Night brought with it a fresh fall of silence as Ilan escorted Csilla to the cells holding the prisoners. She’d said that when the Incarnate touched her, he hadn’t known her. It didn’t seem possible that whatever Tamas had done could silence the voice of Asten, but either Csilla was lying, or the Incarnate was. One of those seemed more likely than the other.
Tamas sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, unbothered by his lack of over clothing or the dingy surroundings. Perhaps his long association with evil burned him from the inside, for he didn’t even shiver at the cold that seeped up through Ilan’s boots. For so many nights the image of their enemy had just been a wisp of candle smoke in the dark, and now he was here. The placidity of the man’s lined face unnerved him. He should be begging. He would beg.
‘The inquisitor.’ Tamas’s mouth worked awkwardly as he spoke, jaw swollen and yellowing with a bruise in the shape of Mihály’s fist.
Csilla stepped right to the bars of the cell, an odd note of pity on her face. Of course she could dredge up sympathy for an enemy.
‘Ah,’ Tamas continued, tilting his chin. ‘And the mercy girl. Here to stand for me? I tried to save you, you know. How many times did I ask you to leave?’
Only Ilan could see her tremble. ‘You did, and at least three. And for that I’ll bring you water and a blanket, so you don’t suffer before you die. I’ll pray; death is not the worst thing that can happen if you confess and accept your punishment. But I can’t defend you.’
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded, approving. ‘Perhaps you’ll survive the coming Shadow after all.’
Ilan stepped to her side, resisting the urge to put a steadying hand on her back.
‘Is that what you wanted, then? Demons can’t be controlled. You’ve only damned yourself.’
‘Perhaps I have. Perhaps I’m truly serving the divine, more than anyone else here in this overbuilt cage of stone and gold ever has.’ He dragged his knuckles over the rusted bars in emphasis.
‘How would death serve Them?’ Csilla’s voice was cut with anger.
‘Any chance we had at true faith was stolen when Arany left her mark on the world. Just a little bit of stolen divinity, vague enough that the Church could twist it to suit its own needs.’
‘You may have broken Silgard, but you didn’t win.’ She nodded, firm. ‘There are still priests who can fight.’
Not many, and not well. And not when they didn’t know where an enemy would turn up next. Not when the next body it took could be someone dear.
‘There’s nothing towin, child. Everything, the false safety you cling to, that warmonger on his throne, everything but that blood in the dirt is a lie. Go see what’s left for yourself.’
That was what they wanted to do. It sent a curl of wrongness to him that Tamas would want that too.
‘You say I hate the Church,’ he continued. ‘I do hate the Church, but I love the Faith. Asten left us, and pretending They care how well we model piety and pray isn’t going to bring Them back. They never wanted this, never wanted us. Humanity has to stand alone through the long darkness to prove ourselves worthy and come out purified on the other side. The Seal was holding us back, not saving us. Has there been a single miracle in all the time we’ve kept the doctrine? Anything at all to show that the Church is right to keep us in its service?’
‘One,’ Ilan spoke up before Csilla. ‘There was one.’
Tamas sat back, mouth coy. ‘Indeed.’
Now Ilan leaned heavy on the bars. ‘Where did you send the demon?’
Tamas shrugged. ‘What makes you think I didn’t banish it now that our work is done?’
‘If we can’t, I know you can’t. Who did you send it to? How many of your people are in Silgard?’
‘A handful here, more elsewhere. Those of us who have seen enough to know how we’ve gone astray. Silgard’s walls are a blindfold.’
‘I don’t want your reasons. I want names and numbers. I want to know how we can stop this.’ Ilan reached forward but was stopped by Csilla’s hand on his arm.
‘We already have him here. You don’t have to hurt him further. He’s already going to die.’ She should hate him for what he did to her and the blood his zealotry put on her hands.
‘And I’ll give you one part for free,’ Tamas said, shifting so shadows fell across his face. ‘You can’t stop it.’
A dull clang of a foot hitting metal ricocheted, and Csilla stiffened.
‘Mihály.’ She gave another warning look at Ilan before hurrying to the other cell. He watched as she went to her knees and reached between the bars towards the angel tied in the dark and felt a dull, unwelcome ache.
Easier to think about hurting the man before him. He wrapped a hand around the bar and leaned forward again.
‘You’ll never be pardoned, but confessing now will save your soul.’
