They did not go back up the long, winding stair that Therin and Alira had taken moments before. Instead, the mysterious Noran lit a torch and directed them toward a hidden hole in the wall just near the bottom of the stairs. The air coming from the dark tunnel was warmer and it wasn’t long before the floor sloped upwards. Alira could feel Therin’s muscles bunch under her as she was carried. He had not released the tension that he had retained earlier.

“Almost there,” Noran said darkly behind Therin. Alira lifted her head to see his face and he grinned wickedly at her. She frowned and relaxed against Therin. The invisible ropes dug into her uncomfortably.

Therin slowed as they reached a large wooden door reinforced with wide iron bands. The handle was a ring and hung limply, not very carefully secured into the wood. Noran shoved past Therin and opened the door into a corridor that was both warm and bright. The stone floor was clean and a long red carpet began a few feet from the entrance of the doorway.

“Did you miss me?” Noran asked, almost casually as he motioned for Therin to lead the way. Wherever they were going, Therin had been there before and he moved with a purposeful stride.

“You have to be gone longer than this if you want me to miss you,” the monk grunted as he shuffled Alira onto his shoulder. She could feel his chainmail digging into him.

“Always a smart ass,” Noran said in disapproval.

They reached a juncture in the hall and Therin hesitated.

“Don’t,” Noran said, bored. “I’d rather not have to maim you before turning you into the Inquisitor. You know how much she enjoys her work and I’d not like to spoil her fun.” Therin turned left.

“Good boy,” Noran purred.

They continued down the hall in silence. Henry was hovering inside her mind, primed to flood her with power but she held him back, Ohira’s warning glaring inside her head. She would have to restrain him unless it was life or death, and so far, she felt it wasn’t as dire as all that.

Oh, dearest, sweetest, stupidest Alira. It’s life or death. In fact, it’s not even life. The inquisitors will not let a witch go.

Then we’ll fight that battle when we come to it, Henry.

The three of them reached a door and Noran hung his torch on a bracket near the door and knocked once, twice, three times then waited. Slowly, the door creaked open and they stepped inside the spacious, sparse office of the High Inquisitor. Noran gestured for Therin to put Alira down on the floor.

“Noran,” welcomed a stunning woman in red robes. She sat, her hands steepled in thought, behind an enormous dark wood desk. Her long pale blond hair was pin straight and a bright red, square cap was perched on her head, perfectly straight. She had the sunken appearance of someone who doesn’t get a lot of sunlight or sleep, and the purple circles under her eyes made her look like she was recovering from a broken nose.

Noran bowed low and put one fist on his chest in salute.

“High Inquisitor Mara.”

“Therin,” the tiny woman nodded to the monk, a faint annoyed smile on her face. “I did not expect to see you, but thank you for helping Noran bring me this intruder.”

“He was–” Noran began but stopped when the Inquisitor's eyes flicked to him, barely -contained rage instantly simmering in her.

“I did not ask you.” Noran dropped his gaze and bowed again. “Therin, how have you been? Have you been keeping up with your studies?” The warmth in her voice was fake and laced with sarcasm. Therin did not answer her and she sighed. “Don’t be shy just because your brother is here.” She tilted her head toward Noran. The monk stiffened but didn’t take the bait.

The diminutive woman stood and slowly walked to a large bookshelf on one wall of the room. She plucked a large ring of keys out of a crystal bowl on a shelf and turned to the door behind her desk. Without being asked, Therin picked Alira back up and followed. His body was much less tense and he moved slower, resigned. This, more than his earlier hyper-alertness, worried Alira. Therin clearly knew something she did not.

They entered a dim, narrow hallway, uncarpeted and chilly. Doors with barred openings at the top ran along the length of the hall, on both sides, several feet apart. The woman stopped at the third door on the left and opened it with one of the keys. The hinges of the door screamed as she entered. Therin slowed and Alira could feel his body shaking beneath her.

“Having flashbacks to our little games, Therin?” Noran asked softly from directly behind him. This seemed to stiffen some resolve in the monk and he strode forward, crossing the threshold quickly.

The room was square, the floor tiled in a shiny white stone that reflected the light of the candle chandelier above a single wooden chair with leather straps across the arms and front legs. A small table sat against the wall with a wooden box and a solitaire unlit candle.

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“Put her on the floor.” The inquisitor bent over the small table and Alira could hear a metallic clinking, tinkling, as though the box she was pawing through held several small metal objects. Therin set her down gently and stood slowly, his eyes on Alira’s. He shook his head imperceptibly and the gesture seemed to convey his loss of hope. Alira merely glared back at him, willing him to not give up.

“You can take the chair,” the inquisitor said as she turned to face them. She had attached a strange jointed device to her hand. At first, Alira thought it was some kind of bracelet but the woman flicked her fingers and small, pointed metal bits sprung from the tips of her fingers. Noran lit the candle on the table and stood back, his arms folded, his back pressed against the door. He had sheathed his dagger and Alira took a moment to note that it held all black stones and the pommel stone was red, possibly a garnet.

