Page 61 of A Weave of Lies
Mumbling a few repeated ‘sorry’s,’ the Venator knight shuffled toward Velten. “My lord Inquisitor!” he called, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “A sip of your fancy hangover cure-all, for the love of the Radiant Lord!”
Semras lifted her hands, intending to dry herself by weaving the water out of her dress. Her eyes caught the Venator guards surrounding her on all sides, and she lowered her arms slowly as Velten’s warning about mobs echoed in her mind.
She flinched. What madness had driven her to wear velvet in a forest? Her priciest dress would discolour now, and she’d have to scrounge up an insane amount of coins to pay for another one.
Although … Inquisitor Velten had threatened to buy her whatever she wanted in Castereina. She could take advantage ofthat … but he had promised silk for her obedience, and she had neither obeyed nor wanted silk.
A cold draft blew over her wet frock, and Semras shivered. It would be uncomfortable, but the wind would have to dry it for her, and the inquisitor would have to pay for a new velvet dress, she decided. She’d settle for nothing less than one embroidered with real golden threads and made with the finest laces from Sena, and he would spend the rest of the year begging for alms to financially recover from it.
A cough interrupted her vengeful thoughts.
Themas was looking at her expectantly, dark burgundy cloak hanging from his hand. “May I be so bold …?”
Smiling gratefully, Semras let the young knight drape his cloak over her shoulder. He stepped closer to her as he adjusted its weight, ensuring it shielded her appropriately from the cold morning air.
“I should take you before the Old Crone and the New Maiden, Themas. Once again, you save me. My knight in shining armour,” she teased.
The cloak’s warmth did wonders to lessen the discomfort of damp velvet on her chest.
Had she been among her coven sisters, she would have changed her dress out in the open. But the Deprived always reacted oddly to the sight of nakedness; changing without a natural landmark to hide behind would only cause her more trouble than it was worth.
“I-I deserve no such praise, Semras,” the young knight replied, cheeks flushed. “I simply aim to serve you gallantly, as any knight should.”
“A shame,” she said, sighing.
She didn’t really mean it. Themas was kind, but he buckled beneath her will too easily. If she ever decided on taking a man before the Coven, he’d have to be just as wild as her.
Their horses were waiting patiently next to the path, and they walked together to them.
Themas broke the silence. “What does it mean?” His warm hazel eyes slid toward her. “To ‘take before the Old Crone’? It is not an expression I have ever heard.”
The witch considered his question, then decided on a half-truth. She’d only been joking; she didn’t want to deal with the implications her words had suggested. “It’s a … an oath of lasting fellowship,” she said. “One only made between people who trust each other deeply.”
The knight did not need to know how romantic such a grand, lasting witch ritual was.
Eager to drop the subject, Semras rubbed her little gelding’s neck, faking more bravado in front of the horse than she truly felt. Its jerky movements and twitching ears still made her wary, but she wanted to get used to it. Better than getting used to cuddling Inquisitor Velten on his half-kelpie.
Her throat still remembered the touch of his blade. And of his lips.
She wasn’t sure which one should be feeling worse.
“May I?” Themas knelt next to her, fingers linked to offer her a step up.
“Thank you,” Semras replied. With his help, she climbed onto the sidesaddle.
Themas stepped back and adjusted some straps, then secured her bag on the saddle. Once satisfied, he rubbed the horse’s coat. “All set, Semras. If I may be so bold, I would like to ride by your side today. For, um, for your security. If you would allow me.”
Smiling, the witch nodded at him. If anything, his presence would keep the Venator guards and their idiotic questions away from her.
A jangling trot alerted her to a rider approaching them from behind. She led her little gelding aside, clearing the path for whoever was coming.
Instead of passing by her, the rider hailed her with a furious voice. “What is the meaning of this?”
Semras groaned. Was Inquisitor Velten fond of starting a day’s ride screaming at her? His mercurial moods really shouldn’t be surprising to her anymore.
“What did I do this time?” she asked. “I am ready to ride, am I not?”
“That damn cloak. Remove it.” Velten twirled his steed around her, then stopped by her side.
