Ágnes opened her rheumy eyes. ‘Csilla.’
‘You have to let Mihály help you.’ She wiped the woman’s forehead with a damp rag, the cloth already rank.
Ágnes’s voice was weak, but firm. ‘Stay away from him.’
The movement set off a spasming cough. Csilla grabbed for water that had been left for later mercy and tried to force some between her lips, but it dribbled down her chin and wet the blankets.
The helplessness of not being able to care for the person she loved was worse than the loneliness of no care at all. She stroked the woman’s thin hair and hummed softly, a lullaby she’d been sung as a child, not trusting herself to get the words out. The comfort was short-lived. Ágnes’s dry lips were flecked with blood.
‘He’s an Izir,’ Csilla reminded her. ‘I’ve seen him heal.’For me, if not for you.It was pure selfishness, and she grasped it. What was one more sin for the night?
‘No, my dearest, no. I’m ready. I was ready before he took me out of there.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Promise me before I go.’
‘No, please let him buy you time. I’m...’
But there was no honest way to finish the sentence. She was never going to be welcomed back. She clutched her skirt in bone-white fingers, hating the richly dyed wool. It was no help at all.
‘I’m sorry. I tried very hard to be good. And I did one thing.’ She wanted Ágnes to know. ‘I think I felt Them. It was so much more than you ever...’
Ágnes was still. Csilla wiped the woman’s forehead again, but the woman’s skin was no longer twitching under her touch, and when she put her palm to the sunken cheek there was no response. Her chest was unmoving. No breath. No pulse.
Impotent horror seized Csilla, denial thrumming with her heartbeat.
She’d seen this moment dozens of times, offered comfort. Why had no one ever told her there was no comfort to be had? Ágnes was with the eternal now, her work done. Her face had lost all its tension; there was clear peace. It was supposed to be a joyful time.
When Madame Varga died, a flood of divinity had healed her and brought her back, unblemished and as whole as Graced Rozalia. Csilla raised a hand, waiting for the shine.
Nothing.
Mihály reached for her, but she shifted away.
‘Csilla.’ His voice was tinged with hurt, but there wasn’t enough free in her to care.
‘She died, and my last words to her were defending you.’
She should have been thanking her, telling her how much she loved her, not filling her last moments with worry. She put herhand to Ágnes’s cheek, still warm, and stroked the thin hair that was straw-brittle under her fingers, until the woman’s chest was wet with drops of dark dampness on the mercy grey. The faithful spoke of turning their pain over to Asten, no burden too great for Them. It would be such a comfort to have that option. Csilla would have to keep everything alone. Whatever had touched her was gone.
‘Thank you for bringing me.’ She forced the grief down into numbness. It wasn’t easy; the grief was very large, and the heart that needed to hold it was broken. ‘We should go back. Madame Varga will wake up. She’ll want you there, and she’ll have questions.’ They wouldn’t have answers, but they could be there.
‘I don’t want to be there, so stay here as long as you need.’
Csilla frowned at the dismissal in his voice. The woman wasn’t overly kind, but she was still a person who shouldn’t have to come to in that horrible scene alone. ‘That’s cruel.’
Mihály recoiled.
‘Cruel? Do you even know what I’m doing for you? Do you think I like being surrounded by Evie’s things? Do you think I like sharing the old woman’s bed? Virtues and vices, the things I’ve done to her to keep her eyes off you, and you can’t even stay put and be grateful.’
‘You what?’ Csilla spun, fists clenching. Something flashed back in her mind, a diluted memory of being choked by the scent of goat’s milk and roses, a dark pleasure at the novelty of slitting the woman’s throat instead of kissing it.
Mihály’s laugh was bitter. ‘You think she lets me stay for old times’ sake? Because you’re such a dear? Darling, that’s why I didn’t want to go to her house in the first place. She’s wanted me ever since Evie first brought me home, and letting her have me was the quickest way to shut her up.’
‘That’s...’ It was more than a sin. It was cruelty itself. ‘She shouldn’t be allowed to live here.’ She shouldn’t be the one Asten chose to live. If Csilla had one miracle in her, it was wasted.
‘It’s not much of a sin. I agreed to it. Why I agreed doesn’t really matter.’
Horror and empathy warred in her chest. ‘You shouldn’t have...’
He smiled, but it was the hollow grin of a skull. There was no beauty to it. ‘It doesn’t matter what I do, I’m blessed.’
