Page 43 of A Weave of Lies
Staring into the eyes of the beast, the witch pushed her will into its mind. Like a bear trap, her willpower clamped around its spirit.
She took control. Commanded it tostop.
The wolf landed on its shoulders, rose back up, and shook its head in a last-ditch attempt to resist. Its body shuddered and then fell prone.
Semras stood slowly, still clutching the threads connecting them. That wolf wouldn’t harm her, nor anyone else, as long as she kept their connection undisturbed.
She’d been told once that controlling the mind of an animal bordered the Bleak Path dangerously. Now she knew why. The intoxicating feeling of holding a sentient mind in one’s grasp threatened to fill her with vicious mirth. It could twist her. She needed to let go.
Semras didn’t get the opportunity. Velten rushed past her, sword aimed toward the beast.
“No …” she said, voice weak and hoarse, “no, wait!”
The wolf’s neck split under the inquisitor’s blade.
The threads snapped, and Semras fell to her knees. She was dying; she could feel the blood trickling from her neck, rushing down between her breasts, soaking her clothes, the soil, the—
Her hands clawed at the smooth skin of her neck. Her throat was fine. She was not dying.
It had only been the lingering mind of the slain wolf. There was no blood. She was fine.
She wasfine.
Chest heaving painfully, Semras crawled to a menhir and braced herself against the stone. She retched. Tears spilled from her eyes, unbidden yet welcomed. They made her feel alive.
Damn that inquisitor. Death was not an aftertaste she’d ever forget.
Velten’s shadow fell on her, but Semras kept her gaze on the ground, trying to steady her dizzying vision. “Old Crone curse you, Inquisitor,” she said, throat burning. “I told you to wait.” She wanted to scream at him, but her voice wouldn’t let her.
Velten didn’t answer.
“Have you any idea what you’ve done?” she spat out.
A sharp metallic edge, slick and warm from wolf blood, slid beneath her cheek. The unnatural, chilling aura of cold iron stung her skin.
“Haveyou?” Inquisitor Velten echoed her words back at her. His sword slithered beneath her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. “In the name of the Inquisition: answer me, Bleakwitch.”
Chapter 10
SemrasstaredbackatInquisitor Velten. “I saved your life and mine alongside it. How’s that for an answer?”
He studied her face, then pushed her to the ground with the tip of his boot.
Too weak to resist, Semras fell on her side with a soft thud. Dried leaves prickled the skin of her naked chest. Under her throat, the sharp end of the inquisitor’s sword still threatened to take her life at the first wrong move.
“You cast Bleak magic. On me, on the wolf. Do not lie to me,” he said. His blank face looked sinister, cold—and unfamiliar. “You cannot even fight me off. Weak as a newborn babe, a sure sign of a Bleak spell that unravelled before completion. A shame,” he said, sneering. “You had only one chance to take my life, and you failed.”
“Void take you.” With what little remained of her strength, Semras spat on his boot. Her exhausted mind could barely make sense of his words.
“Oh, It will. But It will not take me alone.”
The blade of cold iron nicked her throat in a searing, numbing kiss, drawing out a bead of blood. She hissed. “You’ve spilled innocent blood on your sword, Inquisitor.”
“I will be the judge of that.”
“Can you? When you know nothing of the Bleak Path? You dare accuse me, while you have no idea what I—”
The inquisitor pressed his blade against her skin, and she stopped talking. No mercy softened Inquisitor Velten’s cold stare. His judgment was cast.
