Ilan followed minutes later, starting at her but recovering quickly. He didn’t look put out in the slightest, save a light sheen of sweat from the exertion. She swallowed back an admonishment, knowing her anger should be turned in at herself. Ilan had never claimed to be anything but what he was, and she was the one who had put Mihály’s followers into his hands. Justice was a virtue. If this could be called justice.
‘Did any of them tell you anything helpful?’ That would at least make this worth it.
Ilan’s gaze slid across the empty hall, silently chiding her for recklessness. He gestured for her to follow him.
Ilan’s room wasn’t any different from the small rooms used by the other clergy members privileged enough to be granted privacy, everything simple and serviceable. As he shut the door, though, he reached up and slid an extra chain lock on the inside. The untarnished iron was stark against the centuries of wear around it.
‘You shouldn’t be here. What if it hadn’t been me in there? What excuse would you have given then?’
She didn’t have an answer, and her shoulders sank.
‘Well I could hardlynotcome. You don’t have to beat them, you know.’ They hadn’t punished Mihály’s followers before, merely warned them, and surely just being dragged into the cathedral was enough to make them honest in their answers. ‘They’ll think themselves martyrs and hate us even more.’
‘Consider it a blessing. The riot means I was able to interrogate them for something they actuallydid. Everyone in the city is going to end up on the rack at some point if Sandor keeps on, and at least this might be useful.’
Fair enough point. But something in it rankled her. These people weren’t just part of a puzzle to be solved or a collection of clues. They were alive, and they hurt.
‘But did they actually know anything?’ She crossed her arms, bracing for the answer she’d come for.
Ilan paused, an annoyed twitch on his cheek. ‘No. Not yet. But we’re not done.’
Her stomach dropped.
‘So we’ve got nothing.’ Yanking their single thread had pulled the piecemeal cloth to tatters. ‘None of them are guilty at all? What do their souls say?’
The cold anger she’d seen in Ilan’s eyes as he pulled her away from fists and curses returned.
‘Nothing so dark as murder. Certainly not possession. And none of them have seen any sign of demons here, though the stories the refugees tell are horrors.’
Csilla turned away from the window and sunk down on his bed. She spread her hand on the grey blanket, imagining the Seal beneath her fingers, the faint glow on the stone and dirt and bone below. Mihály would be sick over putting his followers under Ilan’s striking hand for nothing, and she would be sick over bringing him the news.
She was sick now with how she’d only made everything worse for the people she wanted to help. And Ilan didn’t seem to think anything of it beyond how it affected progress in their case. She studied his face and the calm there, nothing sweet in it, but not even the slightest touch of guilt.
He turned, a thoughtful tilt to his head, and she pulled her gaze away and pretended she was studying the wall behind him instead.
‘Would you like to pray? You do still do that, don’t you?’ Ilan asked, kneeling in front of his altar.
He lit a stick of incense, and her nose twitched at the note of fir resin under the warm spice of myrrh. It called up the forest more than the worship hall. She eyed his icons with curiosity. Beside the Eye of Asten was an image of shadowy Ignaz, aloof in her justice, and Sainted Vasya with her wolves. There was even a rendition of Gellért’s forest, beautifully translucent. All were as detailed as the most expensive of illuminated manuscripts, and the style had a certain ring of familiarity.
‘Did you do these?’ Apparently he was skilled at more than just sketching the dead. She had an urge to pick them up and study, but his look stopped her.
‘I asked if you prayed.’
‘Not enough.’ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried to properly speak to the divine. It didn’t seem to matter as muchwhen she had Mihály beside her. She gathered her skirts and got to her knees, self-conscious as she tried to maintain some semblance of grace.
‘I’ll pray for the people you’ve got in there. And Mihály, I suppose.’ She could pray that he would rouse and be well and that he wouldn’t need her quite so close tonight.
Ilan’s eyes swept over her as she fidgeted with her layers. When they stopped, there was a new crease in his brow and a curl to his lip.
‘Are you in love with him?’
Oh.
‘No.’ Unfortunately. That, at least, would be something other people could understand. ‘I just think he could use it.’
‘You worry for him an awful lot.’
An exasperated laugh bubbled up in her throat. If that were the criteria, she was in love with the whole world.
