Page 157 of A Weave of Lies
The front door behind her slammed open. Heart beating jarringly, Semras forced herself to turn.
Breath labouring, Estevan hunched against the doorway. He glared at her, but when he spoke, it wasn’t her he addressed.
“… Mother.”
Chapter 33
Adesperatewishtobe somewhere else, with someone else’s face and name, consumed Semras.
She had poisoned thesonof Warwitch Leyevna.
TheWarwitch Leyevna.
Withwolfsbane.
The realization twisted her entrails into a nest of snakes. Blood pounded in her ears, reducing the world around her to the rhythmic sound of her heartbeat. It thumped so loudly against her chest, it would shatter the windowpanes at any moment.
Walking past Semras, Leyevna greeted the inquisitor with a soft smile. “Estevanya, my son!” she said. “What newfound filial piety is driving you to visit me again so soon? This is unlike you.” After bracing him against her, she led him to sit on a chair, then turned to Semras. “This is the urgency you spoke of, I presume?”
Under the inquisitive gaze of the matriarch, Semras blinked. “… The …?”
“Yes,” Estevan lied for her. “Poison. But I am … fine.” Jaw clenched with pain, he struggled to even let these few words out.
Semras winced. He didnotlook fine to her. Had the dosage been too strong? She had chosen the seed’s size carefully, yet a spike of anxiety still stabbed her guts at the sight of him.
Leyevna gave her son an impatient wave of the hand. “Obviously you are,Vanya.Hurry and finish purging it from your system. You still remember how, right?” With a mother’s critical eyes, she stared him down until he nodded. Satisfied, she grinned. “Good, good. I’ll make us some tea. You finish before I’m back.”
The matriarch disappeared upstairs, leaving Semras alone with the man she had poisoned. She gave him a sidelong glance.
Hand grabbing his collar, Estevan was sweating heavily. A deep exhaustion lidded his bleary, unfocused gaze. Wolfsbane had taken its toll, and his stubbornness at climbing up to the house hadn’t done his body any favour.
Semras bit worriedly at her lip. “You were supposed to rest,” she said softly. “Your body needs to recover. I gave you an antidote, but it can’t—”
“Quiet! Just … quiet. I’m … trying to concentrate.”
“Let … let me help you,” she said, pulling on the fingertips of her gloves one by one. “My hands are still too stiff to grab the poison’s wefts out of your veins, but I could perhaps—”
His hand seized her wrist in a tight grip, and Semras startled. The gloves fell to the ground with a soft thud.
Estevan was staring at her. Sweat still dripped from his forehead, and a grimace of pain twisted his lips, but his eyes had returned to their usual intensity. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it without uttering a word. His hand on her wrist tightened once more.
Then, with a shuddered breath, he let her go.
The room dimmed as the fireplace flames flickered in and out. A shiver of cold ran down Semras’ spine while her breath turned to fog. Her eyes widened.
Someone was weaving the warmth out of the surrounding Arras. In disbelief, she peered into it.
And gasped.
Wefts of fire and heat were unravelling all around the hut—and going to Estevan. With clumsy fingers, the inquisitor wove them into his warp shape, burning the poison’s threads circulating within.
He wasweaving.
Shock brought her back to the normal world. Mouth agape, Semras stared at a fully recovered Estevan. “You’re a—!”
“Witch, yes. Now you know all my secrets. Years spent carefully hiding what I was from both the Covens and the Deprived … all undone in a single night because ofyou,” he said, voice bitter and harsh. “You just had to put your nose where it did not belong, didn’t you, Semras? It was not enough to pry me wide open; you still wanted to take more!”
Semras stood in front of him, face growing paler and paler.
