Page 73 of A Weave of Lies
Her hand flew to her neck, softly probing the skin there. It felt horrible, bruised without a doubt, and still throbbing. She cleared her throat softly, checking how her voice fared now. It still hurt, but the pain was manageable.
“Them—Themas?” she asked. “How … how long did I sleep?”
The knight slightly turned his head, carefully avoiding looking at her directly. “We are well past noon, Semras. Worry not, we have the inquisitor’s blessing. He had … business to tend to.” He stood and walked to the door. “I shall call some breakfast for you. Please wait a moment.”
After exchanging a few muttered words with a passing inn maid, he closed the door again and leaned his forehead against it.
“What business?” she asked.
“Inquisitor Velten will be back shortly to escort you home. He left earlier with Sir Ulrech to bring the sword-bearers back to Castereina. Three of them are under arrest. They’ll face a tribunal of the Inquisition for what happened to you.”
“So it was one of them that tried to kill me … I thought—” Semras cleared her throat. “I thought I recognized his face. Three, you say? I remember only one man.”
A knock on the door called for Themas’ attention. He answered it, then brought a platter of cheese and fruit back to her. After laying it on the bed, he inspected her from head to toe, his worried eyes stopping briefly at her throat before continuing down.
Semras expected him to flee as soon as he’d realized she was wearing only a nightgown, yet he did not. Puzzled, she furrowed her brow. The shy, gallant knight must have been deeply perturbed by the night’s events—he wasn’t even blushing.
Done with his inspection, Themas dragged his chair closer and sat next to her. “Please eat,” he said, nodding at the food. “You’ll need your strength once Inquisitor Velten comes back. He shouldn’t be long now. Castereina is a three-hour ride from here, and he left early.”
Semras ate her breakfast slowly, struggling to make every bite go down her throat. Once she was done, she stood and searched for the nearest reflective surface.
She found it in a tall wardrobe mirror, silver-backed and clean. Within, a thinner woman than she remembered looked back at her. Her eyes were sunken. A dark red line had bloomed around her throat, and her face looked haggard and ashen. Semras touched her reflection, and sorrow washed over her. This was what the world of the Deprived did to witches.
It slowly turned them into shells of who they once were.
Her reflection steeled her resolve. A similar fate awaited her accused coven sister, and only a monster would abandon her to it. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let fear make one out of her.
The inquisitor had offered to return her home; she would refuse.
After finding her bearings, Semras peered into the Unseen Arras. In the mirror’s reflection, her eyes glowed with gold.
Waiting patiently, Themas stood behind her in the form of a faceless warpshade.
The witch raised her hands to her throat, then began the delicate operation of weaving back together what had unwoven from the violence done to her. Under her fingers, her bruise faded and her throat muscles relaxed.
To her distorted perception of time, the healing weave took half an hour to complete, but she knew it had been more than that when she returned to reality. For, instead of Themas, Estevan now stood behind her.
Semras watched him through the mirror, a controlled expression drawn on her face. “Three men?”
“Three men to rot in jail, and a corpse to rot elsewhere,” he replied, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. “The rest I graciously escorted back to their Confraternity headquarters. I left an honest recommendation there to never let them handle cases involving witches ever again—unless they wanted me to get personally involved in the matter.”
Brow furrowed, Semras turned to face him. “A corpse?”
“Your attacker. I slit his throat and hung him where he would best serve as an example.” Estevan stepped closer and gently grazed her neck with his fingers. “The fool thought my hands were tied by orders above, and that I would deeply appreciate him ridding me of you. Or maybe he thought you had bewitched me. I admit I cared little for his pathetic pleas. The how and why did not matter as much as the act. No one usurps the authority of the Inquisition.”
Semras looked away. Of course, it had been about him, not her. She was still fooling herself. At this point, she deserved the disappointment.
“Do you want their names?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t want to know. I … I’d rather not …”Remember them. A breath shuddered out of her. “How did you know I was in distress?”
“You screamed. More importantly, how are you feeling?” he asked, his hand still lingering on her throat as if it were fighting between staying and leaving.
“I’m fine. Or at least, as fine as I can be. I repaired the worst of the damage.” Semras eyed him. “You won’t reproach me for weaving magic for this, will you?”
His lips twisted into a thin, painful smile. “No, of course not. I failed in our deal, and you are free. Rejoice; I shall order you around no more. You are going back home, Semras.”
He had used her name the night before too, but the way his voice softened around it still made her heart skip a beat. “You would let me go? What about—” She couldn’t finish her sentence, unsure of how she really wanted to end it.
