‘The Incarnate speaks for Asten and Their will. Do you deny it?’ With every word Abe closed the space between them.
‘No.’ But she’d never met the Incarnate directly, only seen him in his coat of dazzling silver riding far from the people he guided. She’d felt Mihály’s power on her skin.
‘Then you admit you think yourself above him?’
Prelate Abe was close enough now to fill her vision, and the waft of sandalwood clinging to his robes mixing with the kitchen scents curled her stomach. It was the smell of a place of comfort, even as he shifted his knife.
‘Of course not!’ Csilla’s voice coloured in despair. ‘I don’t understand why you’re acting like I’ve done some horrible thing when all I did was choose not to kill someone.’
She didn’t want to be disobedient, but they had to understand that it was too much to ask. No matter how they justified it, it was wrong. If it hadn’t been, one of them would have gone instead. There would have been no question of sin or glory.
The Prelate’s eyes darkened. ‘You didn’t just fail, then. You refused to protect the Church.’
The truth of that slid between her ribs, hitting vital spots.
‘Then I was weak, and I’m sorry.’ She glanced towards the inquisitor standing at attention in the doorway, his face a mask. He no doubt already had an appropriate consequence in mind. Hopefully she came out of it with all her fingers. ‘If you’re going to punish me, fine, please at least wait until I’ve finished here. People are hungry.’ Others shouldn’t have to suffer for her failure.
Abe cleared his throat. ‘There’s no sense in cleaning your soul when you don’t have one.’
The words dropped like stones in still water. They would kill her.
‘Send me to the front.’
Even as the words left her mouth, she knew the hope was fool’s gold. More and more people had been conscripted for the holy task of bringing the broken territories back into the fold, ensuring the Union’s borders spread the breadth of the land in hopes that it would coax Asten into a full return. A place in the war was a common punishment, one that came with the promise of inherent salvation in taking blows for the mission. And where there were injured, there was a need for nursing.
She would gladly accept that. It would be a gift.
‘No. You will never represent the Faith again, not even on the battlefield. You’ll leave with no tongue to speak of what happened and fewer fingers to sign and write.’
Fear drenched Csilla. She’d live on charity, if she managed to live at all. She’d seen wounds full of gangrene and people who starved after that kind of sentence.
‘Prelate, please.’ It was Ágnes who stepped in front of her. ‘Her life will be hard enough. No one will believe anything she says regardless.’
‘Of course a mercy worker would think so.’ He turned to Ilan. ‘Inquisitor. Give me your honest opinion of our justice.’
Csilla met Ilan’s pale blue eyes. He wouldn’t be swayed by pleading, but she could at least keep her chin up and hope.
‘I told you I’d do what was asked.’
Of course he wouldn’t speak for her. He was probably looking forward to hearing her scream.
‘I know we have your loyalty, Ilan. I asked for your honesty. Our Head of Mercy has asked for her virtue to reign in this judgement. As Head of Obedience, I disagree. I see no reason to call for Knowledge, but I will let Justice be the deciding vote.’
Ilan’s eyes didn’t leave Csilla, but there was a distance to his gaze that had her doubt he was seeing her at all. Whatever he was thinking, it was a private war in which she was a piece, not a person.
After too-long seconds, he stepped back and crossed his arms.
‘Honestly? I’d rather we bring the Izir here directly. Punish the source of the crime not your own mis...’ He closed his mouth and took a moment as Csilla gaped and the Prelate inclined his head in silent warning. ‘She failed at an unfair task. But, again, I defer to the will of the divine.’
The Prelate looked between his Head of Justice and the Head of Mercy, then at Csilla herself. Her first instinct, trained when she was small and unloved, was to smile and placate, and by his blink of surprise, she hadn’t quite smothered it. Not many smiled in the face of execution.
‘Very well. We will only take back your place.’
Perhaps there was the smallest note of relief in the Prelate’s voice; Csilla herself was too relieved to notice.
‘And I thank you for that,’ Ágnes said quietly as she moved to put an arm across Csilla’s chest and laid her head against Csilla’s own. ‘Be brave.’
Her arms had no strength to hold, but Csilla stood frozen anyway, the realisation of what Abe was about to do finally landing.
