He was looking at his hands. Lifting his head at the sound of her voice, he gave her an affable smile. “Back to the comfort of my home. I am sure you are yearning for it as much as I am aftera week on the road.” She must have made a face, for he averted his eyes. “Forgive me. That was … insensitive of me.”
“So you are capable of remorse.”
“For all my faults, I remain human, Semras.”
Patience for such ludicrous words had deserted her long ago. “The comforts of home …” She let out a strident laugh. “I wonder what comfort you have reserved for me. May I request a pyre be lit in my dark, damp dungeon cell to keep me warm?”
“I am not dragging you into a cell. As long as you cooperate, you will be treated as a—”
“Accessory to crime. I’m well aware of it, my lord Inquisitor.”
“I was about to say a guest.”
What she’d give to pluck the threads of his tongue out until no word could ever be drawn from him ever again.
Instead, she shook her shackles, drawing his attention to them. “You must not be a very popular host if this is the hospitality you offer yourguests.”
The inquisitor didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care for her hostility. It was a good thing too—her bitterness had made her reckless. She needed to adapt better if she wanted to live long enough to escape him.
At least he promised her no cell. A small sliver of hope nested in her heart at the thought.
She could do this. As long as he trusted her enough to let her roam, she’d find a way out of this nightmare.
Soonafter,thecarriageentered the courtyard of Inquisitor Velten’s mansion. He stepped outside first, then dragged her out. Forcing down an ardent desire to spit at his feet, Semras let him.
Against her better judgment, she looked at the coachman, hoping to find a sympathetic face there. On the way to thetribunal’s house, she’d been too nervous about her upcoming task to notice who had driven the carriage.
Sin’Sagar descended from the driver’s seat, then bowed to his master without sparing her a single glance. After being sent away with a nod, the steward left, showing no interest in her or the witch-shackles on her hands. No help would come from him.
Bitter, Semras scowled at his silhouette retreating toward the house. The steward had seemed so amiable hours ago, but, in truth, he was nothing more than an obedient dog.
And now she knew what conversation she had missed when she spied on the inquisitor and his steward. Had she been more on her guard then, had she been less naive … she would have known what fate awaited her tonight. She was now paying dearly for her misplaced trust.
Her thoughts turned to Themas, and Sir Ulrech, and even to Maraz’Miri. The latter wouldn’t help her either. The agent had admitted to listening to Sin’Sagar first and foremost. Sir Ulrech didn’t like her, and Themas …
She couldn’t default trust to Themas. For all his kindness, he remained a Venator knight. He’d have to prove himself first before she could consider relying on him.
Semras studied the courtyard. The metal gate leading outside was closed shut already, but the walls running on each side of it looked reachable—if her hands were unbound, she could climb over them. Clicking her tongue softly, the witch turned her attention to the trees instead, and to the small outbuildings littering the yard, and to the silhouettes of buildings jutting out from behind the walls.
Everywhere she looked, her bound hands ruined any escape opportunities. She needed to get out of them, and fast. Without the ability to weave, Semras was helpless.
She didn’t despair. There was time. There was still time.
The inquisitor grabbed her elbow and dragged her inside the mansion.
She would bide her time.
InquisitorVeltenledherto the second floor. No one crossed their path on their way up, and no one saw her bound hands—it was as if the staff had deserted the mansion. Old Crone be praised for sparing her this humiliation at least.
They stopped before two doors standing next to one another. The sight of them brought back to the surface of her mind an earlier conversation about a master and side bedroom. Semras paled. He would be close to her.
Sin’Sagar was waiting there, his face as impassive as it had been before.
“No changes to the plan,” the inquisitor told him.
The master steward nodded once, then moved aside to open the door. Her captor shoved her through the doorway.
Semras stumbled forward into a dark crimson room lined with walnut panelling. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, searching for a way out.
