‘What is this?’
Csilla removed her hand and let the light die.
‘Asten,’ she said quietly.
He breathed what sounded like a prayer.
‘You were right.’ This was the only card she had now, and she’d play it even if it was played to lose. ‘Madame Varga’s blood was on me. It could have been a tragedy. But They saved her, through me.’ She met his gaze. ‘I don’t know why or how. But I believe I can restore the Seal’s power. It might be our only chance.’ She reached for him in an offering of peace, but he shied away from her touch.
‘And you haven’t brought this to the Incarnate?’ The words dripped with censure.
Csilla swallowed. It was a question, not a statement that he would tell. That was a good sign, but something in her shrunk back at the sight of him, the smudging scent of smoke from his oil lamp. The bruises may have faded quickly, but the memory of the cane strikes and the snide way he’d ordered them weren’t so easily erased.
‘No.’ Ilan saved her from having to answer. ‘We have reason to think he wouldn’t agree.’
Sandor seemed to chew on that for a moment.
‘Wouldn’t agree to the restoration of the Church’s power?’
Csilla didn’t blame him for the suspicion in his voice. She swallowed. Two nooses could just as easily become four.
It was Mihály who spoke up this time.
‘Not if it showed him to be powerless.’
‘Powerless.’ There was an odd note in Sandor’s echo, like the dull splash of a stone sinking in still water.
Ilan’s brows drew together. ‘And you’re hardly innocent. You lied about serving with him—’
‘Out of convenience and for the sake of efficiency,’ Sandor bit. ‘Part of that darkness on my soul you saw, perhaps. And as I said, I did serve. Not recently. But not nearly long enough ago.’
‘And while you were out there leading the Church to glory or whatever they tell you, did you see or hear of any miracle done at his hands? You were the one who brought the Varga woman back here. Did she tell you about the attack?’
Sandor looked Csilla down again. ‘She remembered being stabbed and seeing a cloud of black. She didn’t say anything about the . . .’ He looked at as if the word didn’t want to leave his throat. ‘The miracle you describe.’
Ilan stepped in front of her. ‘You saw how much blood there was, and you could see for yourself there was no wound. What’s your explanation? From what you know of the Incarnate, if we told him this girl was a breathing miracle, that she brought someone back to life...’
I didn’t. Csilla thought. She felt swept up as if caught in a river tide. She hadn’t done anything except be there, but when she tried to explain, her mouth stayed closed.
‘Do you think he would set aside everything else and let her try?’ Ilan continued ‘Do you serve the man or the Faith? If we’re wrong and he legitimately serves the divine, he’ll be nothing but pleased with our success. If we’re wrong, he’ll kill her before we have a chance.’
‘You think he’ll put his pride over the safety of...’ Sandor paused for long seconds, flickering light creating doubtful expressions. ‘Never mind. I saw him at war. I know he will. He’s not a man who thinks he can lose.’
Csilla put all the pleading of a prayer into her voice. She didn’t want to trust him, but with no way to deny what he’d seen, all she could do was hope for a miracle of conversion to their cause.
‘There are a few priests who can still banish, but how many, and for how long? The blood will catch up sooner or later. Help us try. Or at least, please don’t stand in our way. I know what a horror it is to lose yourself, to be forced to do things you would never.’
Something unreadable passed over his face, a purse of lips and half a sigh.
‘And we’ve no hope, except for you.’ The pointed note in his tone pricked her aching heart. She was exceptional and limited, and all they had.
‘Except for me.’ Her throat burned with swallowed tears. ‘And I can’t be enough. I can’t be everywhere. I can’t save everyone. Only those here.’
Sandor looked past her to Mihály, rubbing at his neck. ‘Including him?’
‘Including him,’ Csilla said firmly. ‘And myself.’ The second part was quieter.
‘And what of Tamas?’ Sandor turned towards the far cell. ‘Are you offering a blanket forgiveness with your miracle?’
