Page 66 of A Weave of Lies
Mouth agape, Semras stared at his hands as they moved down.
“I speak of the plate of food, witch.”
A furious blush burned her cheeks. Embarrassed, she stole the inquisitor’s cutlery and busied herself by pushing the food around the plate.
He had a lover, she reminded herself. A witch lover.
The bastard was shamelessly flirting with her in spite of it, but she wouldn’t entertain his ego. “You just have to have it all, don’t you?” she muttered. “You are a fire devouring everything in your path.”
Estevan laughed. “You are not the first witch to compare me to fire.”
Semras didn’t look up. She didn’t want to know if he had kept stripping off his shirt or why he would even do such a thing in front of her. Wondering if anyone else had seen it, she discreetly glanced around.
Further away, she caught Themas staring, mouth gaping just like hers had seconds ago. A deep crimson had spread across his cheeks and neck. Then he caught her gaze on him and turned away to fumble with his cutlery.
“Must be a woman of astounding insight,” Semras mumbled, returning her attention to her plate.
“I do not quite recall the words,” the inquisitor said idly, “but it sounded like the same cryptic speech you witches enjoy so much. About how I had a fire in me that only knew either embers or inferno. It is poetic, I will admit as much, but I am rather partial to ice if I am given the choice. Fire and ice are not so different once brought to their extreme, after all.”
With her silver knife, Semras traced mindless patterns on the plate. “Ice so cold it burns, as the saying goes.”
“Exactly,” he replied. “Which brings me … to you, my little ice cube.”
Estevan lifted her chin, and her eyes fell on the healed wounds of his chest, laid bare by the parted layers of his shirt.
Semras went pale. Oh. That.
“You used magic on me. Last night. On my wounds.” The inquisitor’s tone had turned cold, detached—a stranger speaking with his voice.
Embers or inferno; the comparison had been apt.
“Care to confess now?” he asked.
“T-That’s not—I did it to—”
“Were you hoping to earn my favour? You will have to do better than that.”
Semras glowered at him. Oh, what she’d do to wipe that damn smirk off his handsome face.
“It was just a healing weave,” she said, seething. “Don’t read so much into it.”
Velten stood slowly, then leaned toward her, his hands resting on the table. “It isnot‘just a healing weave.’ It is more proof that the witch Semras casts spells on unwilling targets,” he said lowly, glancing at the rest of the dining room. “This is the last time I will tolerate your transgressions, and only because your intentions were harmless. But I warn you. Your deceptive ways will no longer be tolerated. We will enter Castereina tomorrow, and youwillbe on your best behaviour.”
Semras frowned. “Your mother never taught you to say ‘thank you,’ did she?”
“If you must insist on your nefarious acts, witch, be more discreet. Give me a challenge at least. Make it hard for me to catch you.” His icy demeanour eased back into an indolent smile. “I do so enjoy the thrill of the chase.”
“You are a sick individual, Inquisitor Velten,” she replied, fuming.
He laughed loudly, startling the nearby Venator guards sitting at tables. After a glance, the men carefully looked the other way.
One pair of eyes lingered for much longer, prickling the skin of her nape. Semras banished it to the back of her mind, too engrossed in reversing who had the upper hand. “You must either be an excellent investigator,” she continued, “or the Inquisition has some serious recruitment shortages to resort to people of your kind.”
Velten wrinkled his nose. “I assure you: it is the former. I excel at what I do.” He paused, then added, “And I am not the sickest one among them, either.”
“Really. You have no leg to stand on after what happened last night in your tent.” He stared at her with confusion, and Semras smirked. “Oh, Inquisitor Velten, do not tell me you’ve never held a woman in your arms before? And here I thought I wasn’t yourfirst.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischievous malice, but the inquisitor didn’t meet her mockery with a quip of his own. Instead, he went pale and stumbled back into the chair behind him.
