Page 110 of A Weave of Lies
“Perhaps,” Semras said, eyes brimming with hope, “if your mentor could come talk some sense into him, he would—”
“I am afraid he cannot.” Cael turned his gaze to her. “Tribunal Eloy Torqedan was, unfortunately, murdered two weeks ago.”
Her blood turned to ice.
Eloy Torqedan. The name brought forth an unpleasant memory of a putrid, bloated corpse—along with a chilling realization. The monster hadmurdered his ownmentor.
“But he—” Words tangled in her throat before they could come out. Lost in thoughts, she looked down at the shackles hidden behind sleeves and gloves. “He …”
What else had he lied about and concealed from her?
“Yes,” Cael said, “Estevan is handling the investigation. There are too few inquisitors left on the peninsula now, so, despite his relationship to the victim, the duty fell on him. Has he talked to you about it?”
That was an understatement.
“… He did,” she replied.
“I had guessed as much. Is that why you wanted to speak to me? Is there something Estevan told you about that you needed to tell someone else, perhaps?” The inquisitor leaned closer to her. “Something that you felt compelled to tell to someone else?”
“… Yes,” Semras breathed. She lifted her gaze to the beautiful marble of Cael’s face. “He … he said—”
A soothing empathy oozed from his dark green pupils. On his face, a mask of open encouragement looked back at her. The perfect picture of sensibility and support—he looked exactly like what she needed to feel at ease.
And he had said exactly what she wanted to hear from him. As if he already knew her predicament.
As if he already knew Estevan Velten had killed Eloy Torqedan.
If this wasn’t an elaborate setup from the two men to test her loyalty, then she was being lured into a game of politics. Velten had once said that the true enemies of inquisitors were other inquisitors, and this one had clearly sniffed blood in the water.
Inquisitor Callum waited patiently. Now that she knew to look for it, the serene smile on his lips and the slow blinking of his eyes reeked of manipulation.
Eyes blazing with restrained fury, Semras forced herself to smile. “He said he was worried about finding a culprit.” A half-truth—she was becoming skilled at them.
The inquisitor hummed. “He should not be. I may not agree with his methods, but I graciously recognize Estevan is a skilled investigator. He will find one.”
Callum’s kind mask repulsed her. It felt too sweet, too calculated.
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” she replied, plastering politeness over her bitterness.
She was acutely aware of just where the monster would find the scapegoat he wanted—in her. She’d never let him use one of her witch sisters, and once he’d caught on to that, he’d turn on her.
“But it’s clear I’m a … a distraction,” Semras continued. “He told me a lot of things he shouldn’t have.”
If this was a trap from the two men, she wouldn’t fall for it. And if it was a political game, then he’d pay for her collaboration first, or else he’d have no incentive to help free her.
Until she could be certain of which it was, she needed to stay cautious. Then, she’d bargain for the key to her shackles andweave a way out of her gilded cage, while Callum would stop the monster before he could pursue her.
Ifthis wasn’t a trap.
“And I …” Semras cleared her throat, pondering on how to convey the underlying meaning of her words. “I don’t belong here. This city is … it’s an abomination to me. I’d bedeeplygrateful to anyone who could help me get back home.”
Inquisitor Callum kept his impassive smile. Semras couldn’t tell if he didn’t understand what she meant or if she had just misjudged the situation.
“How about this …” he began. “Stay with him for a moment, just …”—he hushed her upcoming protest with a single raised finger—“… a moment. Let me know how he does. As his senior, I worry about him. I would be grateful if you could inform me of his progress. Once this is over, I will return you to your forest. What do you say, Miss Witch?”
So thiswasa power play between inquisitors, after all. Not a trap, but not much better.
Semras knew little of politics, but she knew that all that mattered in a negotiation was keeping the upper hand; showing him the witch-shackles would only betray the weakness of her position. At best, it’d force her to agree to being his pawn, to be discarded as soon as she became useless. At worst, Inquisitor Callum might think she didn’t have the trust of the monster, and thus nothing of value to sell. After today, that would be true: her captor would make sure she’d never escape from her next cell.
