Page 105 of A Weave of Lies
Was it wrong to manipulate him just ashehad done to her? His kisses had been his weapon to lower her guard, and now she had turned hers into a tool to secure Themas’ help. She didn’t want to think about what it meant about her—or about the monster.
Themas wanted her to go to the west wing to unveil its secrets, so certain she’d find the leverage needed to get her freedom there. Perhaps he was right, but the odds were too high to waste the opportunity on such a gamble. There was another one she wanted to take.
In front of the parlour door, Sir Ulrech became agitated at what Themas told him. “And you call yourself a Venator knight? Damn it all, come with me!”
Themas glanced toward her, then obeyed reluctantly. The knights ran up the main staircase, clearing her path and freeing her of an escort at the same time.
Good.
Semras crept toward the door—the one behind which freedom might lurk. A light draft caressed her cheek and moved her hair away from her face. She shivered.
Doubts haunted her. Itwasa gamble, the biggest one she’d taken in her entire life. But in it, she placed all her hope. She had tried to find the keys to her escape on her own, and the study had proven to be a dead end. The annex lay right there, with no proof it held what she needed.
But Inquisitor Callum … he could stand up to her captor. He’d believe her if she told him everything; the monster himself had admitted that this man followed the rules to the letter—and, most important, that he sought to expel him from the Inquisition.
Inquisitor Callum could take him down. He could get her back home.
Semras looked through the keyhole and into the parlour.
“Someofourbettershave been stripped of rank for lesser faults.”
Through the keyhole, a deep baritone voice came from a red-haired man. He sat on a cushioned settee in a panelled room painted with a rich, dark red. Exposed to Semras’ view, his profile revealed a gorgeous angular face dusted with freckles on light, tawny skin. He looked older than his peer sitting in front of him, but not by many years.
Inquisitor Callum wore the same inquisitorial finery and dark crimson shoulder cloak as his colleague, though he was leaner and taller. His mid-length hair—a magnificent shade of dark red—was slicked back with pomade. Long fingers drummed against the length of the settee’s arm, the only movement in his otherwise aloof posture.
Snorting, Inquisitor Velten took a sip from his glass, then stared at the golden liquid twirling within. “And yet, I am still here. It must mean I am not the embarrassment you believe me to be.”
“Well …” Callum swirled his own drink, then said, “Some did not have the good misfortune of being born Cardinal Velten’s bastard son.”
The monster hunched forward with a murderous glare. “You speak like a man who wants to be punched,” he hissed. “You know damn well I proved my worth and made a name for myself on my own, not by using Father’s—”
“Relax … I meant no harm,” Inquisitor Callum spoke in a languid, calculated tone. “You know that.”
“… You are warning me.”
“Obviously.” A cold smile floated on Callum’s lips. “Call it courtesy for the man I once knew.”
Her captor fell back into his chair. A tense silence fell between the two inquisitors.
When he spoke again, his voice had turned into a murmur. “Not for the man I am today, then.”
“No, not for him. You have changed, Estevan. You have grown ruthless, arrogant. You forget our duty.”
“How dare you—”
“You have abused the authority the tribunals have vested you with and walked astray from the Inquisition’s holy mission.” Callum’s voice remained even, unchanged. “I have questioned your place in our sacred institution many times over the years,but now I shall be direct: for all our sake, cease whatever foolishness you have started. Do not make me fight you.”
“Fight me?” Inquisitor Velten’s gaze radiated with anger. “You have been hounding me for years, and now you come intomyhome—!”
“Upon your request, I remind you. For which I still wonder about the reason. I doubt you had a warm reunion in mind after what happened the last time we met.”
Semras strained to listen closely. In her ears, her heartbeat sounded deafening compared to the voices speaking within the room.
The monster bared his teeth in a saccharine smile. “Indeed. I called on you for my investigation of the murder of Tribunal Torqedan. Which you met—secretly and with no witness—just before he died. A curious coincidence, would you not say?”
Callum laughed.
The deep, rich sound unsettled her. It wasn’t a spontaneous laugh, but something closer to a studied, often rehearsed, one.
