Page 116 of A Weave of Lies
“Who could I even tell it to?” she replied bitterly. “Fear not; no one will ever know which oaths you’ve upheld and which one you didn’t. If you can even remember them after what you’ve done.”
“I do remember them,” he said quietly, his smirk quivering. “They are a heavy burden, but bear them I always do.”
Hypocrite. Liar. Oathbreaker. He had killed one of his own.
Through the window, sunrays beamed into the room, catching ambient dust in a glimmering haze. It drew around the inquisitor a divine halo.
If she was a daughter of the Night, then he was a true son of the Radiant Lord—blinding everyone to his overwhelming, searing nature until it was too late.
“Very noble of you,” Semras muttered. “How is it going so far?”
His smile collapsed. “Poorly.”
“I take it the forging of proofs is impeding your noble duty. I’d rather hoped your colleague’s testimony would have—” Semras stilled.
Something felt wrong.
Somethingwaswrong.
“… Why did you interrogate Inquisitor Callum about his visit to the tribunal?” she asked. “Why ask Maraz’Miri to gather testimonies at all? You killed Torqedan. Youknowinvestigating won’t turn up anything you’re not already aware of.”
Glancing through the window, he shrugged. “It would be more suspicious if I did not.”
“I reckon keeping a witch locked next to your room is more suspicious.”
“Behave.” Exhaustion had hollowed out the harsh inflection of the inquisitor’s voice, but it still sent her staggering back. “I have been quite indulgent with you today. Do not push me further. Rather, think about how you will make amends for the ruckus you have caused.”
How. Dare. He.
“I amnotyour guest, you monster,” she growled lowly. “I am not yourfriend. I am your prisoner and your tool, and nothing more. If you expect me to crawl at your feet, begging for your pardon, I—”
“It is not my pardon you should seek,” he said, jaw clenched. “There are only two ways we can play this game, Semras. One, you learn to bend the knee and cast away your pride. You repent. You obey. Or two …” The monster advanced on her.
Semras stumbled backward. Her back hit a wall, and she killed a whimper before it could escape her throat.
He crowded her against it, arms slamming on each side of her. “Keep testing me,” he whispered in her ear, “and find out forhow long I can put a witch to the question and still make it count as a single session.”
He meant to torture her. There was no way out.
Semras had tried everything she could, but there wasno way out.
There had never been any way out.
Terror gripped her throat. Flinching, she closed her eyes—as if it would make this entire nightmare disappear. As if she’d open them and be back in her forest, home at last.
But any illusion of safety was shattered by his body pressed too close to hers and by the erratic, fearful beating of her heart.
“… Kill me then,” she breathed. “Parade my corpse around and declare to all that Semras of Yore killed Eloy Torqedan.” Her eyes opened, reflecting nothing within—no fear, no anger, no emotion. None could hold on to the emptiness inside her. “This … this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Then do it.”
Semras expected triumph. She expected sick joy, or a violent hand to grab her by the throat, or a blade drawn against her heart.
She didn’t expect the sheer, horrified shock haunting her captor’s gaze. Was he, too, tired of fighting?
“You are scared of me …” he said. A note of disbelief tainted his voice.
“I …” Her deepest, darkest wounds oozed out in words. “I am scared of this foreign city. Of these shackles. Of all these lies, and …”
“… And?”
