal devil smiled warmly at her. “Now that you and I are close friends, call me Estevan.” He offered his hand.
Fighting back a shiver of dread, Semras took it.
Chapter 20
“Well?”
Semras stared at a spot on the carriage floor—the same one she had since they left the tribunal’s house. The minutes following their exit had passed in a blur for her. She remembered stumbling past the Venator sword-bearers, her shoulders firmly crushed between her captor’s hands as he guided her back into the carriage. He had told them something, some excuses about her not feeling well after seeing the corpse. Or maybe he hadn’t. It didn’t matter with the witch-shackles still binding her hands.
Now Semras sat taut like the obedient doll he wanted her to be, body ready to run and mind spinning with plans on how to achieve that.
Stuck in close quarters with her captor and in an unfamiliar city, her options were limited. Until she could create an opportunity to escape, she needed to lower Inquisitor Velten’s guard by acting as his subservient puppet—and by answering him when he spoke.
“Well, what, my lord Inquisitor?” she asked.
She didn’t use the lofty title out of respect for him. Rather, it served her to draw a clear line between them, captor and prisoner—one she’d highlight as often as she could. She’d never let him forget what he had taken from her.
Sitting opposite her in the carriage, Inquisitor Velten leaned toward her. “Now that you have accepted my deal, I require your … amiable collaboration,” he said. “I have questions, Semras, and you will provide me with answers.”
“Donotcall me by my name,” she snapped before mentally castigating herself for slipping up.
He dared laugh. “Decide. You wanted me to use it, didn’t you?” His cold smile flashed like a knife against her throat. “You mentioned the victim drank comfrey. Where can a witch obtain it?”
“You obtained it. They can do it the same way you did.”
The murderer clicked his tongue. “Try again. Make yourself useful this time.”
Beforehe decided she wasn’t worth the trouble, he meant.
