‘But sending the bodies outside... and I saw the dying Seal.’ There was no pretty way to excuse that.
Ágnes took her hand. ‘Yes, the Seal is suffering with the fear and lack of faith in the city, and wild rumours will only make it worse. Don’t add to it any more than you already have. Please.’
Csilla clenched her teeth and nodded, though the rebuke hurt. Ágnes had been so quick to accept Csilla’s role in the Church and now was treating her like a child again.
‘Rest. They won’t begrudge me one night. I’ll sit a vigil for you and see you off in the morning.’
The woman could sit a year’s worth of vigils and it wouldn’t change anything.
‘You don’t have to.’
Ágnes touched Csilla’s head lightly and turned towards the door.
‘I want to.’
Csilla nodded, all further protests wrapping up inside herself. If there was one thing she knew about prayer, it was that it wasn’t always for the sake of the person being prayed for.
Her eyes fell again to her bandaged palm, drops of red seeping through. If only there were a way to convince the Faith she wasn’t worthless. She couldn’t even comfort Ágnes, so clearly shaken. The fear wasn’t just outside. The Church was walking the line of its own tenets to get to the heart of it.
A frantic idea took flutter inside. Mihály knew about magic and souls, might know something of the trouble with the Seal and the fear eroding it. And right now, he was one of the most connected men in the city, with followers who would give him information. She nodded to herself, each motion deliberate and steadying. The Church would never work with a heretic, but, soulless and outcast, she could. She could help the city. She could help herself.
?
Csilla fretted and dozed until well past the midnight bells, only getting up when it was safer to wander. Stained-glass windows and the milky white candles below them illuminated the hallways, the cold eyes of angels and saints and Blessed Asten in all Their aspects heavy on her. She couldn’t even lower her gaze to escape; the glass cast coloured flecks underfoot and she walked on ripples of sanctified light.
Behind her came the quick padding of a cat, and Csilla paused to let her catch up. At least someone cared enough to check on her.
She approached the cathedral library as if the door itself might have teeth, but the latch was plain iron, worn down with years of finger pressure. She slid it out and pushed, only to find there wasno give. Csilla pursed her lips. She’d meant to see if she could find anything about the Seal, the deaths, or even the strange theories Mihály seemed to have, but someone had it bolted from the inside.
She stiffened and pressed her ear to the door, but the thick wood muffled any sounds, and the only thing she caught was the echo of a cough. Maybe she could hide in an alcove and wait for whoever it was to emerge. Depending on exactly what they were researching, it could be hours. It wasn’t unheard of for particularly deep studies to take days. The head archivist once took his meals inside for a month.
Erzsébet chirped before giving a pleased meow as she rubbed against Csilla’s legs, ignoring the fingers that tried to hush her. She meowed again, louder, waiting for a response with no care for the secrecy of the mission, only protest that she wasn’t being included.
There was no reasoning with cats.
Csilla picked her up to stop her fussing, letting their foreheads bump together.
‘We have to be quiet,’ she whispered, snuggling the cat against her chest, wincing as kneading claws dug into the fabric of her overdress.
Maybe Mihály liked cats. If she could sneak Erzsébet out, at least she’d have one friend in wherever her new home was to be.
Erzsébet meowed loudly with fresh insult at whatever it was about being gently held that offended cats, mouth wide enough to show little fangs and pink tongue, and before Csilla could shush her again, the door opened.
Ilan. Looking even more worse for wear than perhaps she was, his eyes rimmed in bruise-like dark and his skin wax pale.
Csilla froze. There wasn’t anywhere to run, or any way to pretend she hadn’t been trying to get in.
The inquisitor leaned against the door frame, annoyance giving way to momentary surprise.
‘You’re supposed to be gone.’ His voice dripped with exhaustion.
You’re supposed to be asleep.
‘I will be, in the morning. I just wanted to look at something.’ Not a lie, at least.
‘What could you possibly need in here?’
‘I...’ Erzsébet squeezed out of the sudden constriction of Csilla’s clenching arms and leaped to the floor with an all-over shake. ‘My own records. I should copy down my birth record if I’m to live elsewhere.’ That was also true, even if it wasn’t what she intended to do.
