?
The house was not as large as the cathedral sanctuary, but that was the only mark one could say against its grandeur. Csilla couldn’t keep her lips together as she stared at the carved flowers and doves over the lintel, grace and movement etched in flecked granite.
Mihály rapped on the door twice, and a servant in a starched green frock, a world cleaner than they were, answered. Csilla drew herself up, but since she was still only chest-height to Mihály, it barely made a difference. From over the servant’s shoulder, the sparkle of the lamps in the entryway set the dark wood of the banisters aglow, as polished as the golden holder of the Eye of Asten itself.
Mihály gave the man a charming smile. ‘Is the lady in? Tell her it’s Mihály.’
The servant looked them over for a moment; a quick scan of Csilla, a longer look at Mihály.
‘One moment,’ he said, shutting the door.
‘This is your friend?’ Csilla said, voice still half-hushed in awe. The widow Varga was well known across the city for both her wealth and tragedy, losing both her husband and daughter in the span of a month not even a year prior. ‘Mercies, why were you living in an attic when you could be here?’
Mihály was about to speak when the door opened again to reveal an older woman, her shoulders draped in silver fur from foxes that were rare everywhere but the farthest North and the heady scent of rosewater cream radiating from her skin. Despite the lines on her face and the thinness of her greying hair, she was a handsome woman, even more so up close than when parading into the cathedral on service days.
Csilla’s mind flitted back to Ágnes, her ashen skin and cough. This is what she should look like – with years of life still ahead.
‘Misi, oh my dear, do come in. You don’t even need to knock, you know.’ She reached over to brush overgrown strands of hair out of his eyes, letting her palm linger on his cheek before her eyes slid to Csilla. ‘Who is this?’
‘Csilla, a ward I’ve taken in as a new assistant. She’s very bright.’
Csilla smiled faintly at the compliment, though she knew it was a lie to make her presence go down more easily. It was at least better than wife.
The woman’s expression pinched, taking Csilla in feet to crown.
‘A very self-serving sort of charity.’
They were going to be turned away again, and Csilla would scream. She clasped her hands politely instead, squeezing until her fingers numbed.
Mihály waved his hand.
‘She’s my student. Please don’t misunderstand. Everyone else in the city seems to.’
Csilla dipped forward, smiling through her worry, putting on the face any orphan learned to give in front of prospective homes. A look that asked to be taken in and promised no trouble at all.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madame Varga.’ She tried to make it sound like it truly was.
‘Well, I suppose you can both come in.’ The widow glanced at what Mihály was carrying. ‘And your bags?’
‘I’m afraid I have to ask a favour. We are lacking in accommodation at the moment.’ There was a slight catch as each word left Mihály’s lips.
The woman’s eyes lit, a pink flush coming to her cheeks that took ten years off her face.
‘Of course, Misi, of course. You should have come when I asked you the first time. It’s not afavourto help your family.’
Family?Csilla mouthed, but the woman pulled a string that sent a brassy chime echoing through the house. The noise only punctuated the draughty silence in which it rang.
The servant appeared again, and Madame Varga raised a ringed hand.
‘Set them up in suites. Misi, would you like to stay in—’
‘A guest room will be more than enough.’ His voice cut so quickly that Csilla jumped. ‘I’ve no wish to disturb anything. But if you could provide something for Csilla?’
Her eyes softened, and she touched his cheek again. ‘Fine. It’s been too long since I’ve had guests. No one visits this cursed house.’ Her tone was light to the point of cracking.
Csilla shifted her eyes away even as curiosity gnawed at her. There were clearly threads between them, but she couldn’t gauge how tightly they were woven.
They were placed in suites at the opposite end of a wing that had been disused for some time, judging by the marks that their feet left in the dust. A pang of sympathy twinged in her. As large as it was, the cathedral had never felt as empty as this.
