"Witch, come out, or it'll be worse for you!" The Inquisitor hammered on the door.
"Oh for the love of—" I groaned when I saw where my tiny assistant had managed to crawl.I had to bend over—tail in the air—and shove my head under a loose floorboard to fish out a trembling ball of fluff. This familiar is going to be the death of my nerves.
"If you stay down there, you'll ruin your lovely fur coat. Come on, don't be shy. Out you come," I cooed, as if the end of the world wasn't breathing on our doorstep, and as if the Inquisitor were a perfect sweetheart.
"If he finds out about me—and your power—he'll turn me into a hat," squeaked my oh-so-brave familiar.
"A hat? Please. At most—gloves. And with those tiny paws? Not even enough for one."
…Oops. That did not calm him. The fluffball shook harder and melted into the shadows.
"Witch." The word rolled in a low growl, so close my skin prickled.
I slipped my head out from under the floor—and froze.Yes. The angry Inquisitor was leaning over me, eyes sharp as a hawk's, tracking every move.
For one wild moment I honestly envied Lil. If only I could hide somewhere too—anywhere—until he got bored of dissecting me with that stare and breathing like an enraged bull in an arena.
I pasted on my most innocent smile, stood, and brushed off my knees. With any luck I could fluff his brains a little and he wouldn't recognize me.
It hadn't been that long, after all. When I ran, he was far too busy with his new fiancée.As for me—the orphaned bride—everyone forgot the same day I was left without a single coin.
"Good afternoon, Inquisitor. How may I help you?" I fluttered my lashes as innocently as a broom sweeping the porch. Maybe if I blinked fast enough, I'd blow him right back out the door. Sadly… no such luck.
My cheek made him choke on air; he leaned even closer. He drew a sharp breath and his eyes went pale.
Any second now he'd use that Inquisitor's gift to replay the last minutes around me and see everything. But—nothing happened.
"Witch…" he rasped. "Return my heart."
Again with that. How many times?
"I don't have it, Inquisitor," I said, spreading my hands toward—well, the heap of little cauldrons lined up in the kitchen, waiting for a night of spellwork.
Theo didn't believe a word. He tasted the lie and grimaced, gaze locked on me like he was spellbound. There was so much force in that look I could neither breathe nor move.
They say Inquisitors are the swiftest, most ruthless predators in all the principalities. In my head I was spiraling—Will he recognize me? Won't he? Of course my heart stumbled when I saw the man from my past. But then I hit the ground fast, catching the steel in his eyes.
I had always admired my childhood friend, the man now standing before me. The easy power, the way he moved, and that deep gaze used to set my nerves singing. All of it shattered the day Theo betrayed me and simply turned away.
He lifted a hand and skimmed his fingers along my chin. I didn't dare take a fuller breath. Oh, Goddess, he was huge. One wrong move and I'd be dust at his boots.
Ink-black hair, slicked back, glittered with droplets like crystals scattered on black silk. My eyes slid lower. A black shirt was flung over a bare chest, adding an effortless, rough edge to him. He'd come in a hurry, clearly. The thought sent heat licking through my ribs.
Theodore Rosenhart, son of the Lakelands' duke—and, once upon a time, my childhood friend—turned into a traitor the moment he became an Inquisitor. He came back from the Academy with a shiny new fiancée and left me to his ruthless father's mercy. A battered soul and a broken heart refused to fall for him again, yet treacherous memory kept tossing up our happy moments, stoking my anger even hotter.
Why? I ran and hid practically at the edge of the world, praying I'd be forgotten and not handed to the merciless groom who buried ten wives.
And now Theo stands in front of me like a sleepwalker, stroking my face. At least he remembered to put on pants—otherwise my composure would have been officially deceased.
Tall, flushed, a body carved to perfection and power enough to make anyone shake—he could stir any maiden's heart. Not mine.
Beware former friends more than future ones; the first know things they can use against you.My nurse's words snapped me back to earth. Run, lie, play the fool—anything but fall into the Rosenhart family's claws.
I jerked my head away as if from a blow and met the Inquisitor's eyes with fury. His expression soured at once at the distance I'd put between us.
Theo slid on a cold mask and smirked, as if to say: Didn't want it that much anyway.
"Starting tomorrow, any illegal trade will be recorded and fined ten thousand gold," the Inquisitor announced, lofty as a judge—the son of Duke Vlad Rosenhart from the neighboring principality of Vesperia.
Lil squeaked in shock under the floorboards and sneezed.
"Ten thousand?!" I cried, despair cracking my voice. "Where would anyone in this backwater find that kind of money, Inquisitor?" My outrage had no ceiling.
Did he really believe his own thunder? Micheli, a little town wedged between two principalities, had never drawn important eyes—until today. How a creature as influential as young Theodore Rosenhart drifted here was beyond reason.
Out here, far from the cities, we mostly traded goods and favors, not gold.
"Outrage! Highway robbery!" Lil chirped bravely from beneath the plank—and wisely stayed hidden.
Right choice. Best not yank a tiger by the whiskers. For now he thought I was just a harmless oddball brewing cough syrup and salves. If he learned the truth—I'd be cooked.
"Return the heart, and perhaps I'll forgive your debt," my former friend narrowed his eyes, all slyness.
"I don't have any of your organs, Inquisitor," I sighed, bone-tired.
Would he go already? My tiny kitchen couldn't bear the pressure. His gaze took things apart piece by piece—walls, shelves, me included.
"I'll wait till evening at the mayor's house. Don't come, and I'll come with a search party to your hovel."
He turned and, surprisingly light for his size, slipped out of my "hovel."
All right, yes—the place creaked and had holes where it shouldn't. But it was the only thing left to me after his highborn father sold off my inheritance, hiding behind his rights as my guardian.
Thank the Goddess my nurse had this cottage. This is where we ran. I inherited it—along with a witch's gift—just a month ago, when the only soul who loved me died.
I hadn't even learned to breathe in this new life when the Inquisitor appeared. In our world, witches weren't exactly cherished. Until recently, I thought they were a bedtime story. Turns out—no. So what now? Run again?
"Good thing he left. I was about to show him how to beg for coins from poor witches," declared the tousle-furred creature, crawling out at last.
What did he call himself? A guinea pig? He blew his forelock off his brow and glittered at me with bead-bright eyes.
"We need to run… run," I muttered, half-delirious.