‘I know there have been deaths, that’s all. But people make bad choices, even in Silgard.’
‘Some are saying the same person made the same bad choice four times.’
Csilla shook her head, keeping her gaze down so his worry wouldn’t sway her. That she wasn’t inclined to believe. Silgard was still a holy city, and people didn’t plan to sin, even if their Shadow natures sometimes got the better of them.
‘I’ll be fine.’ She would say it until it was true.
‘At least join me for the wine. Sleep will come more easily to me, and if you’re so convinced you have to leave, it’ll keep you warm on your walk.’
He took the bottle again, and Csilla winced at the sudden shine. After a moment it dulled to a tarnished silver, and he popped off the cork.
Csilla’s breath caught in her throat as he raised the bottle to his lips. There it was. Her truest moment of service.
‘Stop!’ She stepped forward, hands out and shaking.
He did, lowering the bottle and giving her a quizzical look. She squeezed her eyes shut to force back frustrated tears. She thought she’d be strong enough.
‘It’s . . . Don’t drink it. Please.’
Her voice was dull even to her own ears. He’d shared his home and hospitality, and she couldn’t let him die. Not even if it assured his place in the blessed ether and hers in the Brilliant City.
Asten would be as indifferent to her failure as to her life, but the Church elders, less so. She squeezed her eyes shut, haunted as she imagined Ágnes’s disappointed face. All the good she could have done dissolved in a moment of weakness. All those people damned because she couldn’t obey.
Shame filled her chest. She wasn’t a good servant after all.
‘What, is it poisoned?’ His amused expression hardened with the realisation. ‘You were going to poison me?’
Csilla spun and charged to the window. Wind slapped her face as she sat on the ledge, preparing to swing down.
‘Who wants me dead? What’s going on?’ Mihály’s voice rose as he reached for her.
The urge to run converged with pity in her chest at his stricken expression.
‘The Church. You’re not safe here, Izir.’
His hand caught the curve of her cheek, forcing her to look fully into his eyes, and she froze at the touch.
‘And what will happen to you when you tell them you failed? Will you be safe?’
Csilla swallowed, unable to control her tremble at his concern, and the knowledge that he was right about the threat. She was hoping to not have to tell them anything.
‘Stay here tonight, then come with me. It’s not that far past the gates.’ His eyes were shining, convincing, that lulling voice so tempting until the words themselves registered.
‘Outside Silgard?’ She jerked her head away. ‘Be glad I warned you.’
‘Oh, I am.’ Mihály looked at the bottle. ‘What is the poison?’
‘Why?’
He swirled the contents, a black whirlpool in green glass. ‘When you tell them, they might want details of how I met my demise.’
Csilla swallowed. ‘Scorn’s Friend.’
He snorted. ‘I’d have thought I rated something more elegant than that. No nightlight tonic to send me gently to the evermore?’
What a bizarre man. ‘I didn’t have a say.’ She twisted her hips further from him, closer to escape.
Mihály sighed. ‘No matter. When that poison is administered, the throat closes first. It’s useful in crowded spaces because the victim rarely has time to scream or gasp. The face will turn violet, and when they die there will be a large exhale as the muscles relax. There’s no sweat or vomit.’
