The answering laugh was hollow. ‘And if I say my soul is fine, you have no way to verify.’
It was true and caustic.
‘At least confess that the Izir had nothing to do with it, and they’ll let him go. You can do that much.’ That was almost a lie; Ilan wasn’t sure of it at all.
Tamas shook his head. ‘He didn’t plan to kill, but he had everything to do with it.’
There was an answering slam of a heel against metal and a grunt from further down, Csilla jumping back with soothing words.
‘Were you also the one who burned the cathedral? More ritual? Or was that simple distraction?’ Tamas had known where they were and that Csilla had to be alone. The man inclined his head, a teacher’s quiet praise of a clever student.
‘Shall I confess something you don’t know, Inquisitor? Something that might help you understand why I did what I did? Come closer. I’d like to see your face when you hear, and Misi broke my glasses.’
Good for him.
‘There is nothing that would justify what you did.’ He would know. Ilan had spent his whole life weighing one thing againstanother, finding the purest path. There was no justice that could balance the current suffering.
‘I tried to kill Csilla to save her from all this,’ he said. ‘Tried to poison her as surely as your Church tried to kill Misi. But she walked away.’
Ilan didn’t trust himself to speak as a slow rage spread, crimson licking the edges of his vision.
‘Tried to save yourself so she wouldn’t get close enough to figure out what you were doing.’
The man gave a little laugh.
‘It was kill her or use her to kill. Two sides of a coin. Do you think she’ll like remembering cutting that woman’s throat? But it doesn’t matter. She lived. And so did the Varga woman.’
‘You made a mistake.’ It was common enough for a physician to mix up one bottle with another, or not realise a herb had lost its potency. Even the most experienced mercy worker sometimes showed up with a confession that the mushroom they thought would nourish had turned out to be something fatal.
‘I did indeed, but not the one you think. What does it mean, when a poison neutralises on the tongue?’
It was a question for first-year seminary.
‘The miracle of Imre. A few Izir also share the gift, but we would have known if she were that blessed.’ If only she had been from the outset. She would have served the world so much better than the man tied up scant feet from them. Her life would have been quiet, and happy.
‘The incorruptible tongue, the miracle of Imre, and every Incarnate after him. Or so they say.’ The man glanced aside, though from the angle there was no way he could see Csilla. ‘I don’t think they actually make them drink to prove themselves.’
‘Impossible.’ His head pounded with the idea. ‘She would know.’ The entire point of the Incarnate was as a conduit. There was something special about her, but she didn’t hear Them.
‘We succeeded in breaking every other ward. Including whatever was on her; I wasn’t the one who made a mistake. I just wasn’t open to the impossible.’ He shut his eyes momentarily. ‘I didn’t expect my little angel to end up with a perfect saint in his ear.’
A saint. More than a saint, the true Incarnate, the one human hand allowed to brush the edge of the Severing and hear a part of the divine will. He turned his head to look at Csilla kneeling in the shadows, stroking Mihály’s bound hands while silver danced around them.
‘Now where did the demon go? You’ll die soon enough. Telling me won’t erase your victory.’
‘As you will.’ There was a dark glint in his eye. ‘I’ve already been a far better servant than you.’
The man’s fingers were callused, but no trace of burns or caustic oils. Ilan grabbed his smallest finger.
He hesitated. Tamas would scream, and Csilla would find a new reason to fuss.
But he had tried to kill her.
Now the man flailed, a fish caught on a barbed hook as Ilan twisted. The joint separated with a rewarding pop and an even more satisfying scream.
‘You’re going to say what you like regardless of what I do,’ Tamas hissed as Ilan moved to his ring finger. ‘I’ve told you all I will. I’ll accept the rope around my neck.’
‘Oh, this is just because I want to.’ He twisted the second finger, bending it back and stretching skin and tendon as the man’s eyes went glassy with pain. Leaning close, Ilan could see his reflection, sharp and well-justified.