Therin sat in the chair, his face pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He laid his hands in his lap, carefully tucking his legs together, away from the leather straps. Even sitting, Therin was taller than the inquisitor but it didn’t seem to matter as he sat trembling.

“I’ll ask you a few questions, you’ll answer them, and if I like your answers you won’t have to worry.” Her voice was high and rasping, as though she was excited. Alira noted her cheeks were flushed slightly. “But I don’t need to tell you all this, do I? You’re a quick learner.” Therin nodded once and held still.

“Good,” the inquisitor praised and then she suddenly grasped the monk’s hand in the one with the device attached to it. Her fingers pressed into his wrist and she tilted her head as she watched him squirm for a moment.

“We’ll start easy, Therin, as I know you’re quite nervous.” She waited a beat before continuing. “What’s her name?”

“Alira,” Therin said without pause. His breath was sharp as though he might hyperventilate.

“Good,” the inquisitor praised again. “And what is she?”

“Witch,” Therin said, his eyes boring into the woman who had his hand in her small grip.

“I see,” the inquisitor said. “And how did she get into the monastery?”

“The door, I reckon.” The silence in the room was thick and the woman held perfectly still, contemplating his answer. With the barest flick of muscle, she extended a metal claw into Therin’s wrist. His eyes went wider but he held completely still, giving no other sign that he had even felt the assault.

Fool. Henry whispered, and Alira could tell he too was somehow trying to hold still, to keep himself small and unnoticed.

“Let me remind you, young Therin.” Her voice was low now, her anger barely held at bay. “I cannot permanently disable you, perhaps, but I can make you miserable. I can ensure your career ends tonight, that you never see the safety of another church. You won’t have your daddy to save you when I report to the High Lord that you’re harbouring dangerous witches.” Therin’s breathing was quicker now, his face so pale that Alira was sure he was going to faint.

“I’ll ask you again,” the inquisitor removed the needle from him and took her hand from his. “How did she get in?”

“I let her in.”

“Why did you do that?”

“She asked me to,” Therin said and quickly added “She needed help.”

“Who sent her?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me,” Therin replied, his face filling with panic.

“And what did she say she needed help with?” Therin’s hesitation was a fraction too long and the inquisitor turned to the table, holding one clawed finger over the lit candle.

“B-book,” Therin stammered his eyes wide. “She wanted a book.”

The inquisitor just held her finger over the candle and tilted her head as she looked at him, listening.

“Written by the Morinn.” Therin said, panic welling up into his voice.

“Well, if you knew that, why didn’t…” she said slowly as she removed her hand from the candle. “Just say so?” She pressed the claw to his face, slowly dragging it down from his eye to his chin. The sizzle of his flesh filled the ensuing silence and only Therin’s gasping breath gave away his fear. The smell of charred meat filled the air and Alira’s stomach churned in disgust.

“What book?” Claws extended as Therin held his silence, slowly sinking into his face, one after another. Therin whimpered but did not answer.

“What–”

“Stop!” Alira called out and her voice rang in the small chamber. “Don’t hurt him.”

Alira felt the invisible ropes binding her slither away and she rubbed her arms and hands, getting the feeling back into them. Noran shuffled anxiously behind her.

“I don’t like it,” the inquisitor said as she took her fingers from the monk’s face and turned to Alira. “When I’m interrupted.” The slow quietness of her voice was chilling.

“Stand up,” the inquisitor hissed. The young woman quickly did so and balled her hands into fists. She was several inches taller than the inquisitor, she noticed. Before she could react, the smaller woman slapped her across the face, the sharp metal of the clawed device tearing into her cheek.

Shock, anger, and the unbending darkness of her power welled up inside Alira as she grasped her torn cheek and slowly turned back to the woman before her. The small woman’s eyes were bright blue, manic and electric, as she took in the spray of blood that had misted across the wall. Alira held the woman’s gaze for a beat, reigning in her anger and tamping down the darkness.

“Who sent you?” Alira held her silence, blood slowly dripping down her hand. Her tongue probed her cheek and with a shock of revulsion she felt her tongue dip into a hole. Henry was howling inside her head, rage of his own mingling with hers and suddenly he slipped from her control and sprang into her limbs. She felt the cold darkness slither across her, her skin rippling in gooseflesh as the dark power bled into her.

Alira felt the prick of a blade against her and she realized that Noran had his Witch Knife pressed into her back.

“I’d suggest you stop that,” Noran said through clenched teeth. “I can feel you gathering your will.” He pressed the blade harder into her and she felt her cloak and shirt give way to the supernatural sharpness of the dark knife.

But Alira could not reign in the spirit inside her and she felt her own consciousness slip away, viewing her actions from a detached place inside her as she unleashed hell in the small cell.