Her sobs echoed in fresh memory with every breath, even the tolling of the bells faint to his ears.
They’d saved the Seal in a fashion, though now it was Mihály’s blood flowing within the sacred spaces. That was what he would have to focus on when he gave his report. The Church still had its divinity, though how this new magic could be used remained to be seen.
Even if Csilla’s ecstatic power proved something about it was wrong. The Incarnate wasn’t who had been called to save them.
‘Welcome.’ The Incarnate rose in greeting, serene and haloed by the cast of light off the diamonds and gold he wore. If he really spoke to Asten, it didn’t weigh on him.
It should weigh on him. Csilla had looked as stricken before the Seal as she had in the torture room, like it was no gift to be a conduit. The Incarnate had the same aura as his father or any of the other governing cats prowling with as much attention on their physical wares as their souls. The Incarnate knew his power, clearly, but no more than any mortal man of privilege.
Csilla hadburnedwith holy fire. She’d had a fever-sweat on her and skin that shone like porcelain as he’d pulled her up the stairs, her shivers rocking them both as he held her in the dim corridor until she calmed enough to walk. Calmed... more a shock-induced tranquillised state... enough to where the screaming at the blood upon their emergence hadn’t broken through her haze. All she’d wanted to look at was Arany, her gold now running like a rock-cutting mountain stream, the people gathering with joy and splashing in the proof of their righteousness like children finding a puddle on a scorching day.
Mercies, how his head ached.
‘Ilan.’ Prelate Abe stood behind the Incarnate, even the deep angel-embroidered red of his robes austere in comparison to the lustre on Asten’s chosen. ‘We’re waiting for the truth of what happened.’
He had to tell them. It was his duty. He wouldn’t forswear his vows.
And yet when he took a breath to speak, he found himself still. He was always careful with his punishments. He would be equally careful with his words.
‘We’ve been the victims of a group of Apostate infiltrators.’
‘Not soldiers from Seda?’
Of course his mind was still on his war.
‘Not ones aligned with their beliefs, though they’ve borrowed some of their techniques.’ The explosive sabotage, for one. ‘They are part of a group that believes the key to the return is forcing humanity to confront its darkness. They summoned a demon. The demon used the Izir to kill, destroying the territory tethers, and ended up in Sandor. A conspirator.’ The recitation of facts was barely any explanation at all. ‘Their goal was to destroy the Seal so that the Church could no longer banish Shadow, and let things play out as they would. It would have pleased Seda, but they weren’t their soldiers.’
‘So I’ve been told. And is that all they believed?’ There was a knowing glitter in the man’s eyes.
‘I’m not aware.’ He’d left a life of politics, but it wasn’t that he couldn’t see the pieces of the game. Accusing the Incarnate now, with nothing but assumptions and dead bodies behind him, would take him from a lauded place of strength into somewhere with much weaker footing. ‘There is nothing more I can say.’
The Incarnate’s lips pressed into a satisfied smile. So, silence was the answer he’d wanted.
‘And you banished the demon, even with your power taken? And then had the idea to use the Izir’s blood.’
The warm approval in the tone chafed. Ilan wasn’t entirely sorry to see Mihály gone, but the death of an Izir deserved respect.
He shifted, looking down at the aisle cloth leading to the Incarnate’s seat. It was barely worn, the fabric still white. A reminder of how privileged this audience was, and how it demanded the truth. And with the Seal restored, they could see lies.
‘I didn’t.’
The Incarnate pursed his lips. ‘But the only other person down there was that mercy girl. The one who was cast out, if I’m not mistaken.’
Ilan didn’t say anything.
‘How?’ Now it was Abe who looked concerned. ‘Csilla has no soul. She shouldn’t have any access to power. I cut her, but it was just for her own sake...’
‘Asten worked through her, and the Izir’s blood saved us. A miracle.’ Let them think it was a singular event. Let them let her go. It was the threat to power, not the heresy, that had put the first target on Mihály.
‘That’s a large claim.’ The Incarnate’s eyes glittered in a way that set Ilan’s lip to curling. ‘How do you know it was Asten? Perhaps more than one demon was present. We know there is only one Incarnate.’
And would you prove it? Would you let us test it with your lips to a bottle of poison?Csilla would.
Ilan swallowed. ‘She was able to touch his soul. She was the one who saved us.’ He hadn’t been able to see it, but he’d seen her. Righteous and broken and brave.
‘She says she spoke for Asten, when that is a power reserved for me and mine. To allow others to lie about holy matters is to risk our perfection.’ The disapproval in his tone was one step from an execution order, and Abe’s face was grim agreement.
If Ilan said it wasn’t a lie, he’d be branded a liar himself. So he remained silent, to see what path the Incarnate’s words would lay.
