‘You’re not in the shape to go anywhere.’
She frowned but didn’t shake him off. Or pull her hand away.
‘That doesn’t matt—’
‘That’s the only thing that matters.’ The divine might be waiting, but they had very human concerns at the moment. Csilla’s pain. His own exhaustion. Hunger and filth.
‘We can’t just give up.’ But as she tried to get her feet under her, her shoulder twisted forward and she gasped, soft lips pulling back to show teeth.
‘If you keep going, you’re going to be cold. Tired. In more pain than you are now.’
She deflated, sinking into the stuffed mattress. ‘No good to anyone at all, you mean.’
‘Not what I said.’ She was so much more than what she could do for others. ‘But if that’s what gets you to stay here, then yes.’
She squeezed his hand, and though there was no shine, the warmth of her fingers kindled a heat. He pulled away, and she looked down, hands bunching in his sheets.
‘Fine.’
‘Good. I’ll lock the door.’ She’d be safe while he robbed the dead.
‘Where are you going?’ Panic coloured her voice as she reached for him again, and he forced himself to step out of the grasp of her stretched fingers. There would be no further contamination of her holiness.
‘To get things for you. Clothes. Food.’
She brightened at that, the first spark he’d seen in far too long. Then she settled on her side, taking his pillow and cradling it against her. He turned to stop looking at the sight she made.
‘Be quick then, will you?’
‘As quick as I can.’
?
‘Did you know she was special?’
The corpse didn’t answer; of course she didn’t. It was a struggle to get the robes over stiff arms, and he apologised silently as a rough tug sent her neck lolling. Church dead were never sent out with even their clothing; cloth was far too dear to waste. That didn’t mean Csilla would have appreciated seeing this.
‘You must have known something.’ He’d never had much cause to speak with Ágnes, save at clergy meetings; he preferred to take care of himself and leave the mercy crews out of it. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have spent so much time on her.’
But maybe Ágnes had just been better than the rest of them.
There wasn’t much in the kitchen, either; they’d taken what was good to the families housing the displaced clergy. The onions and potatoes that had been left were spongy with rot, and the bread that had been missed was stale. It was still better than nothing.
He opened the door quietly when he returned, in case Csilla was sleeping. By her quiet, even breaths, she was, but there weredamp spots on the pillow. Ilan folded up the robe and placed it by her head when he caught sight of her splayed hand. The chaffing on her wrist, the angry red where he’d tied the leather, was gone. Sucking in a breath, he leaned forward, combing back a thick hank of her hair and tugging down the neckline of her shift enough to see what had just been bruise-mottled skin.
She looked untouched. Freshly born.
A prayer rested on his lips as he knelt beside her in silent worship as she slept on the altar of his bed. It wasn’t miracle enough to be worth waking her for, but it was a miracle all the same.
33
Csilla
Ágnes’s robes were heavy, the hood drawn so far down she had to turn her whole head to see anything but the shade of the cloth. She traced the embroidered poppies on the rough fabric, loose threads she had sewn back herself for practice, the hem worn ragged from walking the streets in service. They had been well-filled in their life and even now kept her safe, knowledge that was an ache in her heart with each whisper of fabric on rubble. If anyone looked, they would see a mercy worker sweeping up ash and stone, persevering in caring for what had already been lost. She wouldn’t give them a chance to see her face or cross-marked hand. She wouldn’t let them see what she was really looking for.
And Mihály still hadn’t returned, though she glanced at the open gates time and time again. It had only been a day and some hours, but it took mere moments for things to go wrong.
She pushed another chunk of broken rock, bringing a puff of pale dust with it. A small, annoyed meow echoed from the hollow in the wall.
