Page 155 of A Weave of Lies
A dam of restraint broke. His or hers—it didn’t make a difference.
Estevan ground his hips against hers, pinning her to a tree behind her. His hands greedily caressed the curve of her waist, then fumbled with the laces of her dress, tugging and pulling at them with urgency. Her own leisurely explored his shoulders. Greedy for more, she slid her hands down his chest and ripped his shirt out of his belt to slip them beneath it, seeking the planes of muscles she had seen so long ago now in that small tent by the road.
Nothing had changed since then.
Everything had changed since then.
Semras rested her hand over his heart, the one he promised she could rip out. And then, she did. Into wounds wolves had once clawed into him, she cruelly dug her fingers and reopened them. Blood seeped out to taint his shirt in dark dots of red. Estevan groaned in pain, and her tongue pushed the Crone-cursed, tiny seed inside his mouth just in time before he jerked away from her.
The inquisitor’s wide, shocked gaze fell on the reddening edge of his wound. By all appearances, he hadn’t noticed the seed that fell down his throat.
Satisfied, Semras licked the blood off her gloved fingers. “How does it feel to have your heart ripped out when you least expect it?”
“If I ever had a heart …” he said, pressing against the bleeding on his chest, “I would have told you.”
Her breath shuddered out of her, draining away what remained of her naive dreams of love and devotion. Silently, the witch walked backward into the night, gaze boring into her Wyrdtwined until she blended into the darkness whence she came.
Limbs of lead returned Semras to Pagan. She climbed on its back, then waited for the inquisitor to resume his travel. All she needed now was for him to guide her to her coven sister.
He did not move. Among the trees, Estevan stayed rooted in place, eyes fixed on where she had disappeared minutes before.
A lifetime passed before his voice rose through the night. “Farewell, Semras of Yore, wild and free daughter of the Night.”
Dried leaves crinkled beneath Estevan’s footsteps. He mounted his horse, glanced back one last time, and then rode away.
Wind rustled the branches of old trees. It passed by her, through her, and left her chilled to the core.
Semras wiped away her tears. It was time.
Time to make Inquisitor Velten rue the day he pissed off a witch of Yore.
Semrastrailedtheinquisitorthrough a Vedwoods basked in moonlight. Far above her head, the wind danced through the forest canopy. Hidden among the stretching shadows of tree trunks, crickets filled the air with their loud chirping. An owl hooted somewhere, then dove to catch unsuspecting prey.
The witch paid no mind to the beauty of the night; her eyes were strained on the faltering rider ahead of her.
For the past half-hour, Velten had shown increasing signs of poisoning. When he started clutching at his chest, she took a deep breath and forced her jaw to unclench. It wouldn’t be long now, but she still had to wait. She needed to know where he was going before she could give him the antidote.
After a few more minutes of riding, the woods opened into a clearing, and the inquisitor halted his horse at its edge.
A huge, ancient oak stood in the middle of the glade. Steps carved into the sides of its trunk led to a cabin sitting higher on the branches—the witch’s house, without a doubt.
Inquisitor Velten dismounted, wavered, and then fell to the ground.
Semras tapped Pagan’s neck impatiently. The stallion let her down, and she rushed to Velten’s side. She found him braced against a tree trunk with his chest heaving. Wordlessly, she uncorked her waterskin and tipped it into his mouth. He drank deeply, eyes blurred and unfocused. Some of the blackened water fell down his chin.
Semras checked his vital signs. The inquisitor looked pale and queasy; his hand was clutched over his heart, but he still breathed with ease.
Good—she had given him the antidote in time. She should be happy. Everything went exactly as planned. And yet …
Her face set into a grim, morose expression. “The charcoal will absorb part of the poison, but it will take some time before your body burns it all out.”
Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Estevan leaned against the tree. “… Poison? Y-Youpoisonedme?”
“With wolfsbane. You left me no choice, Inquisitor. I warned you I would stop you.”
“Wolfs … bane?” He tried to focus his eyes on her—and failed. “You poisoned … me with …”
His mouth had numbed under the effect of the seed, Semras noted.
