‘It’s simply nice to have my virtue confirmed.’ He held it out, still luminous. ‘If your methods are so righteous, let me see.’
The older man hesitated, then took it. There was a sheen on the surface, but in the centre, drops of blackened sin. Ilan let out a chuff.
‘And you lecturemeabout obedience? You require penance.’ Whatever it was looked too dark to be a simple lie or stray lustful thought.
Abe raised a hand.
‘Ilan. Not everyone is as assured of their blessing as you. You’ll find darkness on every soul here. You’ll find darkness on the Incarnate himself. That is why we serve; because we understand what it is to sin.’
‘He needs—’
‘Allow me to speak plainly, Ilan.’ Sandor looked ready to throw the glass, but clutched it instead. ‘I know who you are and that you think having given up every luxury possible to play hero to the Church makes you self-sacrificing, special, when the position you took was one you dearly wanted anyway. I know you think you earned your former title when it’s your father’s gold that paid for last year’s repairs.’
The rage that rose was like the snap signalling an avalanche. He was going to punch the other man in the face.
‘Sandor.’
It was Abe who stepped inbetween them, and Ilan felt a bolt of shame at resorting to being handled like children brawling in the street.
‘We do not bring up our servants’ pasts. They come to us as they are, for what reason they do.’
That was true, and Sandor would know it. The ire ebbed, leaving more suspicion. The low blow was a tactic to knock him from his course.
‘Prelate. The Incarnate is returning and pilgrims along with him; the roads need to be pristine. There will be merchants, celebrations. We can’t have bodies on the road.’
It wasn’t celebrants crowding the city now. It was terrified refugees.
‘We’ve seen no sign of bodies on theroad,’ Sandor said. ‘And the people coming to the city are all the more reason we need everyone to stay here and protect them. This could be old, and from anywhere in the woods.’
‘Not that old,’ Ilan said. He’d become quite an expert in the ageing of dead flesh.
‘And what of the latest murder? You’d put that aside for something that might not be murder at all?’
‘I’m not putting it aside. I’m being thorough. We all should be.’ It was on the tip of his tongue to point out the latest marks and their bloody poetry, to beg them to consider the stories refugees were telling more carefully.
Instinct won out, barely. Sandor had already rebuffed him once. If Abe also refused to accept that the weakened Seal was actual dark magic and not just a matter of faith, Ilan would find himself branded a heretic and no longer in any place to do anything at all.
‘Very well,’ Sandor said after a moment of standoff. ‘If you’re so concerned, you can go. You’re excused from our rounds if the Prelate thinks it wise.’
Abe nodded. ‘We shouldn’t abandon those seeking refuge here. They are ours, in the gates or out of it.’
Ilan tried not to let the surprise show on his face. ‘Thank you. I’ll take—’
‘You’ll go alone.’ Sandor followed.
They never went out alone.
‘That doesn’t seem safe.’ Ilan was confident in himself, but extra eyes were always helpful.
‘Walking around in a forest scares you?’ Sandor’s smirk galled. ‘Still on about your demon tales? Well, if you don’t think it’s safe, stay here. I’m not sending more priests who are needed to defend a place more holy.’
Ilan weighed the options and took a quieting breath. Instinct rarely led him wrong, and instinct told him to go. And to take Mihály. Finally the Izir could be useful for something.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll report what I find. Come,’ he told the dog.
‘And throw that cur out of the city while you’re there. It’s likely diseased if it’s been feasting on corpses.’ Disgust dripped from Sandor’s words.
Well, the dog was thin, his yellow-brown coat patchy, and he was in bad need of a delousing, but his eyes were clear, his temperament good. Ilan had grown up sneaking his father’s hunting pack into his rooms on cold nights, and this pup would be an equally pleasant addition to their staff.
