He muttered something that sounded enough like ‘nothing’ to make her roll her eyes.
‘Come on. You miss her all day. Let her miss you one night. And Madame Varga will worry if you don’t come back.’
‘We have plenty of time.’ He lolled his head to rest it on her, and she sighed at the extra weight.
Did he not realise the early dark was already here? Finally she hit upon the one thing she could offer.
‘Come back and I’ll stay with you all night. You won’t be alone, and you won’t be cold.’
He hummed interest against her skin and his hand slid from her shoulder to skate down her arm. She flushed, but at least she had his attention.
‘Last time, you left.’
She turned her head to look into his eyes, their faces so close he was all she could see, his breath warming her cold-nipped skin. She hadn’t known he’d realised when she’d slipped away.
‘This time I won’t.’ She reached up and brushed the cut on his mouth, crusted with darkening blood, before he leaned further in. ‘Can’t you heal yourself?’
‘I could,’ he conceded, turning to kiss her fingertips and smiling at her shiver. ‘But I like being tended to.’
She stifled a groan and closed her free hand around the cloth on his coat. ‘Come on. We’ve had a bad day, but...’
He caught her by the chin, and she flinched where his thumb jabbed the blooming bruise.
‘And you want to make it better?’ He reeked of potent wormwood, his honey-brown eyes liquid dark. ‘Did you see them? They don’t trust me anymore. And do you think any one of them was possessed?’
She softened at his pain. No matter his faults, he loved his followers.
‘They’re scared.’
His hand slid to her neck, the pressure of each finger a blade against the skin, cutting her voice to a choking whisper.
‘We’reallscared. But staying out here won’t help. It’s time to go...’ She faltered, tongue heavy. The Varga estate wasn’t home, and never would be. ‘Back.’
He paused, face lit with desperation and moonlight. ‘And you won’t leave?’
She regretted the offer now that his hands were hot in her hair and against her waist, but she knew the rawness in his voice – she had the same painful spot, well-coated as it was with faith.
‘No.’ She stopped pulling and leaned into him instead. This cheek pressed to his woollen coat, the guilty ache gnawing at her... they were just another way of showing mercy.
‘I won’t leave.’
21
Csilla
A scream echoed in the dark cathedral hallway, bouncing off stone and into Csilla’s ears.
She shuddered, stomach clenching, offering a small and useless prayer of solace as she rubbed her fingers together, nails stained with traces of Arany’s gold that she’d brushed as she passed the statue. No one had given her a second look as she entered. Wrapped in a wool cloak dyed a dear robin’s egg blue, brown hair uncovered and curled loose around her shoulders, she looked like any other citizen come to beg something of the Church, not belong to it.
It was a part to be played, but it fit worse than the dress. As she hurried through the cloister walkways towards the rooms where the Church’s justice was dealt, she kept her head down, pulling her hood up whenever she heard footsteps. It wasn’t only that she couldn’t risk being seen. She wasn’t sure she could bear it.
Perhaps she should have waited for Mihály to fully wake, but it had been enough of a challenge to get him in motion and into a proper bed before sunrise. At least he’d slept; with him breathing in her hair and kicking her in the throes of sweat-soaked nightmares, she’d barely had a chance to close her eyes. She’d kept her promise, but what sleep she had gotten felt haunted. All she could see was the cracked eyelids of corpses andher ears were full with the whispers of a dead girl, urgent and rattling.
When she’d tried to rouse him in the morning, even over-steeped tea and thick liver paste on thicker toast with enough paprika to make her sneeze hadn’t been enough to chase away his hangover, and he waved her off with a groan and promised to join her later.
When she arrived outside the chambers, tucking herself beside a painted wood icon of Ignaz and her many-tailed lash, the sounds of pain leaking from beneath the door made her wish she had waited. While she wanted to know if there had been any pay-off to their gamble, she wasn’t sure she wanted to face Ilan. Or if he’d even talk to her – he certainly seemed to have gotten what he wanted last night. No matter what small favours Ilan did for her, she shouldn’t forget where his loyalties lay. The muffled cries of his victims were as much her fault as if she’d been the one flogging them.
When the man limped out, cradling his shirt to his chest as red welts swelled on his back, Csilla’s stomach lurched. She stepped forward, wanting to offer something, but her hands and pockets were empty, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes to let her soothe him with words.
