‘I’m sworn to follow Asten. There have been missteps in the past. I’m making sure Sandor isn’t another one.’
The passion in his words reminded her of Mihály, when he was lecturing her about his theories, but the name was unfamiliar.
‘Sandor? Which church did he come from?’ She hadn’t heard of any priests on the way to Silgard from other territory basilicas or smaller houses of worship.
‘Directly from the Incarnate’s warfront.’
She gave a disbelieving cough, then smothered it. Directly from the warfront, and Ilan was questioning it. There was having a suspicious nature, and then there was wounded pride making more than there was of a situation. She’d always respected Ilan’s role, if not liked it, but being bullied over what amounted to aprofessional rivalry...
She shook her head. ‘If your position has been taken from you, I’m sorry for that. But we don’t get to choose how we serve, and—’
‘The fact that Sandor let you go is proof enough he doesn’t understand our city and should return those reins to me.’
Let her go.A new thought dawned.
‘You didn’t tell him what . . . who . . . I am.’
For all his anger and suspicion, Ilan hadn’t said a thing about her soulless nature or shown the man her crossed palm.
Ilan blinked, face shifting in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised it himself. ‘No. I didn’t.’
Csilla let out a soft breath, twisting her hands together. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to hear him out. Ilan was the striking hand of the same Church that wanted Mihály gone, but he also had details they needed.
‘If you let me take you to Mihály, he can explain things better than I can. But you have to listen. Regardless of what heresy you hear, you have to remember that we are trying to save the city. Like you.’
Ilan’s jaw tightened, weighing the choice. Finally, he gave a little nod.
Csilla swallowed hard and motioned for him to follow her. He was no demon, but angels had once been equally terrifying in their justice – perhaps all the more so because the punishments they dealt were deserved.
15
Csilla
Csilla slunk into the foyer, cringing at the scrape of door over jamb that echoed over-loudly in the early morning silence. Ilan clucked his tongue as his gaze swept the walls papered in striped pink and gilt and the stained cherry wood of the stairs.
‘So this is the Varga house.’
His tone was dry, unimpressed. No doubt it was too ostentatious for his tastes. Ágnes had been right to look at her with such concern. In these clothes, in this place, it would be hard for anyone to believe she hadn’t abandoned everything she’d been brought up to value. Or trust how dearly she wished to go back to it.
Where should she take him? Csilla bit her lip. This wasn’t the cathedral, and she didn’t know the household’s rhythms. If she left Ilan while fetching Mihály, some servant might stumble across him and set off a panic before she even had time to come up with a plausible explanation.
‘This way, please’ she said, leading him past stone-eyed portraits of ancestors to the room she stayed in, though having him near where she slept shifted her stomach.
The bed had been made with an invitingly fresh quilt sometime in her unwilling absence, and the plumped pillows set off an aching desire to lie down and be warm. There were newdresses draped across a chair as well, piled embroidered rose and gold and summer-sky blue, a layered cake of luxury waiting for her. She held her head up, imagining this was her normal routine and she didn’t stink of cellar dirt. With stiff arms she transferred the pile to the bed, resisted the plush call once more, and gestured to the chair.
‘Please sit. I’ll go get Mihály.’
Surely he could hear her heart hammer as she left. What had she done, bringing him here? If this was some kind of ruse, they’d face worse than jail with what she’d admitted. Mihály thought they had been brought together for a purpose, but there was only so long even Asten’s grace would stall.
Mihály’s room was empty.
Csilla groaned. Was he trying to find her? Perhaps he didn’t know that she’d been let go and was looking for him.
The thought unspooled a little of the frustration. It was warming to imagine someone bothering to check after her when she’d spent so long ignored in the cathedral’s corners.
And it was better than imagining he’d forgotten about her and traipsed home with someone adoring as soon as she was out of sight, not even realising there had been any fuss at all.
She shut the door and leaned back against it with a heavy breath, letting the wood take the full weight of her exhaustion for precious stolen seconds. But that was all she could allow herself with the wolf waiting.
