He raised an eyebrow at her testiness, and she forced back another apology. She deserved to be cranky for a moment.
‘If he were as good at scenting holiness as he is corpses, we’d be set. But he doesn’t even seem to like Mihály.’
Mihály. The fact that the Izir wasn’t back was worrying in itself. They didn’t know where the demon was or what else Tamas might have planned.
This wasn’t how the cathedral was meant to be. Stripped of the human element, it was cold, only stone and wood and glass. Csilla swallowed a lump in her throat. Maybe she’d been alone in finding it a place of hope. Maybe there had never been more to it at all.
‘Did you hear that?’ Ilan asked, catching her arm and pulling her behind him. She hadn’t, too wrapped up in her own thoughts.
Ordinarily the footsteps would have been covered by voices and song, but in the silence they were clear. A door at the end of the hall creaked open, and two long shadows fell across the aisle.
Sandor. And Madame Varga behind him. The woman’s eyes were triumphant, but there was a tiny note of fear.
‘That’s the girl,’ the woman said. ‘The one who attacked me.’
Csilla’s mouth fell open. ‘But you’re fine, and we said...’
Sandor shook his head. ‘You said you were going to the cathedral to get help, and then you actually came here. Stupid. She had to find me herself and tell the story.’
‘There is no story,’ Ilan spat.
‘No story in a woman waking up surrounded by blood? A knife in the room?’ Sandor stepped closer. ‘Show me your hands, girl.’
Csilla clenched her fists. She’d washed, but she couldn’t have caught every drop. There would still be signs of blood in her nailbeds or in her hair.
‘The woman is alive.’ Ilan didn’t move from his place between Csilla and Sandor. ‘She clearly drank too much. Perhaps she cut herself, or maybe she’s yet to have her courses stopped. Blood alone is not evidence.’
Sandor’s snap of teeth was the grin of a trap closed on a fox’s leg.
‘Still, we have some questions. How can we not, with the killer we’ve been searching for no closer to being found, and here we have blood. Come, Ilan. If you’re so concerned with the truth, you can help. I wouldn’t have put you as one to ignore a potential lead.’
Csilla’s voice caught. Any truth would be punishment, a lie unacceptable. Sandor examined her face, her hands that weren’t quite clean enough. At least her cheek was better, only faint whitish lines where there had been inflamed scarlet.
The man rubbed the pad of his thumb against a suspicious crust on her nail.
‘And you say you had nothing to do with this? The woman was soaked in blood. The prints around her body were little feet.’
And if they removed Csilla’s boots they’d see the stains between her toes.
Ilan stepped in front of her.
‘The woman was able to call for help and tell you about it herself. There was clearly some accident, but not a crime.’
I did it.The confession was hot in her mouth. She could tell Sandor everything, about the demon, why the glass went dark, the murders and her own hand in them. She could touch his mark right now and show the lingering miracle.
But her confession would only make things worse, at least until they had Tamas. And if Ilan was right, she couldn’t trust anyone who claimed to belong to the Church.
‘Mihály came to get me. Madame Varga was sleeping when I left. She seemed fine.’ Not a confession, but still the truth, or part of it.
‘But you must have seen the blood. What did you think of that? And our local heretic? You seem closer to him than anyone.’
‘Suspiciously so,’ Madame Varga interjected, and hot anger bolted through Csilla. To have her of all people making accusations.
‘He stopped preaching heresy. At my request.’ She thought the admission would emphasise how good she’d been. Sandor only grimaced.
‘I was wrong to let you go the first time. Ilan, see if she’ll give you a better answer after twenty lashes.’
Csilla’s head swam, her breath freezing in anticipation of the pain.
