Torturing people for information? She chilled at the thought. The Church was there to protect the Faithful, and if it hurt them it was only in the name of salvation. Her eyes flickered to Ilan, but he remained in stony silence – no mention of the torture. Not even of the fact that there was no way to view her sins.
And she certainly had sins now. She shook her head.
The large man reached past Ilan, taking the key and freeing her.
‘Well then, we’re done here. And you,’ he said, eyes back on Csilla, ‘you’re always welcome to return with better information.’
Ilan’s fingers tightened around the bar, and his face took on a terrifying calm. ‘Come then, Csilla. I’ll take you home.’
He walked her out through the courtyard in tense silence.
‘I’m staying with the widow Varga.’ Csilla tried to fill the cold morning air with chatter, if only to stop Ilan from asking the questions he clearly wanted to. ‘She was very kind to take me in.’
Her head pounded, and she realised too late she should have asked for water while she was still in the cell. Mercy would have had them give it to her. He only answered with a consideringhmm, not looking at her. Even she wasn’t naive enough to think he’d forgotten the wrong she’d done. But maybe, if she was quick, she could stall it long enough to cross a friendlier threshold before being questioned. Use Mihály as her shield.
Mihály, who hadn’t come for her, even though he must have guessed. She had to soothe that anger, lull it into something harmless, before going back to him.
‘You know, I can find my way myself,’ she tried, walking a little faster. ‘Please, you’ve done more than enough.’
He gave her a slanted look that cut off her protests. As they rounded the corner to a deserted street, something changed in Ilan’s step. Csilla’s heart skipped, reacting to some instinct a half-second before he grabbed her and yanked her into an alley so quickly she couldn’t scream. He jammed his cane against her chest, the pricks of the ears on the silver wolf-head handle biting through her shift dress and into her sternum.
‘Now that we are alone, tell me the truth. What were you looking for?’ His eyes were icier than the midwinter wind.
Her heart hammered, but the rest of her was frozen, torn between the pain that would come from both lies and the truth. He tilted the cane slightly.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she spat, but her words died as she realised that was the point. He was no longer the Head of Justice, but he’d have the interrogation.
His eyes narrowed. The pressure grew until she was sure there would be spots of blood beneath her chemise and the imprint of brick on her back as she tried to shy away.
‘We want to find the killer,’ she forced out, and he withdrew the cane, a sweet relief. ‘He’s helping me save the city.’
She’d caught him by surprise. An awkward sense of pride cut her fear at the open confusion on his face. She had to take advantage of it.
‘I know the Church wanted him dead. If it’s willing to break its own laws, things must be dire.’ She couldn’t read what Ilan was thinking, but the fact that he clearly was thinking was a good sign. ‘I was looking at your things because I needed names to know where to start. And you showed me the demons, and I just talked to refugees from Ruze, and...’ Her rushing voice caught, remembering the fear in the woman’s eyes. ‘And I think you might be right.’
Ilan’s posture eased a fraction.
‘And I’m not going to say Mihály is perfect.’ She wasn’t entirely sure she would even say he was good. ‘But he is blessed. And he knows things.’
‘Does he have any leads?’ There was something new in his gaze now. Curiosity.
‘He has ideas.’ Terrible ideas, yes, but at least that was true. ‘And power. With the Incarnate gone, Mihály is the most blessed thing our city has.’
Ilan hesitated a moment, then stepped back. ‘I’d like to talk to him.’
Csilla stiffened. She’d meant to save herself, not set the idea out as bait. More time with Ilan was the last thing she wanted.
‘I’ll tell him, and we’ll send a message...’ That would give her a little time to confer with him at least.
‘Now will do.’
The stranger and his soft request for names came back to her. He’d been wearing the uniform that had once been Ilan’s.
‘And why didn’t you bring this up in front of the new inquisitor?’
He tapped his cane against the ground sharply next to her foot, and she winced, though it only hit stone. She shouldn’t have spoken, even if it was to remind him of what he should already know.
The ice in his eyes had turned to fire.
