The pain was meant to remind the sworn of the gravity of their choice and the care required when using hands for holy work. Her stomach turned, threatening to reject the sweets and tea.
‘I need to go.’
Mihály held up his hands, backing away. ‘I’m sorry. I understand. I have scars myself.’
She raised an eyebrow. He appeared flawless from where she sat, even the shadows laying like adornment on his high cheekbones and soft lips.
‘I want to show you my research,’ he continued. ‘I think you’ll find it interesting. And I think you could be of great help to me.’
‘Help?’
She tilted her head, the word catching her like a fish on a line. What help did he think she could possibly give him?
‘I research souls.’
Her flare of interest only increased her agitation. Listening to any of this was pointless when she’d already as good as killed him. ‘But you said you can’t make one.’
‘I can’t,’ he admitted. ‘It’s hard to explain here. As you may have guessed, it’s not exactly in line with Silgard’s... ethics.’ He spoke quickly and settled on the final word as if it were a compromise.
Her brows drew together. Something more outlandish than what he was already preaching?
‘You’re an Apostate?’
There were pockets of them throughout the Immaculate Union, preaching corruptions of doctrine, making their own invocations and pretending they were the same as good work. They were little spots of blight doctored by the Servants of the Road.
‘No, by the saints, though I certainly have a large enough flock.’ He looked more amused than offended. ‘I’ll show you tomorrow if you’ll let me. Trust me, it’s something you’ll want to see.’
A shiver of curiosity went through her. This was the closest she’d ever had to divinity speaking directly to her, filtered as it was.
But then the words hit.
‘Tomorrow?’
It had to be today. She wouldn’t have the guts to leave and come back, now that she’d sat in his home and spoken to him as a man and not a target. A warning sat in the back of her mouth, coming closer to escaping with every second she absorbed his kindness. She’d had so little in her life, she’d taken to it like drought-baked dirt welcoming rain.
‘I’m sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Surely you weren’t thinking of walking back alone? The lamps will be dark by now.’
Arany’s Seal was dark too. The reminder of the dying magic set her shoulders back.
He was damnedly right about the threat, but her part in Asten’s plan for him was done. She could go back to the Church and no one would ever question her faith and place again.
That was what the pain in her hand had meant. What this new ache in her chest was. They were as good as words from above telling her it was time to return with her head held high.
And she didn’t want to watch something so beautiful die.
‘I’ll be fine. I’m warm already. I was born in this city.’ She stood, brushing off her skirts as she made a wall between them with her protests. ‘If I don’t go, they’ll wonder where I am.’ That was true enough.
His eyes narrowed. ‘A girl was murdered by the river, and she wasn’t the only body. Do you even know what the people are saying? There’s a devil stalking the streets.’
She reflexively glanced outside at his words. Even an Izir shouldn’t call ill luck so openly.
‘You’re the only trouble I’ve heard of. And this city is protected from devils.’
‘I was speaking figuratively.’ The teasing lilt to his voice died. ‘You really don’t know about the deaths?’
She had seen the strange bodies leaving the city, but that wasn’t the same as knowing. She shook her head.
