‘Yes.’ That wasn’t the whole of it, but it couldn’t be denied. ‘He told me a little about his past. Told me he was jealous of my being an orphan, in fact.’
Tamas snorted. ‘That doesn’t surprise me; from what I understand of his parents they nursed bottles more than their children. He comes by his vices honestly. Though if divine will made any sense it would have stopped any power from manifesting again in that line.’
‘It was kind of you to mentor him.’ Even if it came late in life, she knew the influence that just one caring figure could have.
‘Well maybe I didn’t have a choice in that, in the grand scheme of things. And now that he’s told you his sad tale, you feel like you don’t either.’
She pursed her lips and rose before he could criticise her empathy again. ‘I should go.’
‘Then let me give you something against the night.’ He stood and went to a shelf of tins and bottles, picking up one that lit under his touch. Consecrated glass, but old.
Csilla kept her hands in her lap, fingers tightly laced.
‘What is it?’ She’d nearly had enough of holy touches; they never seemed to work out like she wanted.
‘Old habits in places from when the angels and demons were around to teach us. They say the well it came from was blessed.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘Maybe it will do you a little good, anyway.’ He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. ‘If nothing else, the liquor in it will warm you.’
‘But you’re not a priest anymore.’
He waved his hand at her. ‘I was when I blessed this bottle. That is good enough. Humour an old man, will you?’
There was hardly enough in it for more than a few drops to be put into the tea he was making. His hand moved over the cup, then reached for a small jar of honey. He added more than wouldbe sensible for a guest, even as she protested that he shouldn’t waste it.
‘It’s no waste, I don’t have many visitors and don’t like the stuff myself. Now, drink.’ His voice was even but heavy with the weight of years of decisions.
‘Where did you go when you travelled?’ she asked, picking up a cup for a sip. Servants of the Road were nomadic by calling, tending to the spidery cracks that had been settled but not blessed.
‘I spent a lot of time in Sol.’ He gestured to the window where strings of shells from the southern coast hung, waiting for the weather to be warm enough for open shutters and music-calling breeze.
On the borders, then. ‘In the war?’ The western territory of Seda was one that broke away from the Union nearly fifty years back.
He laughed. ‘Do I look like someone who went to war? Shall I tell you shiver tales of heretic generals and their demons?’
Csilla shook her head. She’d cared for veterans in her mercy work, and they didn’t speak of war so lightly. Seda had once been two territories, under the care of Arany and Ezüst, respectively, before Arany had settled herself fully in Silgard and Ezüst agreed to look after her people as his own. Perhaps that early abandonment was why they didn’t accept the Union, and soldiers claimed they had dark forces in their army. It was ridiculous – even before Seda had broken off, the demons had been sealed and the bloodlines that could spawn Sotir wiped clean. It was nothing but their powder weapons that made demons out of ordinary men.
Or so she would have thought before Shadow had leaked into their city. She knew everything about the creation of the world, very little about how it was actually run.
She took a deeper drink, the honey not quite covering the herbs, as if it could wash down her discomfort. Tamas watched her closely, chin propped on laced hands, as if studying every bob of her throat. She forced down a cough.
‘Thank you for that, and for speaking with me.’
He paused, still watching her with a curious expression. Then he shook his head slightly, whatever reverie had taken him dissipating. ‘Shouldn’t you have an escort? I’ll go with you if you like.’
She started to say it was kind of him, then shook her head. There was no guarantee their little trap had caught the person they were after, and if the killer was still looking for someone involved with Mihály, there was no better target than Csilla. It could also put Tamas in danger, and she didn’t want to draw that onto him.
But there were no footsteps trailing her, not even a prickle of unease as she walked towards the cemetery through grey streets and the scant moonlight. Curfew was soon, and though her hand and jaw still ached, Mihály needed her. It was enough to make her go on.
?
When she found him, he was asleep against the tomb, medicine bottle loose in hand. Sighing, she took his shoulders and propped him up a little straighter, then wiped the drool from his lips. Even that didn’t cause him to stir.
‘Mihály.’
His eyelids fluttered. She pressed a palm to his cheek in case her hands would stir his blood. He turned his face and closed his eyes firmly.
‘You’re going to let yourself freeze out here? You’re practically setting yourself up as bait.’
And if she thought that would work, maybe she’d let him. But the killer only seemed interested in those who listened to him, and might even be with the inquisitors now with everything gone so toppled over.
